Miss, It’s Just a Cold

Chapter 7: Conversation (1)

“Emily.”

“Ah, yes.”

“We’ve arrived.”

Fabian shook the bell hanging by the door.

The large estate’s gate opened, and a servant stepped out to let us in.

I followed Fabian, who walked confidently into the estate as if it were his own.

Inside the grounds was a massive garden.

At its center was a table with three chairs arranged around it.

Seated there was the woman I had met at the ball last time.

Had I known she was Fabian’s fiancée, I never would have helped her.

The woman stood from her seat and approached us.

If I hadn’t followed Fabian, I’d still be locked in my room, dwelling on the fact that I had a terminal illness, spiraling through all sorts of thoughts.

Not that I had to come along—I could’ve let Mother drag me off to get beaten. That would’ve resolved everything.

But I was afraid of the beatings.

Just as I feared the beatings, I also feared dying.

I already felt this awful—how much worse was it going to get?

I hated being in pain.

Who wouldn’t?

My breath came short.

“Ah-khmp…”

I hurriedly covered my mouth to stifle a cough, swallowing it back down.

The metallic taste of blood spread across my tongue.

It wasn’t enough to make me gag, though.

As I swallowed my own blood, I suddenly wondered—did this count as cannibalism? Or was it just an unavoidable result of internal wounds?

It was a pointless, meaningless thought.

Fabian and the woman were chatting.

Usually, couples in arranged marriages barely got along—both parties, after all, were essentially sold into it.

But these two seemed fine.

After their conversation, they took their seats.

I followed and sat in the remaining chair.

“Hello, I’m Karel!”

Her lively voice, her energetic brown hair, the freckles that seemed charming on her beautiful face, and her fair—yet healthily glowing—skin.

She didn’t even bother mentioning her family name.

She wasn’t a product of her family’s reputation, after all.

She showed no trace of submissiveness.

From the way the people at the estate treated her, I got the feeling that if she didn’t want to marry, they’d simply find someone else for her.

The way the servants behaved spoke volumes about the level of respect she commanded in her household.

The woman before me was simply Karel.

I could see why Fabian liked her.

From the first impression, she came across as a cheerful, kind-hearted young lady.

“Emily Reichten.”

In contrast, I was nothing but a product—a commodity.

I squashed the deep-seated inferiority within me and answered quietly.

“I didn’t even get to hear your name last time! You vanished before I could find out—it startled me!”

“…Haha.”

“So, I asked Fabian if he could track you down, and he told me you were his sister.

I mean, people with such strikingly white hair and beautiful red eyes aren’t exactly common!”

Well, I’d love to rip them out if I could.

Wherever I went—even Fabian beside me would sneer, calling my eyes ominous and cursed.

Receiving praise didn’t move me in the slightest.

In stories or comics I’d read before, when someone who was always disregarded finally got recognition, they’d get teary-eyed and fall for the person complimenting them.

Maybe Karel wasn’t the protagonist of this story.

“Thank you for the compliment.”

“So, I heard you occasionally meet friends for tea. Could you also spare some time to meet with me?”

All I had done was catch her fallen wineglass in mid-air and ask if she was alright.

“…If you invite me, sure.”

The woman lit up at my agreement.

The conversation that followed was brief and simple.

I just played along with small talk, giving responses here and there.

This kind of let’s-get-to-know-each-other chatter was something I was used to.

If you wanted to secure a good marriage, at the very least, you needed a decent reputation and the ability to hold a conversation.

Mother always said I was lacking, but only in comparison to her other children.

On average, I was quite a charming lady.

I didn’t raise my voice carelessly, nor was I arrogant, nor did I have any bad rumors about me.

Even the girl Ernst fancied was said to be arrogant, with rumors that her lovers changed every night.

Of course, those were just rumors.

Judging by her youthful face and demeanor, she was probably a sweet and proper maiden.

But if you asked people to name the most suitable woman to marry while maintaining a separate lover, I’d be the first choice.

As I sipped my tea and entertained these thoughts, a troubling question came up.

“By the way, Emily, is there someone you like?”

Had it been just the two of us, I would’ve said no.

But Fabian was here.

And Fabian thought I liked Ernst.

“I’m not sure.”

