Chapter 98
The Count's Secret Maid - Chapter 98
Translation: godsn
"This is exactly why I'm curious."
"About what?"
"The fact that you'd come all the way here just to bring this up makes me think there must be something to it."
Though his tone was casual, there was an unmistakable edge of sarcasm.
Vincent closed his mouth and slightly furrowed his brow. Watching him, Ethan grinned, but it sent an uneasy shiver down my spine. Vincent probably knew it too—that whenever Ethan smiled like that, he was harboring the most ominous thoughts.
"This makes me feel like I should do something, even if I had no intention to."
Sure enough, ominous words slipped out. Ethan tilted his head further, his posture so careless that anyone watching might mistake him for a spoiled, ill-mannered noble.
"Are you going to kick me out if I get in your way?"
"......"
Vincent didn't answer immediately. His slightly lowered emerald eyes flickered with irritation. I thought he'd unleash his temper right then, but contrary to my expectations, he squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again, as if trying to rein in his emotions.
"What are you doing? Let me join in."
Ethan sneered. Vincent remained silent, like someone who refused to even start speaking for fear of not being able to stop. Strangely, I caught a hint of hesitation in him.
As I watched him from across the table, I realized—Vincent is wary of Ethan's mood. He wasn't being overt about it, but there was something oddly restrained in the way he held himself around Ethan. Despite the blatant provocation in both words and attitude, Vincent didn't rebuke him.
It wasn't that he wasn't annoyed. He just suppressed it the moment it surfaced. The fingers gripping the teacup handle curled slightly inward. It was subtle, but his hesitation carried caution.
This was the moment the lopsided nature of their relationship became unmistakably clear.
"Just kidding. I really only came to relax, so don't get the wrong idea."
Ethan laughed lightly, easing the tension. He straightened his slouched posture and sat upright, then picked up his empty teacup and held it out to me. Catching on belatedly, I tilted the teapot and refilled his cup.
Ethan gulped down the tea in one go.
"Anyway, since I'm here, why don't you tell me how you've been? Not too busy, I hope? Everyone's been so swamped lately, barely getting any sleep. That's a sure way to fall ill. Any aches or pains?"
The questions poured out rapid-fire, as if Ethan had been waiting for this moment. Vincent's brow furrowed deeper.
"Yeah."
A curt, ambiguous answer that didn't specify which question it referred to. Ethan's voice cut off abruptly, but he quickly spoke again.
"What do you mean, 'yeah'?"
"It means 'yeah'to everything you just asked."
"Oh? Work's been tough?"
"Yeah."
"Nothing you need my help with? Just say the word. I'll lend a hand."
"No."
"......"
"Nothing unusual lately? Anything interesting happen?"
"Not really."
"......"
The conversation kept stalling. Vincent's disinterested replies made it clear he had no desire to talk. Sensing this, Ethan fell silent again. His lips were pressed into a thin line, but his eyes held no trace of a smile.
"Well, are you still afraid of the night?"
The... night? Puzzled, I glanced at Ethan, who was smirking as he stared at Vincent. Vincent's gaze, which had been fixed on his teacup, lifted again. I expected him to snap, What nonsense is this? but his reply was calm.
"No."
Another one-word answer.
Silence settled in like a routine. A soft sigh escaped from beside me.
"Nothing else to say to me?"
"No."
"Really?"
"No."
"Not even curious how I've been?"
"Seeing you in good health is enough."
"......"
"Still, let's talk more. It's been a while—let's catch up."
"Later."
The refusal was swift and firm. He didn't even look at Ethan as he shut him down. Ethan probably knew, too—that later was just a polite brush-off.
With those final words, Vincent rose from the sofa. The way he smoothed the wrinkled jacket made it abundantly clear that their business was concluded.
At that moment, a loud bang echoed through the room. Startled, I turned to see Ethan's fist trembling violently against the table.
Despite the outburst, Ethan smiled as if nothing had happened. Flustered, I glanced between them before settling my gaze back on Vincent. He, too, stared at Ethan without so much as a flinch, as though he hadn't heard a thing.
"How long are you going to keep this up?"
Ethan's voice was low, simmering.
"How long are you going to act like this?"
Each word carried a weight of suppressed emotion, like something long contained seeping through the cracks of its prison. His smile was thicker than usual, feigning composure, but his fist on the table still trembled faintly.
Vincent flicked a glance at me. I bowed deeply.
"I'll excuse myself now."
This time, no one stopped me.
The conversation dragged on. I paced the hallway restlessly. Not a single sound escaped from behind the firmly shut door. Should I be relieved? Yet unease swelled inside me like a growing shadow.
Just as I debated whether I should intervene, the door opened. Vincent stepped out.
His gaze briefly swept over me as I lingered in the hallway. I gave a short bow and slipped past him into the room.
Closing the door softly behind me, I studied Ethan. He sat on the sofa exactly as before, sipping tea with a face so composed it might as well have been carved from stone. After a moment's hesitation, I quickly approached and sat beside him.
"Ethan."
He turned his head slowly. From a distance, I hadn't noticed, but up close, his face looked exhausted.
After witnessing their exchange today, I was certain—something had happened between them. What could have altered their relationship so drastically?
Should I ask?
