Acidity of Regret Ch 41
- Dec 31, 2025
- 8 min read
Once the physician had departed, Vanessa drew out the dagger she had concealed within the folds of her skirt.
As she pulled the handle, a silver blade—blunt yet lethal enough to cause grave harm—slid elegantly from its sheath. She slid the weapon back into place, stood up, and began to walk with a rhythmic, unsteady sway.
There was no strength in her stride as she headed toward the terrace. It was as if she were forcing herself to drag along legs that no longer had any life in them.
At last, she reached the terrace doors and pushed them open with effort. The heavy doors gave a sharp creak as they parted, revealing a sky that was painfully clear and blue.
She stood there, a solitary figure, gazing up at the horizon for a long time.
Before long, her lips parted in a strange tremble. The sobs she had strictly suppressed in front of the physician finally burst forth like a broken dam.
Seeing the sky so radiant and clear made her feel a sudden, surging sense of injustice and sorrow.
It had always been this way. She wondered why, under this same sky, her life had to be so much more agonizing and difficult than anyone else’s.
And the baby.
Why did the child have to leave without ever seeing a sky this beautiful...?
The reality of her loss finally pushed her remaining sanity over the edge of a cruel cliff.
That small, insignificant stain on the bed was the only evidence, the only remains, of her child. If she could not even protect a tiny life breathing inside her, she wondered what point there was in continuing to endure her own existence.
Her mind and body were swallowed by a profound sense of hopelessness. Seeing that she no longer had the will to even attempt anything, she realized that this was the true meaning of hell.
For a moment, she even had the absurd thought that she might already be dead, and this world was the afterlife. Surely, if this weren't hell, it could not be this painful. In any other world, one would not face an even greater obstacle the moment one overcame a previous hardship.
She wanted to give up.
Life no longer held any value for her.
The blue sky was filled with white, pillowy clouds; the wind was unusually calm and warm; and the ancient castle was surrounded by a magnificent view of dark green evergreens.
Everything harmonized to create a perfect, flawless landscape.
In the face of such beauty, she sank to the floor and wept, unable to stop for a very long time.
Declan paused as he moved his quill, pressing firmly against the space between his brow and his eyes. He was forcing himself to attend to his duties, but he could not find a shred of focus.
The events of the previous night kept flickering before him.
He took no pleasure in forcing Vanessa into things she detested. However, last night, he had been consumed by a rage that could not be swallowed or suppressed.
It was not just the fact that she had tried to flee; it was her words—that she no longer loved him. It felt as though his most precious possession had been snatched away. From the moment he heard those words, it was fair to say he had lost his mind.
His reason had been entirely discarded in favor of a singular focus: to thoroughly suppress and possess her.
He thought he had caught the faint scent of blood during the encounter. However, the sensation had been so fleeting and his state of mind so erratic that he couldn't be certain. The blurred memory only added to his confusion.
Part of him did not want to see that he had hurt her, while the other half remained gripped by an unyielding anger. Caught in a storm of indescribable emotions, he refused to acknowledge any of them.
He wondered if he should apologize. Yet, he ultimately told himself that it was Vanessa who had driven the situation to this point.
If only she had stayed by his side instead of trying to escape. If she hadn't made such a futile attempt, none of this would have happened in the first place.
Despite his convictions, a persistent discomfort pricked at him like a thorn.
Mocking his inner turmoil, the night had passed, and morning had arrived.
Immediately after escaping the bedroom as if fleeing a crime scene, he had locked himself in his study. Yet all his senses remained tethered to the bedchamber, focused on his wife who had lost consciousness the night before.
He felt as though he were clutching a handful of sand that was slipping through his fingers; he was irritable and anxious, feeling she might vanish the moment he looked away.
His anxiety was so severe that even routine work showed no progress. He had been staring at the same document for nearly an hour like a fool who had forgotten how to read.
This was not part of his plan.
Declan had intended to discard her without hesitation once everything was revealed. He would throw her away like a tool that had outlived its usefulness.
That was why he had never feared the moment she learned the truth. To him, she was merely a "device" to instill a sense of inferiority in Hayden.
But now that the moment had arrived, his heart felt different from what he had anticipated. He felt no desire to discard her at all.
Far from it—despite how much he had shaken her world and dragged her down, he had no intention of handing this beautiful woman over to anyone else.
If he could, he wanted to brand her as his own, ensuring she was bound entirely beneath him.
Even if his plans had changed, it didn't matter. He had already used Vanessa to wound Hayden. He had certainly given that man his first taste of defeat.
His goal was achieved. And yet...
