The Villainess Does Not Want to Die

Chapter 6: When I Was Young

The duke, wearing a displeased expression, strode down the corridor and into his office.

Once inside, he settled into his chair, picked up a stamp from his desk, and began reviewing documents.

Some he tossed aside after a quick glance, others he stamped after barely skimming their titles.

He did this with the ease of someone long accustomed to the task.

“Steward,” he called after slamming the stamp onto a document with barely restrained irritation.

The old steward, slightly hunched, responded promptly.

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“Should I have stopped her that day? Should I have prevented Lize from being cast out?”

“If we’d known she was with child, perhaps it would have been best to house her in a villa,” the steward replied calmly.

The duke scoffed at this.

It was a question he had asked, yet he derided the answer. Perhaps the steward’s immunity to his temper stemmed from years of service or the duke’s rank. 

Judging by the vein bulging in the steward’s clenched fist, it was likely the former.

“I shouldn’t have let the duchess find out in the first place.

It’s absurd. I met Lize before I met the duchess, yet because she’s a commoner, I couldn’t marry her.

These days, even earls marry commoners!”

“The older and more powerful a family’s lineage, the less likely they are to accept such unions.

Those who do so lack the foundation of long-standing tradition, which makes it more feasible for them,” the steward replied diplomatically.

The duke gripped his pen tightly, snapping it in two.

His hand trembled as he methodically removed the splinters of wood embedded in his palm. No blood, just faint scratches.

The steward said nothing.

Any response would either make him complicit in the duke’s extramarital affairs or provoke the duke’s wrath.

“It’s as if you knew about my daughter all along,” the duke muttered.

“If I had known, I would not have helped her escape to the slums.

I would have arranged for an unfortunate accident—or informed Your Grace, indirectly.”

The duke opened his mouth as if to lash out but faltered, unable to articulate his anger. 

His lips moved silently before he closed them, biting back his words.

After some time, his temper cooled, and he resumed speaking.

“All I ever wanted was a modest inheritance, enough to live a leisurely life.

A life where I could indulge in women, drink, and entertainment as I pleased.”

The steward paused before responding carefully.

“It is far too late for that, Your Grace.”

Producing a spare pen from his coat, the steward handed it to the duke, who resumed signing and stamping documents.

“Too late indeed,” the duke murmured.

For a long while, the only sound in the office was the scratching of pen on paper. Nearly an hour passed before the duke spoke again.

“Steward, will the duchess leave the girl alone?”

This time, the steward remained silent.

The answer was obvious to both of them.

The duke briefly considered whether bringing the girl here had been a mistake but shook his head, dismissing the thought.

The morning arrived after a whirlwind of events.

Lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling, which was adorned with intricate designs—roses, shields and swords of knights, horses, and the family crest.

I was reminded of a boy at the orphanage who used to declare every day that he would become a knight.

Would he someday return, boasting about his achievements?

Who could say?

What was the duke’s reason for bringing me here?

It would’ve been easier to abandon me in the slums.

I wasn’t brave enough to ask him directly.

Maybe he just wanted a doll—a little figure resembling himself to dress up and keep around.

Looking out the window, I saw servants sweeping the grounds and a gardener trimming the hedges with oversized shears.

There didn’t seem to be anything left to trim.

“It doesn’t feel real,” I muttered, standing in front of the full-length mirror.

I spun slowly, watching the simple dress I wore sway with my movements.

Through the mirror, I examined the decorative embellishments on the dress, the shoes pinching my feet, and the jewelry on my neck and hands.

Staring back at me was a girl with red eyes and white hair, looking slightly tired.

Am I supposed to just live here like it’s normal?

Returning to the orphanage wasn’t an option.

Even if it were, I wouldn’t go back—to the filth, the cruel children. Well, maybe one was an exception.

My stomach grumbled.

The sun was already high in the sky, yet no one had come to bring me bread.

“Oh, right. That’s not how it works here.”

