To My First Love, With Regret - 102

—Eve, do you have the flu too?

To think he was only worried about me. At the same time her heart settled, the sight of his tearful face felt unbearably adorable. Eve gently stroked the boy’s cheek to reassure him.

—No. I just didn’t sleep well last night because the wind was so loud.

—Whew….

Tony let out a sigh of relief. For some reason, the man looked down at the innocent face—now returned to a smile—with eyes full of deep concern, before abruptly asking:

—Hey kid, how’s your mother doing?

—They say she’s not good.

Ethan was momentarily bewildered.

Did I ask about the weather?

It was a response far too indifferent for a child whose mother was hovering between life and death. In this small boy, Ethan saw his own childhood. He had worried the child might be terrified of his mother’s impending death, yet why was the brat so composed?

—Look at this one. They say the mother who gave birth to you is dying, so why act like it’s someone else’s business? Even a neighbor’s dog falling ill would fetch more grief than you’re showing.

Regrettably, Eve felt the same as Ethan. It was true that the child’s attitude was strange.

Though it was brazen of her to worry after having ordered Chantal’s death, Eve had also lost her mother suddenly at a young age; she had expected this nine-year-old to be in a similar state of shock. Yet, for the past three days, Tony had been unnervingly calm.

Was it because he was too young to grasp the reality of death? She hoped that when the moment finally came for Chantal to draw her last breath, the delayed shock wouldn’t shatter the boy completely.

It was truly deceptive hypocrisy. To worry so much about the child’s grief while fervently praying for the death that would ignite it.

Anyway, why wouldn’t that loathsome woman just die?

They said her breath would naturally cut out within a few days, yet she was clinging on tenaciously. Truly, that disgusting vitality—refusing to die no matter how much she was stepped on—was like a bedbug. Fortunately, she hadn’t regained consciousness, but the thought that she might even open her eyes made Eve’s blood run dry.

Eve had already left behind plenty of evidence that she had tried to save the Dowager. Owen had to return to the Northern Front tomorrow. In other words, if she wanted to properly end Chantal’s life, today was the only chance.

I have to handle it for sure this time. Will it leave a mark if I smother her with a pillow? If so, perhaps it would be better to feed her more sedatives through the rubber tube….

It was just as her every nerve was on edge, weighing methods of murder. A cold whisper, like a slithering snake, bored into Eve’s ear.

—Does your stepmother know? That her stepdaughter stole her lover away.

A melodrama where a stepmother and stepdaughter who hate each other share the same man. From the beginning, Ethan had been dying to know the inside story of that malformed relationship.

Eve’s motive was quickly resolved: to reclaim her stolen inheritance.

Then, why did that praying mantis Chantal give up her man to another woman?

The hints had been dropped by the woman herself—how she fought tooth and nail to keep Eve and Ethan apart the moment she sensed them getting close.

She’s afraid Eve will give birth to the next heir and take back Cantrell.

So, it seemed she chose the lesser of two evils: pushing her own puppet into Eve’s bedroom to ensure she couldn’t have a child with any other man.

But oh, what to do? The puppet sent to stand guard and ensure no one crawled into that bed had crawled into it himself.

The Sherwood household was originally a place where no sane human resided, but this particular round was so spectacular that it piqued Ethan’s interest.

He pressed his lips close to the ear of the ‘Mad Sherwood’ who was glaring at him with venomous eyes. Though uninvited, he intended to shamelessly pull up a chair at this table of madness.

—But what a staggering coincidence. The Dowager falls into a critical state with a terrible flu the day after her treacherous lover returns. A woman who was perfectly fine that very day suddenly? That… is it really the flu?

The sharp deduction pierced through Eve like a harpoon. She was caught. Ethan realized she had orchestrated the murder. His snake-like tongue was gnawing away at the perfect alibi Eve had painstakingly built, starting from its most fatal foundation.

Don’t fall for the provocation. I have to hold my breath for now.

Eve immediately read the situation and shifted her plan. She had to give up on killing Chantal. If she forced the attempt and leaked evidence to this man whose eyes were currently flashing, it would be no different than putting a leash on her own neck and handing it to him.

So, though it was a pity, she decided to leave the tenacious prey alone for a while.

