The Villainess Whom I Had Served for 13 Years Has Fallen

Chapter 41: The Woman Who Sees His Secret (4)

I struggled to open my eyes.

Perhaps I had been crying even in my unconscious state, as the corners of my eyes were damp. A sigh escaped me. I felt troubled, and my body was heavy.

"Haah."

The dimly lit room I saw was dark. It seemed like it was still night.

I didn't want to get up.

I didn't know how to face Ricardo or what expression to wear.

Did I have to smile like a fool, pretending to know nothing? Or should I look downcast and ask for forgiveness?

I wasn't sure myself.

What should I do? I knew I had to apologize, but I couldn't come up with a proper answer in my head.

There was so much I wanted to ask.

I wanted to ask if he was okay, if he wasn't in pain, but I felt like I wouldn't be able to say anything when I actually saw Ricardo.

What should I do?

A heavy feeling once again dampened the corners of my eyes.

"Cough… Cough…"

My throat felt scratchy.

Perhaps because of the change in seasons, it seemed like a cold had taken hold of me.

My head felt hot, possibly feverish, and I seemed to have a runny nose.

Feeling hot on the forehead.

Running a fever.

Feeling confused.

It was quite a troubling situation all around.

"Cough… Cough…"

I reached for the water on the nightstand beside my bed. My hand only brushed the handle, failing to grasp it. With the fatigue possibly from the cold, my body quickly grew tired. I stretched out my hand again in vain before bringing it back onto the bed.

‘I just won't drink.'

You don't die from not drinking a glass of water.

As I closed my eyes to sleep, I felt a warm touch on my forehead.

"Are you thirsty?"

A familiar voice reached me.

A warm and gentle voice.

Olivia opened her eyes wide. She had heard a voice she hadn't expected.

The room spun slightly from the sickness and heavy with sleep, but the man before her was vividly clear.

Her butler, Ricardo, with auburn hair and an awkward smile.

Ricardo was pressing his hand against my forehead.

With one hand on his own forehead and the other on my feverish forehead, Ricardo, lost in deep thought, smiled faintly when our eyes met.

I wasn't sure how long he'd been there, but the bucket filled with ice water and a wet towel nearby suggested he'd been there for a while.

"…A ghost?"

Ricardo extended a glass of water he had poured from the nightstand beside the bed. Supporting my back with one hand, he helped me to sit up, and I bowed my head to accept the cup he offered.

"Not a ghost, but a handsome butler."

I couldn't find words to say.

In the vision shown by the blue window, I had organized in my mind what I would apologize for when I met Ricardo. But now that I was actually facing Ricardo, my mind went completely blank.

"Have you woken up?"

"…"

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I carefully took the cup Ricardo offered. The cold chill from the cup seemed to soothe some of the fever and eased the weight in my heart.

"Gulp… Gulp…"

Ricardo watched my face as I drank, then gave an uneasy smile.

"If you're in pain, you should tell me. It must have given you a fright, right?"

"…"

"Your forehead is burning like fire, and you were crying in your sleep, so it worried me a lot."

"…"

Ricardo whined.

If I was in pain, I should have said something.

It seemed like he had been caring for me since the late evening. He had stayed up all night watching over me.

I felt sorry.

At the same time, I felt a sense of rebellion.

He was the same. He wouldn't say he was in pain either. Clutching the water cup in my hand, I replied curtly.

"I am not in pain."

Ricardo let out a hollow laugh. As he dipped the warm towel back into the ice water, he muttered ‘thought you would be burned but you say you are not in pain' and wrung out the towel.

"Why were you moaning in pain like that? You couldn’t even drink water."

"That's because I was having a nightmare."

"A nightmare?"

Ricardo pondered a bit. Resting his chin on his hand and deep in thought, he smiled and spoke to me.

"Did you dream again about being turned down by Michail?"

Eek!

I grabbed the wet towel that had been laid on my forehead. I intended to throw it at Ricardo as I usually would, but I remembered the previous scene and stopped.

Ricardo looked at me with worry-filled eyes.

My behavior was out of the ordinary and appeared to make him concerned about my well-being. Really, a butler with no talent for acting.

We spent time in silence.

Ricardo kept changing the wet towel, and I surrendered to his care.

The time was now 4 a.m.

It was still night, the deepest time before dawn. I spoke to Ricardo, who was checking my temperature by placing his hand on my forehead.

"Go."

"What?"

"Just go. You are sleepy."

"I am not sleepy."

He was sleepy. Dark circles were drawn down to his eyes, and he was fighting off sleep, slapping his cheeks to stay awake – I saw that.

And it was awkward.

There was a moment's silence in the room.

Ricardo observed my face, and I felt uncomfortable sharing the same space with him.

I couldn’t speak.

It was hard to even start talking.

And it bothered me to abruptly say I was sorry.

Ricardo wrung out the towel again and placed it on my forehead. Ricardo quietly swapped out the forehead towel and then cast a word like a stone skipping across water.

"Miss."

"Yes?"

"That…"

Ricardo trailed off.

He let out a long sigh, bowed his head, and then said.

