"The Count Lauderdale is coming."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. They say he’s arriving at the manor by sunset."
The voices drifted through the cracks in the door, thin and brittle like dry leaves. Anastasia pressed her ear against the cold, damp wood, her breath hitching in her throat. The basement was suffocating, the air thick with the stench of mold and her own festering wound.
"Why would a man of his standing come to a place like this?"
"Who knows? Perhaps he’s finally decided to collect on the debts. Or maybe he’s looking for something else entirely."
The footsteps receded, fading into the distance until only the heavy silence of the cellar remained. Anastasia pulled back, her hand trembling as she clutched her injured foot. The skin around the wound was angry and inflamed, pulsing with a dull, rhythmic ache that mirrored the frantic beating of her heart.
Count Lauderdale. The name felt like a weight, heavy and suffocating. She had heard the servants whispering about him for days—a man of cold ambition, a predator who saw the world as nothing more than a collection of assets to be acquired or discarded. And now, he was coming here. To this house of rot and ruin.
"Why?" she whispered to the darkness, her voice barely audible. "Why would he come here?"
She closed her eyes, trying to summon the image of the man she had met in the forest. He had been different—a flicker of light in her otherwise gray existence. But that memory felt like a dream now, distant and unreachable. Here, in the suffocating dark, there was only the reality of her own powerlessness.
She shifted, wincing as the movement sent a sharp jolt of pain through her leg. She needed to leave. She needed to escape this place before the Count arrived. But where would she go? She was an outcast, a girl with no name and no place in the world.
The shadows in the corner of the room seemed to lengthen, reaching out like skeletal fingers. She pulled her knees to her chest, shivering despite the oppressive heat of the basement.
"I have to get out," she murmured, her eyes darting toward the small, barred window near the ceiling.
It was too high, and the bars were thick with rust. Even if she could reach it, she had no strength left to break them. She was trapped, a bird with clipped wings, waiting for a master who would surely be no kinder than the ones she had already known.
Outside, the sky was beginning to bruise with the colors of twilight. The sun was setting, and with it, the last of her hope.
The dim light of the lamp made it impossible to discern exactly what it was. He only realized there was a moving object—something clearly alive. It seemed startled by the nearby presence and began to flee. When the sound of a small shrub branch snapping echoed through the air, the maids and Elizabeth shrieked in surprise and scrambled backward.
He knew well that in such moments, the right thing to do was to remain vigilant and protect the terrified women. However, the moment Mikhail heard the sound of the creature fleeing, his eyes sharpened. Deep blue pupils flashed in the darkness.
*Must catch it.*
The hunter’s instinct buried beneath his composure had awakened. If Igor and Yuri had been there, they would have let out a sigh. Mikhail usually acted laid-back, even appearing somewhat lazy, but the moment he set his sights on a target, he moved with lethal agility. To approach his prey faster and more surely than anyone else, and to cut off its breath—that was his innate nature.
Usually, that instinct was reserved for resolving business complications. In fact, it was a trait that only triggered when something was difficult to deal with or hard to obtain. To think it would be directed at a creature fleeing from a mere human presence.
*I must be bored.*
Mikhail justified his actions, though he found it strange himself. Regardless, he had to catch it.
He did not hesitate once he made up his mind. As he sprinted after the fleeing figure, he heard Elizabeth’s voice calling his name from behind like a scream. It was a cry of reproach, accusing him of abandoning her and the maids in the face of this terror, but Mikhail did not look back.
*Who cares?*
Elizabeth would surely rebuke his behavior later. Very elegantly and politely. Mikhail secretly hoped for that. If she did, he could use her reaction as an excuse to cleanly wash his hands of the Lauderdale family.
The fleeing beast was slow on its feet. Thanks to this, Mikhail caught up to it easily without having to run far. His hand grasped the runaway without hesitation. At that moment, his prey curled into a ball and pleaded.
"I'm sorry!"
"……!"
Mikhail flinched at the sound of the woman’s terrified, weeping voice. This voice was surely…
While Mikhail hesitated for a moment, a loud commotion erupted from the direction of the manor. People nearby had been startled by the screams of Elizabeth and the maids and had rushed to the garden.
"Please, please let me go. I won't let you see me again. Please…"
As the voices of the crowd drew closer, the captured woman trembled even more violently. It was a voice that would have stirred pity in anyone, yet Mikhail only tightened his grip. His instinct whispered that he must not let go now.
He was bewildered by his own actions. He was certainly no ruffian targeting the manor’s property or preying on the weak. She wasn't even struggling; she was simply lying on the ground, shivering, even though he had only caught her with one hand. To be genuinely holding onto someone so fragile—the old him would have let go with a bored expression, dusted off his hands, and forgotten about it.
Even though he held her firmly, Mikhail felt an anxiety that she might vanish at any moment. He shouted to a maid who was trembling a short distance away.
"Bring the lamp here, now!"
"Y-yes, yes!"
At Mikhail’s roar, one of the maids standing next to Elizabeth approached, shaking. As the lamp drew near, he snatched it from the maid’s hand, impatient, and shone it on his prey.
"You are…"
It was her. The woman he had met in the forest. The woman who had vanished into the woods the moment he reached out his hand. Confirming it was her, Mikhail felt his breath hitch; he set the lamp down and loosened his cravat. *Gulp.* He swallowed hard, his throat strangely dry.
"I'm sorry, please… please…"
The captured woman kept muttering the same words. Then, suddenly, her movements stopped, and she collapsed to the side. Before she could roll onto the ground, Mikhail quickly reached out and caught her. In the meantime, Igor and Yuri had rushed over upon hearing the screams. Mikhail shook his head when he saw them reaching for the pistols at their waists. Recognizing his signal, the two immediately hid their weapons before the maid and Elizabeth could notice.