As I hesitated, he offered a faint smile.
"It's alright. Go ahead."
Permission granted, I parted my lips carefully.
"Did something happen between you and the Master?"
"You noticed. Things have... soured between us."
"Did you fight?"
"Something like that."
"A fistfight?"
"If it had come to that, things might be better than they are now."
Really?
"It was because of Lucas. Or rather, because of this."
Ethan pointed to his own eye with a fingertip.
"I did it behind Vincent's back."
"......!"
My breath caught. Though his words were fragmented, I understood their meaning—and the shock of it hit me like a blow.
"S-So... the Master didn't know? He received it without realizing?"
"Correct. To be precise, he didn't know it was Lucas' s."
"Why...? How could you—"
"Because it was what Lucas wanted. So I made it happen."
"But I thought I hid it well. He figured it out almost immediately," Ethan added, as if it were nothing. But the tension earlier had already proven it was anything but nothing.
And now, knowing the full story, I couldn't begin to fathom what Vincent must have felt. That moment—the one he had longed for—had been tainted by a truth too cruel to bear.
I answered bleakly.
"......But it wasn't what the Master wanted."
"Exactly. All hell broke loose the moment he found out."
"He might have demanded you reverse it."
"But Lucas was already gone by then. That option never existed to begin with. Though, even if he had lived, reversing it would've been impossible."
A lie. If Lucas had survived—even if he'd been left comatose, clinging to life—Ethan would never have made that choice.
What had Ethan felt when Lucas first confessed his wish?
Having the right to choose can feel gratifying at times, but at others, it can be unbearably cruel. Deciding which tastes better, which is more necessary, who is more preferable—whether the threadbare life of a younger sibling or the hope of a friend that same sibling had plunged into despair.
Ethan's choice had been like that. Determining which was more important. In truth, nothing was unimportant, yet he had to make a choice to let one of them go. Perhaps Lucas had made that choice in his stead, if only to ease his suffering even a little.
Vincent had been right. Ethan was skilled at lying. A man who could perfectly conceal even his own emotions within falsehoods.
"After that, things have stayed like this. It's not like we had a huge fight or openly started ignoring each other. It's just... the distance between us grew. Vincent barely speaks to me, and when we do end up talking, it's awkward. He keeps glancing at me, and that makes me so uncomfortable that I end up avoiding him. Honestly, it's been a while since we last met. We've both been busy. This time, I made time to see him after so long."
"......"
"I didn't mention it because I was afraid of this."
Afraid of what? When I asked, Ethan laughed awkwardly.
"Because you looked like you were about to cry."
"I won't cry."
"I know."
As he said that, Ethan braced one hand against the edge of the sofa and leaned forward slightly. The distance between us narrowed. His tilted face carried a gentle expression.
"But if you want to cry, I wish you wouldn't hold back. Though Paula doesn't need to force herself to do the same."
His smile was tinged with sorrow.
Holding his gaze quietly, I mirrored him—grasping the backrest of the sofa with one hand and leaning closer to him. Tilting my head slightly, I saw a flicker of confusion in his brown eyes.
"You scolded me for not living happily, yet here you are, lying about not having lived well yourself either."
When I grumbled under my breath, his brown eyes curved.
"Oh dear, you caught that too."
"You were just lecturing me a moment ago."
"I'm ashamed."
His tone was playful. It seemed to be his way of defending himself, and the thought left a bitter taste in my heart.
"I'll do as you say, Ethan. But in return, I have a request of my own."
"Haha, what is it?"
"Promise me you'll hear me out."
"Alright. Go ahead."
"If you ever feel like crying, don't hold back. Just let it out."
The laughter faded from Ethan's face again. Slowly, I recalled the events that had unfolded since this afternoon.
Ethan, holed up in his room and sleeping late; the servants trembling in fear as they watched him follow me around; the maids pleading for their lives over something trivial.
Through it all, Ethan had remained composed. It looked familiar to him. By now, such scenes must be natural for Ethan. Unfamiliar to me, but not to him. The Count who had survived by devouring his own flesh and blood. He would have to live the rest of his life bearing that yoke.
Even now, he couldn't bare his emotions in front of his dearest friend. Was there truly no one around him with whom he could unburden himself freely—only those who suffocated him instead? That was what troubled me the most.
"Even if you can't show it to anyone else, even if you think you shouldn't—at the very least, I wish you wouldn't hide it in front of me."
"......"
"I wish you wouldn't hold back."
So please, don't do that with me, too.
Between him and me, there were shared memories. That was why I could empathize with his wounds, even if just a little. Now that he was in a position where he had to mind others' reactions, he would only try harder to bury his emotions, but he didn't need to do that in front of me. Wouldn't it be alright to have at least one person before whom he could be honest?
"You'll do that for me, won't you?"
And this was the only thing I could give him. I hoped, even if just a little, it would let him breathe easier. Holding that thought in my heart, I looked at Ethan and smiled softly.
"And right now, I wish you wouldn't hold back. There's no one here but me."
In the next moment, Ethan's face crumbled. His expression twisted as though he might burst into tears, and he buried his face against my shoulder. Trembling emotions spilled out with each ragged breath. Just as he had done for me, I patted his back over and over in gentle reassurance.