"I am sorry."

"What?"

Ricardo made a blunt apology. For a moment, I was taken aback. I didn't understand why he was apologizing, and it was I who should have been the one to apologize.

Ricardo, with my puzzled face in view, quietly talked about his own wrongdoing.

"It's about the hand."

"…"

"It was not my intention to hide it…"

Ricardo confessed the secret about his hand. I had not expected Ricardo to start the conversation.

I slipped my hand beneath the blanket and clenched my pajamas into a fist.

I was anxious. I fretted about what Ricardo would say next, and at the same time, I felt a sense of hopelessness as if I were locked in a prison.

If Ricardo were to speak of that day's event, I didn't know what I would do.

I couldn't handle it.

Ricardo spoke.

He spoke to me somewhat calmly.

"I hid it because I was worried you would be concerned. As you can see, the scar on my hand is quite unsightly… I've already healed, so there's no need for you to worry, but it does look quite grotesque, doesn’t it? Haha… I thought I would tell you after it faded a bit."

Ricardo was making excuses. I could easily spot the lies within the truth he was telling.

He was genuinely considerate of my feelings. But the claim that he was fully healed was false.

Now that I understood all his secrets, Ricardo’s lies struck me like daggers.

I spoke in a sharp voice, a bit cold and filled with indignation.

"Do I not… get to worry?"

"What?"

Confusion returned in Ricardo's reaction. I said to him again.

"Am I not supposed to worry? I’m quite good at worrying, you know."

Ricardo shook his head.

"The worrying is my responsibility."

He was resolute in his response.

I shook my head.

"Where does it say that?"

I was getting emotional.

"Where does it say that? If you're hurt, you're supposed to say you're hurt. If you're injured, you should say so. Can’t you do that too?"

My heart was aching. Knowing I couldn't handle it, I spoke out of spite.

"We agreed to talk."

Ricardo bowed his head.

"I am sorry."

So many thoughts were racing.

Since that day, facing death, I wondered how much Ricardo must have resented me. What emotions he must have felt towards me as I cried and called out for Michail.

It must have been disgust.

As I delved deeper into those thoughts, my heart grew heavier.

I wanted to cover my own mouth that was blurting out words I couldn’t handle, but this twitching heart would not settle down.

My head involuntarily bowed. I couldn't look directly at Ricardo's face.

"Miss."

Ricardo's voice reached me…

This time, the good-hearted butler's voice, folding the towel neatly and placing it on my hot forehead, echoed softly on the wind of the dark dawn.

The butler spoke.

"Are you very angry?"

I looked at Ricardo without saying a word. His expression didn't seem promising. He looked down at me with a face full of guilt, and I felt like I was about to cry.

I clenched the pajamas I hid under the blanket with my hand.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?'

That was the first thought that crossed my mind. Why are you looking at me with that face? I wanted to ask, and it hurt me even more.

Ricardo took hold of my hand hidden under the bed covers. His hand, full of callouses, gently enveloped my uninjured soft hand.

"I am the one who is wrong."

Ricardo's monologue continued.

"I know. You must feel upset and betrayed. I think even I would feel that way."

Touching my hand, as if confessing a fault to a priest, Ricardo slowly shared his story.

"But, I didn't want to show it. It's not a pretty wound… what if it appeared in your dreams."

My fist clenched.

It was a wound I caused.

I wanted to tell Ricardo it was a wound caused by me, but my frightened heart wouldn’t easily move. I feared the thought, what if I tell the truth, and Ricardo ends up disliking me?

I was caught. Now the lady hates me. I should have let myself die from the pain back then, I thought selfishly, and such worries made my lips heavy.

Even now, I've thought it over dozens, hundreds of times. How can I apologize to Ricardo? Or more than an apology, how can I manage to say I'm sorry?

No matter how much I thought and pondered, no answer came to me.

Ricardo then said to me.

"Miss. It's about this wound."

Strength flowed into my hand.

I feared the words from Ricardo’s mouth might return as a dagger.

I took a deep breath, and the words he was about to utter felt terrifyingly selfish.

"It's a wound from the dungeon."

Ricardo smiled faintly as he spoke.

"Actually, last time I went to the dungeon…"

"What did you just say…"

Tears welled up.

Why does he do this… why does he make that face again as he speaks?

"Why are you doing this?"

He knows.

"Why. Why are you lying?"

He remembers everything. Not me, who stupidly cannot remember, but he… He remembers that time. So how can he speak like that?

"Why are you lying?"

Ricardo smiled as his face showed embarrassment.

"I apologize. I hid it as if it was a tattoo…"

A surge of emotion burst forth.

"That arm…!"

My voice trembled.

"That arm. That's… "

I couldn't speak. I was trembling too much. I was too scared. But because this overwhelming frustration was suffocating, I felt like I would collapse if I didn't say it.

"It's what I did…"

I sobbed.

Tears stupidly streamed down my cheeks, again and again.

Ricardo smiled awkwardly.

"Did you know?"

Ricardo firmly held my hand as he spoke.

"It's okay."