The Villainous Marquis Is Obsessed With Me

Chapter 74: One Purpose

Penelope could only call it a miracle when her desperate yank actually worked, successfully dragging the boy off the rim of the well and pulling him back toward the stone alcove.

Now, they sat side by side beneath the small shelter, completely drenched from head to toe. The adrenaline that had fueled Penelope’s reckless dash was rapidly fading, replaced by a violent shiver that racked her small frame.

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, suddenly realizing she now had to deal with the freezing consequences of stepping into the storm.

The boy beside her, however, just sat there like a statue. He didn’t shiver, didn’t move, and didn’t make a sound, the heavy curtain of his wet hair completely framing his face and blocking him from her view.

Looking at his lean, gaunt frame and his silence, Penelope assumed he had to be a commoner from the settlement. No proper noble family would ever let their son run out into such stormy weather without an escort, unless, of course, they were entirely crazy like her own household. Plus, no noble’s child would look so malnourished.

The silence between them stretched, heavy and suffocating. The boy kept his distance, pressing himself against the very edge of the wooden bench as if trying to disappear into the stone wall. For Penelope, the awkwardness quickly turned into a creeping sense of anxiety. She had a terrible feeling that if she didn’t say something to anchor him here, he would walk away the moment she turned her back and go look for a different,abandoned well to fall into.

"What is your name?" she asked softly, her voice trembling slightly from the cold.

She got no response. The boy didn’t even tilt his head toward her.

"My name is Penelope," she offered instead, hoping her own name might coax a bit of trust out of him. "My father is the Baron of Rosehill. I... I can help you get home if you’re lost. Where do you live?"

Still, no response came from the shadowed figure.

Penelope was certain he wasn’t mute; she had heard the raw, panicked scrape of his voice just moments ago by the well. But now he sat there, entirely frozen, as if speaking to her would break some unspoken rule.

The silence between them stretched, heavy and thick with the smell of wet earth and rain. Desperate to keep him from slipping away back into the dark, Penelope puffed out her cheeks, trying to sound a little more imposing than a shivering, drenched girl actually was.

"You know, it is considered very rude to ignore a lady," she huffed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest to stop her shaking. "Especially one who just saved you from becoming a ghost that haunts the village plumbing. Why make it everybody’s problem?"

A tiny, almost imperceptible shift went through the boy. He didn’t look at her, but his fingers twitched against his wet trousers.

"I do not have a home," he murmured. His voice was so low, so entirely devoid of life, that it was nearly swallowed by the rhythmic drumming of the rain outside. "And I am not supposed to talk to people like you."

Penelope blinked, tilting her head. People like her? Did he mean noble daughters? Before she could ask, he spoke again, his tone flat and chillingly hollow.

"You shouldn’t have stopped me."

"Well, I’m glad I stopped you anyway," she said stubbornly, scooting just an inch closer to him on the bench, refusing to let him retreat into his own mind. "And since you don’t have a home, and I don’t really want to go back to mine right now... I guess we’re stuck together until the rain stops."

The boy went silent again, his body rigid as if he were trying to turn himself into stone. But Penelope wasn’t planning on letting him leave, not until she was certain he wouldn’t just find another, darker corner to disappear into the moment she looked away.

"Is everything okay...?" she finally asked, her voice dropping into a soft, gentle register. Surely, she reasoned, he must be carrying a burden far too heavy for a boy his age to bear alone. People didn’t just stand on the edge of the abyss for no reason.

When he didn’t answer, she let out a small, wet sigh and stared out at the curtain of rain.

"We’re both strangers," she continued, hugging her knees closer to her chest. "So even if you tell me your problems, you can be certain I won’t hunt you down or use them against you. Between jumping into a well or talking to a stranger... I believe the latter is much better. If you do not have a home, then where do you and your family stay together?"

She paused, a sudden wave of her own complicated grief tightening her throat as she looked back at his profile.

"Won’t your family be worried you’re out here?" she asked, a trace of bitter envy blending with her genuine concern. "Didn’t you consider them before doing something this stupid? Someone out there must be looking for you."