How was I supposed to get food?

Should I step outside and ask someone?

Or was there a dining hall I should go to?

Grasping the handle on the wall, I pulled it firmly.

The bell rang out, and soon after, I heard footsteps approaching.

There was a knock at the door.

Opening it, I found a young maid who looked barely old enough to be in high school, holding a broom.

A light dusting of dirt suggested she’d been cleaning just moments ago.

“W-what can I do for you, um, miss?” she stammered.

“I’m hungry,” I said simply.

Few things in life are more important than food.

At the orphanage, there were times when I had given my tasteless bread to Raphael, thinking it wasn’t worth eating.

That was until a couple of unruly kids caused trouble, and the headmaster made us all go without food for two days as collective punishment.

Some of the kids, accustomed to surviving on the bland bread, turned pale after just two days without it.

They knelt before the headmaster, begging for bread, but all he gave them was water.

He claimed we needed to experience scarcity to truly appreciate abundance.

What nonsense.

The headmaster truly believed that scarcity fostered piety and diligence in people.

In the beginning, I thought it would be fine as long as I could fill my stomach. So, I tried eating dirt.

That didn’t go well—I vomited it all up and resorted to catching and eating insects crawling across the ground.

It’s not much of a story, really.

Just an embarrassing tale of how hunger quickly lowered my so-called “dignity.”

Since that day, even if I grumbled internally, I never left food uneaten again.

Hearing my complaint about being hungry, the maid seemed flustered.

Her awkward tone as she promised to bring breakfast was evident.

“Oh, breakfast! I’ll bring it right away!

Everyone else is so busy right now! H-ha-ha!”

She turned on her heel and dashed off somewhere.

After a while, she returned, carrying a steaming bowl of pale soup and a piece of bread.

Striding into my room, she placed the food neatly on the table and arranged the utensils with care.

“By the way, the duke said you’re to join the family for dinner tonight in the dining hall.”

“I don’t know where that is…”

“Oh! Don’t worry, I’ll come get you when it’s time, miss!”

I nodded, and she cheerfully wished me a pleasant meal before quietly closing the door and leaving.

I began eating.

Tearing the bread into small pieces, I dropped them into the warm soup, prodding them with the fork until they soaked up the broth.

Using a spoon, I scooped up the soggy bread and soup to eat.

The taste was… strange. It had a sour tang, though nothing in the soup seemed like it should be sour.

It reminded me of the bread at the orphanage, where we’d scrape off visible mold and eat it anyway.

Still, I had to appreciate the luxury of soft bread.

After breakfast, I spent my time reading.

There wasn’t much else to do, and besides, these were new books—something I hadn’t had in a long time.

Learning something new isn’t always fun, but there’s a sense of accomplishment in it.

What kind of world was this, anyway?

I pondered the question but found no answers, sighing as I flopped onto the bed.

Better not delve into existential musings.

That’s for scholars with ink-stained fingers.

Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I picked up a pen. To remind myself of who I was, I scribbled notes about myself on a blank piece of paper.

It wasn’t much—just observations about my appearance or how I felt—a sort of journal.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Miss!”

I glanced out the window, as there was no clock in the room.

The sun hadn’t set yet, so it wasn’t dinnertime.

Putting the journal aside, I opened the door to find a group of maids waiting for me.

“Why… so many of you?” I asked, my voice trailing off in confusion.

One maid confidently replied, “Before dinner, we need to make sure you’re properly groomed!

And most people in this mansion bathe in the morning!”

Just like the day before, I was whisked away to the bath, where I was scrubbed, soaked in scented oils, surrounded by flower petals, and immersed in bubbly water.

When the bath was over, they dressed me in a frilly white gown without even asking my opinion.

It looked far too delicate for dinner, especially if there was any chance of food stains.

The maids’ efficiency left me feeling like a well-polished doll.

I sighed internally, knowing I had little choice but to play along. Dinner awaited.