By the next morning, Leila had undeniably fallen ill. Her body was wracked with fever, leaving her flushed, drenched in sweat, and barely able to lift her head from the pillow. The once vibrant spark in her eyes dulled into a distant, fever-glazed stare. Bitter medicine was forced past her lips at intervals, each dose more unpleasant than the last. The room was dim and hushed, with only the soft clinking of glass and the rustle of cloth as Lady Helen moved around her like a silent sentinel.
Lady Helen's care was unwavering, she adjusted damp cloths on Leila's forehead, whispered words of comfort, and fluffed pillows with quiet efficiency. Despite the comforting presence, Leila remained adrift in her thoughts.
Her gaze stayed fixed on the ceiling, but her mind spiraled back to the chaos of the previous night. The memories surged forward like a haunting tide, the glint of the blade in her trembling hand, the stunned expression in the man's eyes as the knife sank into him, the warm spatter of blood hitting the floor. The sensation of adrenaline that had surged through her now twisted into nausea.
A tumult of emotions stirred within her, a cocktail of fear and exhilaration that left her both unsettled and strangely exhilarated. It was something dark yet intoxicating.
"You wanted to kill those men, didn't you? You wanted to slit their throats and revel in the sight of their blood spilling out while they wore those horrified expressions. So why did you run away like a scaredy cat?" The voice echoed in her mind, sharp and accusatory, a relentless reminder of her inner turmoil.
From a young age, Leila was haunted by this insidious voice that whispered dark suggestions into her consciousness. It urged her toward acts of violence and chaos, tempting her with the allure of power that came from taking control in the most visceral way possible.
Desperate for understanding, she once confided in her mother, hoping to find solace or at least a listening ear. But her mother dismissed her fears, brushing them off as mere childhood fantasies. "You're just being delusional, Leila," she said with a wave of her hand.
Instead of confronting it, she chose to live with the weight of her unspoken thoughts, crafting a facade of normalcy that masked the chaos within. Yet, as she grew older, the echoes of that voice became louder, and the line between her desires and her reality began to blur.
It was something she had to deal with for the rest of her life.
Whenever Leila dared to bring up Lord Valmont, a strange tension would settle over the room. Conversations would falter, eyes would dart away, and not a single soul would meet her gaze. It was as if his very name was forbidden, a ghost that haunted the air. When she finally pressed Lady Helen about him, the woman's expression turned grave, her voice hushed. "He's a dangerous man, Leila. Stay away from him, no matter what."
The warning only served to stoke the fire of Leila's curiosity. Dangerous or not, she hadn't forgotten what he'd done, knocking her out and abandoning her in that godforsaken graveyard. She still woke up in cold sweat remembering it. And one day, when the time was right, she'd make him regret it.
Her thoughts were interrupted when the door creaked open and Juliana strolled in with her usual arrogant sway. Leila's eyes narrowed immediately. That woman. If not for her selfish scheming, Leila might've been sold into slavery… or worse. The indifference she once felt toward Juliana had long since curdled into quiet fury. Just the sight of her smug expression made Leila's blood simmer.
"You think you have won, don't you?" Juliana's voice sliced through the stillness of the room as she sauntered to stand beside Leila's bed, her posture radiating arrogance. She crossed her arms defiantly, a smirk playing on her lips that only deepened Leila's irritation. "I will never let you take my parents away from me!"
Leila, already battling a throbbing headache, massaged her forehead in frustration. "What are you talking about?" she asked, her voice laced with confusion and annoyance. She had no idea what Juliana was insinuating.
Juliana narrowed her eyes, a flicker of indignation flashing across her face. "Do you think I don't know your little scheme? Acting pitiful and innocent to win my parents' affection?"
Her tone dripped with disdain, as if Leila were the most transparent of deceivers. "I will never let you succeed!"
"Do you think I'm like you? Acting all proper and kind in front of outsiders while you're really just a shrew?" Leila's voice was steady, refusing to let Juliana's provocations rattle her any further. She had no intention of giving Juliana face anymore.
The flush of anger creeping across Juliana's cheeks was unmistakable. "How dare you call me a shrew?!" she shouted.
Leila shrugged, her expression indifferent. "Because that's what you are. A mindless, stupid shrew."
"That's why everyone says you are the cause of your mother's death. Your mother was just a filthy, wretched woman, just like you!" she spat, almost breathless.
"Are you done?" she asked, her tone casual.
Juliana was taken aback by the calmness in Leila's voice. She had expected a fiery outburst, a display of grief or anger for insulting her late mother.
With a huff of frustration, Juliana turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving behind a lingering tension in the air. Leila ran a hand in her hair, sighing. She did not know what made Juliana think she was trying to take her parents away.
The door creaked open again, and Lady Helen stepped inside with her usual calm grace. "How are you feeling now, dear?"
Leila slowly pushed herself up against the pillows. "Better. The fever's gone down," she said softly, though a lingering ache still clung to her limbs.
"I'm relieved to hear that." Lady Helen smiled gently, walking over to sit at the edge of the bed. Her eyes held a touch of concern. "I asked Juliana to come and offer her apology. It was her responsibility to watch over you during the outing… and she failed. I apologize on her behalf once more."
Leila's lips twitched, not quite forming a smile. An apology? Was that what that was? She recalled Juliana's dramatic entrance, the defensiveness in her voice, the complete lack of remorse. It had been anything but sincere.
And Lady Helen didn't know the half of it. Juliana hadn't just failed to watch over her; she had intentionally abandoned her. Leila had been left stranded at the market with no way to return, lost and disoriented in unfamiliar streets. No carriages had stopped, and no passerby had helped until fate, or misfortune, had placed Lord Valmont's carriage in her path. She shuddered slightly at the memory, but forced a composed expression as Lady Helen gently patted her hand.
But even so, Leila bit back the truth. She knew Lady Helen's temper if she ever found out what Juliana had truly done, there'd be a storm in the manor. And honestly, Leila wasn't in the mood for more chaos.
"Yes, she apologized," Leila lied smoothly, squeezing Lady Helen's hand with a faint smile. "It wasn't her fault, or yours. What matters is that I made it back safely."
She wasn't hiding the truth out of kindness. It wasn't about forgiveness. It was simply less exhausting to keep quiet for now. Confrontation could wait. Leila had her own way of settling scores, and when the time was right, Juliana would feel it.