I Killed Her
Having obtained what she wanted, she felt no further attachment. As Canna rose to her feet, Orsini seized her wrist.
“Don’t go.”
Had the drug already begun to take effect? Her vision blurred, and the strength ebbed from her limbs.
Orsini exhaled a feverish breath and spoke again.
“Do not go, Canna.”
Her body tilted toward the sofa. The room swam before her eyes. Still, Orsini stubbornly clung to her wrist.
In that instant, their gazes met.
Those black eyes, brimming with contempt as though regarding something filthy, and—
“Get your hand off me.”
Canna wrenched his grip away with brutal force.
That was enough. Scraping together the final threads of his consciousness, the hand that had held her fell away like a limp stalk of straw.
At last, his eyes slid shut.
“Disgusting creature.”
Canna turned away without a shred of regret. She slung her bundle over her shoulder and walked out of the room.
Sylvien Valentino narrowed his eyes.
“What exactly are you saying?”
He had dismissed the previous butler and hired a new one. Yet this butler appeared to be just as much of a fool. To spout such absurd nonsense.
“Rumors concerning the nobility are everywhere. Do you intend to report every single one that reaches your ears?”
“Y-Your Grace, it’s only that…”
“Get out.”
The butler opened his mouth to speak again, but he could not defy the command. He retreated with a bow. The door clicked shut.
Even so, Sylvien’s mood refused to improve. It was only natural.
He had been forced to listen to a completely ridiculous rumor presented as an important report.
It can’t be true.
Canna, dead? And by her own hand, no less.
Sylvien released an irritated sigh and turned the page of his document.
After the quarrel with Canna that day, he had erased her from his mind entirely. It had been a simple matter. There was no longer any reason for them to be involved with each other.
Yet every now and then, when her memory surfaced like this, it clung to him like a malignant growth.
It was then that another knock sounded. Rap, rap.
“Your Grace, forgive me, but…”
The butler again. Sylvien smiled thinly while continuing to read. Would he have to dismiss this one as well and hire yet another?
“A messenger from the Addis family has arrived bearing a death notice.”
What?
Sylvien’s gaze slid upward. He looked toward the door.
“What did you say they brought?”
“A death notice…”
The butler forced the rest of the words out.
“It is the death notice for Lady Canna Addis, daughter of the Duke.”
The document slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor with a soft thud.
Canna’s funeral took place in the Addis family chapel. Rainbow light from the towering stained-glass windows spilled across the black coffin like scattered jewels.
Sylvien came to a halt before it.
Inside the black coffin, Canna lay as though sleeping, buried beneath a sea of pure white flowers.
A snow-white dress trimmed with delicate lace. Her hands folded serenely over her chest, cradling a bouquet of blue roses that looked almost colorless against her skin.
Everything about her was pale.
The woman whose lips had burned with an almost ominous crimson now lay drained of all color. The intense vitality that had once defined her was gone. Her body looked as fragile as a dried leaf, ready to crumble at the slightest touch.
Sylvien stared at her face in a daze.
She’s dead.
She was truly gone. That single realization echoed through his mind.
He felt like a fool. No thoughts came. He had no idea how long he had been standing there, motionless.
“Pardon me, Your Grace…”
Sylvien turned his head.
A girl with violet curls was looking up at him, her face haggard and drained.
“Are you… Duke Valentino?”
“I am.”
Tears flooded the girl’s green eyes.
“I hate you.”
“…”
“If only you had been a little kinder to my sister while she was alive… I really, really hate you.”
Tears poured down the girl’s cheeks.
“My sister loved you so much.”
Her small hands trembled as they clutched a teddy bear with desperate strength.
“I hate everyone who was cruel to her. I hope they all get what they deserve!”
“Lucy!”
“They all deserve punishment. I hate them. I hate them all!”
As the girl broke into violent sobs, a woman with red hair came running. It was Isabel Addis.