She would destroy all the evidence first.

It was time to slaughter the stupid hound who, despite being a terrible hunter, did nothing but leave a trail of tracks behind.

It was only natural that the gaze of the woman who had chosen her next prey turned toward Ethan. Failing to read where Eve’s murderous intent was directed, he barked up the wrong tree.

—Should I be careful now too? To make sure you haven’t spiked my drink with poison every time I receive a glass in this house?

Oh, unfortunately not. Because you are the next predator who will devour the hound that has outlived its usefulness.

Eve prayed with a chilling smile.

Ethan, so please don’t notice that I’m trying to solicit another murder from you. Stay deceived by me, and while under the illusion that it is your own will, kill Owen Kallas for me.

‘You’re the expert, unlike that incompetent fool. I expect you to prove you’re a capable hitman.’

Eve gave Ethan’s shoulder a dismissive pat by way of encouragement. As he arched an eyebrow, unable to grasp her meaning, she let out a blatant, mocking sneer and spat out a biting remark.

—They say in the eyes of a butcher, even the living look like hunks of meat. I suppose in the eyes of a killer, everyone else looks like a killer too?

Do you really think I’ll get spooked by the trap you dug and walk right into it?

—For a baseless delusion, it’s remarkably specific and realistic. Almost as if you’ve killed a fair share of people yourself while blinded by some tawdry affair. Ethan, if you’re looking to confess, find a police station.

Eve shoved him back into the pit he’d dug for her and coldly flung open the bedroom door.

—Tony, would you mind reading a book to me?

—Of course.

The boy entered obediently, yet reached a hand back behind him.

—Ethan too….

—No.

Eve snatched the child’s hand away first, only then offering a firm explanation.

—Tony, it is impolite to let a man into a lady’s room without thought.

Ha, look at her spouting lies to a kid. Just as Ethan let out a scoff loud enough for her to hear—Slam!—the door shut in his face, and the woman and child vanished.

Tsk.

The smirk faded from his face as he clicked his tongue.

—She keeps that brat glued to her side. I suppose even the spawn of the people she loathes is still her own blood. One would think she went through the labor of birthing him herself.

She ruthlessly clears the mother from her path, yet pampers the child who is her greatest obstacle? It didn’t add up. If Eve wanted to claim the Dukedom, it only made sense to kill Tony.

There was no way an ambitious woman like her would let her precious right of succession vanish into thin air. Was she planning to delay the boy’s disposal until she knew if the child in her womb was a girl or a boy?

No matter what she’s plotting, my gut says she’s pregnant….

But damn it, it was nothing more than a hunch. He’d put tails on her and ransacked hospital records, but not a single shred of evidence that Eve was expecting had surfaced.

Is it still too early?

Ethan leaned against the opposite wall, staring intently at the firmly closed door. He took a deep drag of his cigarette as if burning away his impatience.

Creeeak.

At the end of the hallway, the servant’s door opened. Carrying two teacups on a tray with careful steps was Eve’s personal maid—the woman who served her like a shadow, following her every move. She would be the first to notice even the slightest, most subtle change in her mistress’s body.

The corner of Ethan’s mouth twisted. The moment their eyes met, the maid froze, then hurriedly offered a bow and hugged the wall, quickening her pace. She acted as though she’d run into a thug looking to shake her down.

Quick on the uptake, aren’t you?

That made him all the more unwilling to let her go. Ethan pushed off the wall and strode forward, blocking the path of the woman trying to flee.

—Gasp….

The maid recoiled in shock. Barely catching the tray she almost dropped, she offered a greeting in a trembling voice.

—H-hello, Major. Is… is there something you need?

—It’s nothing major, so there’s no need to shake like that. It’s all for the sake of the mistress you serve.

—…Pardon?

—I’ve been quite worried lately. Her stomach seems weak, she can’t eat a thing, and her complexion looks pale, don’t you think?

—That… that is true, but….

—What exactly is the illness?

—I do not know that myself.

—Were there no other symptoms? For instance….

Ethan ran the tip of his tongue over his parched lips, dry from a burning thirst, and lowered his voice as if cornering his prey.

—Like her period stopping.