I answered with a faint smile, as if it was a difficult question to answer.

“Of course, it’s rude to ask something like that so soon after meeting!

I’ll ask again when we’re closer!”

I nodded.

The pleasant tea time lasted about an hour, at least in how I perceived it.

How the two of them managed to chatter so endlessly about nothing was beyond me.

To be honest, I wanted to flip the table and pour the hot tea on both of them.

If I did, though, I’d probably end up not under the table but locked in a basement, wearing a collar.

After we left the estate, Fabian, looking mildly irritated, threw a comment my way.

“I told you not to act like you do at home.”

“Maybe start by explaining what acting like I do at home even means.”

I couldn’t bring myself to lower my head and apologize meekly—I was too annoyed for that.

Attending this ridiculous gathering, I had to maintain my posture and endure it all somehow.

My entire body felt like it was burning up.

It was as if I was slowly being cooked from the inside out.

This wasn’t the first time blood had risen in my throat.

Who was the reason I had to endure this charade, only to be treated like this?

This illness didn’t just eat away at my body—it gnawed at my patience as well.

Perhaps the urgency of possibly dying soon was driving me to this point.

“Making vague answers to leave the other person uncomfortable or making them feel awkward—stuff like that.”

“When did I ever do that?”

“When Karel asked if you liked anyone, you smirked and didn’t answer.”

“So, what, am I supposed to grin like a fool and tell a stranger who I like?”

“Why not? It’s not like there’s anyone else besides Ernst from next door.”

To him, appearances were everything.

I knew that already.

Even though my insides were rotting away—so much so that I was coughing up blood—why did it always have to be about appearances?

To outsiders, we must have looked like siblings having a pleasant, heartfelt conversation.

We walked together, speaking softly as though we were on good terms, down the tree-lined path leading to the estate.

I used to play here with my siblings when we were younger.

I was always the one being bullied, of course.

This path was rarely traveled.

That was probably why Fabian chose to speak here.

“You’re always like this.

When Mother or Ellie says something absurd, instead of responding properly, you just scoff and let it slide.

You always look like you’re mocking everyone in this family…”

“Fabian, shut up already.”

“What..?”

“I said, shut up.

I played along with your little game, flirting with your beloved courtesan. Isn’t that enough?

Why do I have to sit through this nonsense too…?”

He slapped me.

It wasn’t hard enough to turn my head or even make a sound when his palm met my cheek.

Guess he didn’t feel like hitting with all his strength.

After slapping me, Fabian glanced around nervously.

No one would be walking along this path, but even if someone were, no one would care—this was just a family matter.

I brushed my cheek with the back of my hand and continued speaking.

“Why should I have to listen to that nonsense?”

Fabian, caught off guard by his own actions, hesitated as I kept talking.

“You don’t know anything. You don’t even care.

If punishment had been as mild as a slap on the cheek like yours, do you know how much better my life would’ve been?”

They say people who are oppressed and abused sometimes develop exhibitionist tendencies, but I didn’t seem to be one of them.

Even in broad daylight, stripping down to my underwear didn’t give me any sense of thrill or sexual impulse.

When I suddenly started undressing, Fabian panicked, but after looking at my body, his expression hardened.

“So, even if it’s punishment, do you think being beaten like this is normal?”

I showed him the bruises covering my body.

Then I quietly picked up my discarded dress and put it back on.

Fabian stood frozen in place.

“I wasn’t beaten because I deserved it.”

He wouldn’t bring it up for a day or two, pretending it wasn’t his concern.

After all, his future was bright—there was no reason to bother with someone like me.

Last year, Fabian and I didn’t exchange a single word.

Now, out of nowhere, he was dragging me around, introducing me to his fiancée, and spouting nonsense.

He hadn’t cared about me before.

At least now, he might stop dragging me around.

Or maybe he’d run to Mother and tell her I stripped outside.

Even if he did, I wouldn’t get punished today.

Tomorrow was the day of the ball, after all.

Biting my lip, I returned home.

My entire body ached, so I didn’t even wash up. I went straight to my room and took the medicine the doctor had given me.

As the pain in my body subsided a little, thoughts of why did I do that? began to fill my mind.

I felt anxious.

I kept biting my nails until I heard someone from the other side of the door call me for dinner.