[Declan] "..."
He felt as if he were constantly missing something. It was a wretched feeling, like circling an important truth without ever being able to grasp it.
He should have been the one in control, yet the opposite seemed to be happening. It was as if he were the one being manipulated by the circumstances, left completely at a loss.
Declan clicked his tongue, his face set in a hard mask.
He could not sit still any longer. He looked out the window and realized the sun had already set.
As soon as he stepped out of his study, he ran into the butler, who was bringing him tea.
[Declan] "And her meal?"
He didn't specify who "she" was, but the butler understood immediately.
[Butler] "She has not eaten yet, Your Grace."
[Declan] "...The physician."
[Butler] "The physician visited this morning. There was a scratch on her arm from the bed frame, but it was not serious and was treated immediately. There were no other significant issues."
It seemed to be an injury sustained during the chaos of the previous night. That must have been the source of the faint scent of blood that had haunted his memory and stoked his anxiety.
Upon hearing the news, Declan finally allowed himself a shallow breath of relief. He was glad to hear there was no major problem.
However, he felt he could only be truly at ease once he saw her face, so he headed straight for the bedchamber.
Standing before the door, he felt a tightening in his throat and loosened his cravat.
Lately, whenever he had to face Vanessa, his throat seemed to constrict. The sensation was particularly intense today.
It was likely because of what happened last night. He steadied his racing heart and entered the room.
The interior was pitch black, with not a single lamp lit.
[Declan] "Vanessa."
He searched for his wife, ignoring everything else in the room.
The bedroom felt unusually frigid today. A strange, biting chill—the kind that made one's fingertips curl—permeated the air. No... it wasn't strange. It was familiar.
A flicker of a memory from his past, long buried, flashed through his mind. It reminded him of what had happened on the floor below... to his mother.
He hesitated for a moment, brushing back his hair, and then walked further in.
The terrace doors were wide open. The white curtains swayed in the wind like waves.
Vanessa was standing right there.
The sight of his wife standing alone on the silent terrace weighed heavily on his chest.
Even with her pale, wan complexion, her beauty made the scene look like a masterpiece painting.
However, the darkness clouding her face was far too real for a painting.
[Declan] "...Vanessa?"
The moment she turned at his call, he froze.
A blade glinted in the dim twilight. She was holding a dagger, one powerful enough to wound anyone.
He wouldn't have been so paralyzed if she were simply holding it. But the sharp tip of the blade moved without hesitation, pointing directly at her own throat.
[Vanessa] "Do not come any closer."
Her voice remained dry. It was so parched that it was impossible to tell what emotion lay beneath.
Declan felt a sudden jolt of terror. The frustration and confusion that had plagued him all day intensified until he felt he was suffocating.
Though the blade was pointed at her, it was his breath that caught.
[Declan] "Put that dagger down at—"
[Vanessa] "Before you arrived, I was thinking about everything that has happened between us."
Her faded green eyes, which had once been full of affection, then rage, and now were unreadable, did not waver.
She looked as indifferent as if she were simply carrying out a predetermined task. This only made Declan more anxious.
[Vanessa] "Every day I look back on is filled with regret."
The silence in the bedroom was nauseating. Because the surroundings were so quiet, her voice sounded all the more clear. She was whispering without any effort, yet every word felt like a sharp blade piercing his ears.
[Vanessa] "Instead of trying to run back then..."
When emotion finally appeared on her face, it matched the dryness of her voice.
[Vanessa] "I should have just died."
What lay behind her words was pure, pure hatred. It was a chilling confession that made his blood run cold. That poison-tipped arrow was aimed directly at him.
Facing his wife's gaze, which was saturated with an unbearable anger, his heart hammered against his ribs.
[Declan] "...Vanessa."
[Vanessa] "If I had known I would be broken like this, I should have taken my own life long ago..."
[Declan] "Vanessa!"
His voice, cracked and harsh, shook the unsettling room. He shouted with an intensity he rarely showed, unable to ignore the words falling from her lips. After all, she held the very weapon needed to carry out her threat.
He was frantic and horrified. A cold sensation pressed down on his chest. He was terrified that Vanessa might use that weapon to do something... irreversible.
[Vanessa] "I find the sight of myself by your side absolutely repulsive."
As she spoke, holding herself hostage, Declan felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest. It was as if the blade pointed at her throat had already plunged into his own heart, carving through him without mercy.
It was a familiar pain. Ever since Vanessa had told him she no longer loved him, he had felt this inexplicable chest pain from time to time.
Now, that dull ache spread from his heart until it vibrated through his entire body.
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