Lady To Queen Chapter 58

Chapter 58 – I Should Have Died Then

Translator's note: Mentions of rape in this chapter. Please skip if you do not wish to read.

“My baby.”

Rosemond's flesh crawled when Baron Darrow called her that. My baby? Ha, that sick bastard. She wanted to ask God where He put Baron Darrow's conscience when He created that man.

Rosemond curled her lip at the Baron. “Are you out of your mind?”

“I'm not, my daughter.”

It was as if the Baron was created to constantly irritate Rosemond's nerves. She wished she could kill everyone in this place and leave, but the downside was that she wouldn't be able to control the aftermath.

The Baron gave a smile, and spoke as if he read her thoughts. “My baby, you are my precious daughter.”

“How can you think of breaking familial ties? That kind of heavenly judgment—”

“Heavenly judgment!” Rosemond burst out. “That's right. Heavenly judgment. Heavenly judgment!” Her eyes were like daggers of ice. “By the why, how is that bastard Bruchenka doing nowadays?”

Bruchenka was the eldest child of Baron and Baroness Darrow, and he was set to inherit his father's title.

“Don't you know?” Rosemond sneered. “That bastard raped his half-sister.”

“Rosemond!”

“Don't call me by my name!” she shouted angrily. The Baron and his wife flinched. Rosemond's whole body was engulfed with a fiery rage. “I'd like nothing more than to rip you all to pieces. I want to put an end to you in various ways that cannot be spoken.”

“It's not that I can't do it,” she continued threateningly. “But I don't want to be involved with you all anymore. While you're busy saying nice words, don't forget to sign the document.”

“Because I don't know what I'll do to you if you don't.”

“Do it!” Rosemond shrieked.

“Alright, alright,” Baron Darrow said calmly. He looked displeased. His daughter was the Emperor's favorite concubine after all—how many benefits could he have reaped? Rosemond shuddered inwardly. She would rather die by the Emperor' hatred rather than be used by him.

Baron Darrow smiled and put on a friendly front. “But stay for just one night.”

“Why?” Rosemond asked. She had no desire to be in this dirty, ugly castle where she was violated. She would rather sleep on the streets.

Baron Darrow seemed to know what she was thinking. “Because it's late and you can't travel at this time. Think about it.”

“Just stay one night and then you can leave,” he coaxed. “Especially since it will be our last night as father and daughter.”

Rosemond gave a scoff. “Ha.” Since when did he think of her as a daughter? She stared at the Baron and Baroness with blatant contempt, but turned her heel and loudly stamped up the stairs.

When Rosemond had left the castle a long time ago, she vowed to never step foot in her room again. Now she was back in this depressing place, and she closed the door. She remembered how her past self would sink to the floor and cry silent tears.

But Rosemond was no longer that young and weak girl. All that was left was a wicked woman full of ambition.

Rosemond stared at the dingy room with cold eyes. This place harbored the unhappy memories of her childhood.

While Baron Darrow was her father, Baroness Darrow was not her biological mother. Rosemond's birth mother was a prostitute, and Rosemond was conceived after Baron Darrow and the prostitute had a night of playful mischief.

'It would have been better if she was just dumped and forgotten.'

Rosemond erased her bitter smile. Her mother, whom she couldn't even blame, was later murdered by Baroness Darrow out of blind jealousy. Rosemond was only ten years old at the time, and she was taken in by the Darrow household immediately afterwards, as the daughter of the prostitute and concubine.

'I should have died then.'

If that had happened, perhaps she wouldn't have experienced the anger she did now. She would not have gone through the pain and sorrows that inevitably changed her outlook on the world.

Something ached in her, far deeper than regret, but there was no way to turn back time.

“At one point, Rosemond's older half-brother began to see her as a woman.” Lucio continued on calmly. “And then, it happened. He forced himself on her. Baroness Darrow knew what occurred, but she tolerated it. She merely thought it embarrassing.”

Lucio's voice had turned bitter, and Patrizia was speechless. She wondered if there were more people as unfortunate as Lucio in the world, and Rosemond happened to be right there.

Patrizia's chest felt heavy with guilt. She hated Rosemond, but at the same time, she pitied her.

“She said that she wanted to die then,” said Lucio.

Patrizia closed her eyes, stunned at the mere thought of it. After a moment of thought, she brought up a question. “…How did you two meet?”