“Forgive us, Your Grace. Lucy has suffered a terrible shock…”
“It’s quite all right.”
Isabel’s eyes widened at his reply.
His voice was impossibly smooth, as though it belonged to an entirely different world—one untouched by the tragedy unfolding around them.
Isabel stared at Sylvien Valentino in a stupor. Even now, he remained flawlessly beautiful, like a statue without a single crack.
“…Are you not sad, Your Grace?”
Her lips quivered.
How can you stand there so calmly? A person had died. How could his expression remain unchanged? How was it possible?
Yet Isabel clenched her jaw. She knew she had no right to speak such words. She was no different.
No—perhaps she was even worse.
Isabel gazed at Canna, who would sleep forever inside the coffin.
She should have at least said she was sorry.
When Kallen had ordered her to apologize, she should have forced the words out, even if only to appease him.
Why had she remained silent until the very end?
Tears welled in Isabel’s eyes. Truly, Canna had been a foolish older sister her entire life.
Why had she reached out to the younger sister who had tormented her since childhood, when everyone else turned away?
When Isabel had been confined to the mansion for months, even ignored by their mother, the only person who had understood her pain was Canna.
The one who had scolded Kallen on her behalf, the one who had lifted her punishment—it had all been her sister.
What an idiot.
You really were a fool. Even after everything I did to you, you still chose to be kind. You were too good, too stupidly compassionate…
But it was already too late.
Apologies and words of gratitude could only exist in dreams now.
As Isabel began to cry in earnest, Sylvien stepped back.
His eyes fell on an elderly man seated at the far end of the row of chairs.
No. Not an elderly man.
It was Kallen Addis.
In the span of mere days, the fiery red hair that had once blazed like flame had turned completely white.
When Sylvien approached, Kallen slowly lifted his head. His eyes were utterly vacant, as though his soul had been scooped out. The sight hit Sylvien like a crashing wave, dragging him back to cruel reality.
The words he had been holding back finally left his lips.
“Sir Kallen, this is wrong. Canna is not the kind of woman who would take her own life.”
She had burned with a fierce desire to live.
For her to end her own life made no sense.
“It cannot be. This must have been murder. Have you truly investigated the matter properly?”
“…Murder?”
The white-haired young man repeated the word softly. Then he let out a short, broken laugh.
“Yes. That’s correct. I murdered my sister.”
“Sir Kallen, what are you saying?”
“She did not commit suicide. I killed her.”
Kallen’s head dropped. His eerily white hair spilled across his forehead. His green eyes were hollow, devoid of light.
Canna had died.
Right before his eyes, she had driven the dagger deep into her own chest, as if to prove something to him.
Kallen could still see the blood spurting like a fountain. He could still hear her scream, still smell the metallic tang in the air. The memory was so vivid that he felt as though he were still standing on that beach.
The black waves beneath the night wind. Canna collapsing in front of him, bleeding.
She had been alive. She had been moving. She had been speaking.
And then, in a single moment, she was gone.
“I killed her.”
He had loved her so desperately.
Her black hair, her eyes, her cheeks, her lips, the slope of her nose, even the faintest breath that left her—he had coveted every last piece of her. He had wanted to possess all of it.
Was that love?
Had that filthy outpouring of obsession, that repulsive thing, truly been love?
Kallen stared at the dark coffin, hot tears sliding down his face.
What was love, really?
He had never known it, so he could not say.
Having never worshiped or longed for anyone this way before, he had mistaken this feeling for love.
But was it?
Wasn’t love supposed to bring happiness?
His love had only brought destruction—an irreversible catastrophe for both of them.
Could something so hideous truly be called love?
He did not know.
The only thing he knew with absolute certainty was that everything was his fault.
If he could have just one more chance, he would never do it again. He would never do anything she didn’t want. He would live without greed, wishing only for her happiness.
If only she would live…
But she was dead.
She had died. He had killed her.
“I killed her. My sister was murdered.”