Penelope gasped as the boy suddenly stood up from the wooden bench, his movements swift and jerky. Before he could take a single step out into the downpour, she lunged forward, her fingers locking around his wrist once more.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

The boy finally turned his head fully toward her. As the wind swept through the stone shelter, it parted the dark, wet curtain of his hair, and Penelope caught sight of wide, piercing gray eyes staring back at her. They were striking, yet entirely hollow.

"Ever heard of stranger danger?" he asked, his voice low and sharp.

Penelope tilted her head slightly. She had never heard that specific phrase before, but from the words alone, she could already guess what it meant. Still, she didn’t loosen her grip.

"But where are you going?" she pressed, her voice rising in desperation. "It’s still pouring out there!"

"Mind your business," he spat, wrenching his arm backward with enough force to finally free his wrist from her grasp.

As he turned his back to her, preparing to step into the sheets of rain, a sudden wave of hot, bitter anger surged over Penelope. The suffocating weight of her own grief, the phantom ache of being left behind by her mother, boiled over.

"Why does everyone who makes such stupid decisions think it’s the right choice?!" she shouted after him, her voice cracking with raw emotion.

That stopped him. The boy froze right at the edge of the shelter, his shoulders rigid.

"It’s just selfish," Penelope said, tears of frustration finally blurring her vision, mixing with the rain tracking down her cheeks. "You don’t care who gets affected by it or not. You think you’re the only one hurting, so you just decide to end it and leave everyone else behind to clean up the mess. You leave them wondering what they did wrong, why they weren’t enough to make you stay! It’s cruel. You’re just running away and dumping all your darkness onto the people left alive!"

Her outburst seemed to have completely stunned the boy. He stood entirely still, his back no longer tense with the urge to run, before he slowly turned around to look at her.

Penelope quickly wiped her face with the back of her wet sleeve, her throat tight. She thought it was incredibly stupid of her to break down like this in front of a complete stranger. She was a noble’s daughter, bred for composure and dignity, yet she was barely acting like one right now. But then, how could she? It wasn’t as if her own life was easy. She was drowning in a quiet house full of people who didn’t see her, harboring a grief that felt too heavy for her chest.

If he wanted to leave, he could leave. He was right; she should mind her own business. He was not her problem.

Penelope firmly made up her mind to let him go, bracing herself for the sound of his footsteps fading into the rain. But the sound never came. Instead, the air shifted, and she froze as the boy suddenly crouched down directly in front of her.

Up close, despite the wet strands of hair still clinging to his forehead, she could finally see his face clearly. His features were sharp, pale, and unnervingly still. There was no anger in his wide gray eyes, nor was there any sadness. There was only a vast, terrifying emptiness, and something else, a strange, hollow intensity that locked onto her.

"Give me a purpose then," he said. His voice wasn’t a plea; it was a flat, solemn request, delivered with the absolute gravity of a soldier waiting for a command. "One purpose of my life."

Penelope stared at him for a long moment, completely bewildered by his words. A purpose? How could a total stranger, a boy she had just pulled from a well, look at her with such dead, empty eyes and ask her to give him a reason to exist? It was a bizarre, overwhelming weight to place on her shoulders.

Yet, looking at his intense, unwavering gaze, she realized he was entirely serious.

"Save my life, by staying alive," she simply uttered, the words slipping out before she could even think to filter them, because truly, she felt like she needed to witness a change just so she doesn’t give up on pushing forward.

She then straightened her posture, trying to summon every ounce of authority her noble upbringing had drilled into her. "I am a baron’s daughter. Therefore, you shall listen to my orders and keep living."

The boy’s wide gray eyes widened slightly, a flicker of genuine shock fracturing his otherwise blank expression. It was as if her sudden command had struck a chord deep within him, registering in a way nothing else had.

Before he could respond, the heavy, rhythmic clatter of hooves and the splashing of wheels against puddles cut through the sound of the storm. Penelope’s attention was instantly drawn to the road as a large, familiar carriage rounded the corner of the settlement. The crest of Rosehill was painted on the side.

Relief flooded her chest.

"Look, we have—"

Penelope turned back, ready to tell the boy that help had finally arrived and that she could get him a warm meal and shelter. But the words died in her throat.

To her absolute surprise, the space in front of her was completely empty. The boy was nowhere to be seen. He had vanished into the rain as silently as a ghost, leaving nothing behind but a puddle of water where he had just been crouching.