"What is that? A vagrant?"
As Yuri approached and tried to pull Anastasia from Mikhail’s grasp, Mikhail swatted his hand away. Yuri recoiled, stepping back. Igor, who was a bit more perceptive than Yuri, tugged on Yuri’s sleeve. It was a signal to back off immediately. While the two kept their distance, Mikhail checked Anastasia’s condition.
Her attire was not much different from a week ago. But the hands and feet revealed under the light were wretched. What on earth had she been through to end up like this? Red, dotted wounds were visible on her hands. Her feet were even worse. Because of the flickering lamp light, he couldn't see them in detail, but he could see large, unhealed wounds.
Had those wounds been scraped open again while she was running? Sticky, black blood glistened in the lamp light. Beside the fallen woman, the remaining shoe he had picked up earlier lay discarded, soaked in blood.
"I think it would be best to hand her over to the manor’s servants… Sir Mikhail?"
While Igor spoke, watching the manor’s servants approach, Mikhail picked up Anastasia and stood up.
"Take the lamp and lead the way."
The two followed Mikhail’s order without a moment’s delay. They knew well that when Mikhail spoke in such a hollow, emotionless voice, they had to obey unconditionally. As they walked ahead, they spoke with their lips only.
*Why is he like that?*
*I don't know.*
Igor glanced back. He caught sight of Mikhail’s loosened cravat. It was one of Mikhail’s habits that appeared whenever he became truly serious about something.
As the three returned toward the manor, Elizabeth, the maids, and the servants who had come out upon hearing the commotion were gathered there. They stepped back as the three entered. Under the bright light of the lamp and the manor’s fixtures, Mikhail examined the woman in his arms more closely.
"Good heavens…"
Her condition was far more severe than he had seen in the dark. Her feet, from which thick blood flowed, were so swollen it was hard to recognize their original shape. Moreover, perhaps because she was running a fever from the infection, her face, revealed between strands of hair, was flushed red as she let out ragged, shallow breaths.
As the people who had been startled earlier drew near, Mikhail adjusted his hold on her.
*I cannot let her become a spectacle.*
Pulling her into his arms to shield her from their prying eyes as much as possible, he asked a nearby maid.
"Where are my quarters?"
"Pardon?"
"I asked where the room I am to stay in tonight is located."
Before the maid could answer, Catherine, who had pushed through the servants, caught sight of the woman in Mikhail’s arms and muttered in surprise.
"What? Is that Anastasia?"
At those words, Mikhail muttered.
"Anastasia? Anastasia Lauderdale?"
Catherine flinched as Mikhail spoke Anastasia’s name. Mikhail was bewildered by the realization that the woman in his arms was truly the third daughter of this house.
*My god, this woman is the third daughter of this estate.*
To anyone’s eyes, she was dressed like a vagrant. Furthermore, even with layers of clothes, she was so light he wondered if he was truly holding a person. The jawline revealed through her hair was so thin it looked as if it might snap at any moment. And these horrific wounds.
He had expected the treatment to be poor, but seeing her in such a state beyond his imagination made his blood boil. Then, he suddenly snapped to his senses.
*Why am I?*
Why was he feeling angry over this woman’s affairs? What was she to him?
Composing his expression, Mikhail spoke to Elizabeth and Catherine, who were standing there at a loss.
"I did not realize this was the third young lady of the Lauderdale family."
"……."
His tone was gentle, but it was not difficult to detect the sarcasm laced within. Sure enough, Elizabeth’s expression stiffened. Seeing that, Mikhail suppressed a scoff that almost escaped him.
When they had talked over dinner, Elizabeth had acted as if she cherished and loved everything in Edenhurst. Beside her, the Countess had chimed in, saying that Elizabeth cherished even a single flower in the garden.
To cherish flowers but be so cruel to one who shared their own blood. It was truly selective mercy.
Of course, he knew well that from their perspective, Anastasia was not a welcome presence. But looking at her now, this was abuse. If they were going to treat her this way, it would be better to send her out of Edenhurst; he could not understand why they would keep her on the estate just to treat her like this.
"What on earth is…"
The Countess, who had arrived late, was at a loss when she saw Anastasia in Mikhail’s arms. Watching the Lauderdale family members, who could not meet his eyes now that their shame was exposed, Mikhail opened his mouth.
"It seems Miss Anastasia is in need of medical treatment and rest."
If she were a vagrant, he could do as he pleased, but now that he knew she was a member of the Lauderdale family, he could not. Mikhail commanded the maid beside him.
"You, guide us to Miss Anastasia’s room."
At Mikhail’s instruction, the maid jumped in surprise and glanced at the Countess. Anastasia’s room was the basement storage. But he could not be guided to that place with this guest. At that moment, the Countess intervened, hurriedly trying to manage the situation.
"Since this child’s room is quite cluttered, it seems inappropriate to show it to a guest. Besides, cleanliness is important for treatment… so please leave her to our servants, as we will take her to a clean room for the time being."
At the Countess’s words, two servants standing nearby approached Mikhail and held out their hands. Mikhail did not even glance at them as he replied.
"No."
Flatly refusing the Countess’s suggestion, he replied with a smile.
"As you said, quick treatment is important, so I will have her use my quarters, which should be prepared. You may take your time preparing for me."
Mikhail delivered his words to the Countess not as a request, but as a notification. It was as if he were already the master of this estate.
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