“It was by coincidence.”

Ah, a coincidence. Patrizia thought it was planned, but it was possible it was by chance. The beautiful, pink-haired woman had run into Lucio on her long journey, and they clung together when they learned of each other's miserable childhoods and the wounds inflicted on them. Rosemond was clever, and she gambled to change her life. She packaged up her wounds and sold them to Lucio, and in return, she exchanged it with sympathy for the Emperor.

But it didn't stop there. She dug into Lucio's wounds, pretending to console him and making him dependent on her, as if there was no one else who could understand his secret, shocking past. His trauma left him vulnerable to her suggestions, and in the end, Rosemond's scheme was successful. Lucio had no choice but to fall in love with her. While many women undressed themselves in front of Lucio and tried to seduce him, none were like Rosemond. She had a wound similar to his own, and Lucio was convinced that he could never abandon her. Rosemond's idea was largely correct.

After hearing Lucio's story, Patrizia felt dizzy from shock. Was this the nature of their inexplicable bond? He found a noble like himself that had a terrible scar from the past. Lucio thought that anyone who grew up normally would never understand him.

But his assumption was not entirely wrong. Patrizia did not fully understand Lucio. She had never been through a scenario like his. But wasn't it the same with Rosemond? A person could not fully understand the depths and unspoken details of a specific event unless they experienced it themselves.

But Rosemond was unique. It was as if she understood him wholeheartedly. Lucio was not bad for needing her; on the contrary, he needed someone who fully understood him, would him his past was not his fault, and help relieve his burden.

“I felt sympathy for her. And she felt sympathy for me,” Lucio said.

“I identify with her. That's why I cannot abandon her.”

Patrizia understood. She found her increased sympathy for Lucio annoying, but she couldn't stop herself. If she were either Rosemond or Lucio, wouldn't she have done the same thing? She wasn't confident in her answer.

“Do you love her?” Patrizia asked.

In the past, Lucio would have said “yes” without hesitation. Strangely, the simple word could not leave his lips now.

Love. He definitely loved her. But now? Did he still love her?

Even before he married Patrizia, he had his moments of doubt. Did Rosemond really love him? Was it just sympathy between the two of them? Could sympathy be considered love? He was once convinced that it could be, but his beliefs began to crack in face of recent events. Even now, his mind only blurred in confusion.

There was no doubt he felt compassion for her. But did he love her? Did she love him? Were the feelings between them genuine?

“I don't know,” Lucio replied vaguely.

It was a love that started with sympathy, but that didn't mean it would last forever.

It was normal for Lucio to be confused, but the more Patrizia thought about, the less likely she believed Rosemond loved the Emperor. Patrizia hoped that Lucio would be careful. If one couldn't distinguish between sympathy and love, one was doomed to be unhappy.

The next day, Rosemond opened her eyes in an uncomfortable state. She glared sulkily at her room. Oh, this was a disgusting place. She pushed herself up, hoping to leave here as soon as possible.

“Are you awake, Rosemond?” Glara asked. She noticed her master's dark mood, but she made no mention of it. Rosemond was inwardly relieved, but she showed no emotion on her face.

“I'll leave this place as soon as Baron Darrow signs the documents. Be prepared to leave.”

“But Rosemond, don't you want to take a bath?”

“I'll do it somewhere else. Why should I stay here when I'm not in need of money?”

At the sharpness of Rosemond's voice, Glara stayed silent, then bowed quietly and left the room. Rosemond exited the room soon after, and came across the Baroness. Rosemond looked at the woman with the same expression of contempt as yesterday.

Baroness Darrow spoke first. “Did you sleep well, my daughter?”

Rosemond felt nauseated. How long did she have to put up with this bullshit?

“Did he sign the document renouncing his parental authority?”

“Oh dear, my baby. You're in such a hurry,” Baroness Darrow said with a smile. “I talked to your father all night about how we can help you in the future—”

“Just quit with all that nonsense,” Rosemond interrupted coldly. “Just give me the documents.”

“You're in too much of a rush,” Baroness Darrow said with a note of displeasure. “Very well. If you want it, he'll sign it.”

“Right now—”

A different voice cut in between the two of them.

“But there are conditions,” Baron Darrow said with a smile.

Chapter end