Chapter 84.2
Claude ran outside and climbed into the driver’s seat as if possessed. Then, he saw Ian’s vehicle leaving the manor in the distance.
Ian Sergio had been quiet throughout the meal despite what had happened. Claude now knew what had made Ian act so aloof. Ian was confident that Canillia would choose him.
And he probably studied everything that was unfolding, with that beastly intuition of his. When Claude was focused on Canillia, Ian must have found something else.
“Damn it!”
***
Canillia looked down at her clenched hands. She could see the gloves that were made out of expensive fabric. I don’t need anything like this…
No matter how much she had dressed up, she was Canillia from Louvre, the illegitimate child of the marquis. In addition, she was nothing but a chess piece in a game. A game not like the one with Claude, but a real one where the pawn was sacrificed without a trace of remorse.
And a pawn was nothing but a pawn. It could never be a queen.
I thought I could be happy if time passed… I was a fool.
The same was true with her. She thought if she grew up, she could be happy, that happiness was a thing that came to everyone naturally. She didn’t know that he would try to push her away with such light, vulgar, and even childish moves. This reminded her of when she took the entrance exam for the academy and was disappointed at the reality that was so different from everything she knew.
How laughable they all were.
“Can a woman get her own last name?”
Wondering if Canillia was speaking to him, Matisse the driver glanced at the rearview mirror. Canillia nodded and repeated her question.
“It depends, but you probably can’t go through the legal procedures,” he replied.
“And if you get married?” asked Canillia.
“You get your husband’s last name,” answered Matisse.
“So that’s a no.”
Puzzled, Matisse resumed driving.
Through the car window that ran along Leon River, she could see Louvre. The flags of the guards and the vehicles of the Metropolitan Police Department were placed here and there. Did something horrible occur? Or maybe, something had happened to her mother? Lia pushed down the swell of tears that threatened to surface by thinking of her.
“I should have cut off her leg… I should have had her throat cut. When she had you in her, we should have cut up that stomach!”
The irrational explosion from Anastasia made way to everything that Canillia wanted to know. Her mother’s leg was the work of the marchioness.
Lia wanted to beg the driver to take her back to Louvre. That day, she hoped that her mother’s smile she saw in Dr. Carol’s hiding place would be directed toward her. For once, she wanted to be held in arms that were just for her. She missed her. Lia buried her face in her hands and sobbed. She failed to hold back the tears.
The car slowed. Matisse didn’t know what to do as she continued to weep.
“My lady, are you alright? Are you hurt, or…”
“No, I’m fine.”
Lia replied without raising her head.
Matisse looked around for a place to stop the car, wanting to calm her down. It was when he found a cafe with wide awnings and was driving toward it. He saw a car running toward them at full speed on the opposite road where the lanes were tangled.
People were screaming and backing away. Even so, the car ran straight for the two without a care in the world.
Matisse realized the seriousness of the situation.
“M-My lady!”
It was the moment when Matisse, startled, sounded the horn and hurriedly turned the steering wheel. Canilia’s body tilted sideways as she raised her head, then floated up. Then, a huge shock hit them both.
***
A roar of fire.
When she opened her eyes with difficulty, someone was pulling her arms, shouting instinctively. Was she bleeding? The world was nothing but red. Black smoke and someone’s howls, screams, and voices echoed in her ears like noises in the distance.
“Canillia!”
Blinking slowly, she stretched out her hand, and Claude shouted, holding it tightly. He was also bleeding. Why? She was the one hurt, so why was he bleeding? Just when she wondered if her heavy body was being moved, a white stretcher took her.
Lia blankly glanced at the firefighters, the people who were weeping, and the four half-destroyed cars. Four cars. Another person who had been taken out of the car in the distance was being put on a stretcher.
Red uniform and silver hair. The man, who had been breathing heavily as if in pain, turned his head. Ian let out a grin of relief when their eyes met.
So that’s what had happened.
A single drop of tear fell from her eyes at the realization.
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