Failed To Abandon the Villain - Chapter 5

Maybe I should just run away on my own.

She squinted as she toyed with the idea.

The truth was, it wasn’t any easier for her to leave this house than it was for Reinhardt.

She looked down at the bracelet on her wrist, a gift from Count Delight on her tenth birthday. It was a tracking device that allowed the count to forcibly summon her back no matter where she was.

“There’s no difference between me and him,” she muttered.

In the end, they were both prisoners.

She stretched her arms out wide and sprawled on the bed with a resigned sigh. She was far from adjusting to the absurd logic of this world.

A knock at the door startled her, and she quickly sat up.

“Come in.”

“I was told you called for me, miss.”

“Yes, I need to wash up.”

“I’ll make the preparations.”

Valetta nodded slowly. By now, she was used to giving orders and being attended to, though it still felt hollow.

As Valetta descended the crimson carpeted stairs, her previously tense posture betrayed her weariness. Dressed in her finest after being painstakingly prepared by her maids, she felt both restrained and irritated.

Waiting near the bottom of the stairs stood Reinhardt, wearing a slightly better tunic than his usual worn attire. Even with just a plain garment, his beauty radiated so intensely that Valetta found herself turning her gaze away, unable to look at him directly.

“Hey, move aside! What are you doing blocking the way, you lowly slave?”

“Ha, acting all high and mighty because the young lady takes pity on you…”

“…Your place is over there!”

“Yes.”

Despite the scolding from the maid and the steward, Reinhardt merely responded with a faint smile, nodding obediently.

But Valetta could see it. Behind his serene expression, something darker writhed—silent, simmering anger piling up bit by bit.

Ah, well. Everyone takes care of their own life, I suppose, she thought to herself.

It was futile. She had tried to stop the harassment, but it always happened behind her back. No one seemed to notice—or care—that her support for Reinhardt wasn’t out of affection but simply an act of survival.

Surely, someone should have noticed how desperate he was.

Valetta felt a wave of resignation wash over her. There’s no saving people who willingly throw themselves into the gutter, even when you point them to safety.

Reinhardt, as always, bowed his head and moved aside without protest.

Valetta, however, knew the truth. She knew he was quietly keeping track of every slight and every insult. One day, he would recount each and every offense as he methodically exacted his revenge, perhaps even breaking their fingers one by one.

Better to stay silent, she thought.

If I’m going to die, I might as well die cleanly.

Her priorities had shifted. Avoiding death remained her main goal, but if she couldn’t escape it, she prayed for a swift and merciful end—no torture, no drawn-out suffering, just one clean strike.

“The slave will sit on the coachman’s bench,” the steward announced curtly.

Valetta froze. For a moment, her mind went blank, and she felt a wave of dizziness. Quickly, she waved her hands in protest.

“No, don’t do that. There’s plenty of space inside the carriage. Let him ride with me and assist as my attendant.”

“But… he’s a slave. That would be—”

“Do I not have a single servant who can follow an order the first time I give it? I am your master, and I command it. Do as I say!”

Though his expression twisted with displeasure, the steward couldn’t openly argue. His lips tightened as he reluctantly replied.

“…Understood, my lady.”

His frustration plain on his face, the steward grabbed Reinhardt roughly by the shoulder, shoving him toward the carriage.

As the steward whispered something into Reinhardt’s ear and shoved him forcefully toward the carriage, it wasn’t Reinhardt who flinched—it was Valetta.

That lunatic…

As Reinhardt climbed into the carriage, Valetta caught a glimpse of his eyes glinting ominously. She sighed deeply, following him inside. Was it just her imagination, or did everything around her truly feel hopeless?

Reinhardt climbed in after her and took a seat on the floor rather than the empty seat across from her. Valetta’s exasperated voice broke the silence.

“What are you doing?”

Reinhardt let out a short sigh from his position on the floor, leaning his head slightly to the side before flashing a wide grin.

“The great and noble steward advised me to ‘know my place.’”

He’s upset, she realized immediately.

Whenever Reinhardt dropped his usual tone or openly showed his emotions, it was a sure sign that he was in a foul mood. The steward must have said something even more insulting than what Valetta had overheard.

“Sit on the seat. Who’s going to see? You can get back down before we arrive.”

Reinhardt, still seated on the floor, gazed up at her with an unreadable expression.

“…If you permit me to sit next to you, Master.”

“What for?”

“Lend me your shoulder.”

Yeah, he’s definitely upset. Like someone starved for affection, he always sought warmth when his mood soured.

Valetta hesitated briefly before nodding. Reinhardt’s face lit up with a bright smile, and he quickly slid into the seat beside her.

He rested his forehead against her shoulder, letting his head fall as if exhausted. His eyes closed, and he remained silent.

For the rest of the ride, there was only quiet.

As the carriage neared their destination, Reinhardt shifted back to the floor without complaint. He seemed calmer, more composed than before.

When they arrived at the palace, Reinhardt was the first to exit. He moved without hesitation, kneeling on the ground in front of the carriage door.

It was clear he expected her to step down onto his back.

But Valetta had no desire to humor him. All she could imagine was a future Reinhardt, awakened and vengeful, saying, “You dared step on my back with this foot,” as he snapped her ankle like a twig.

Shivering at the thought, she quickly shook her head.

“Coachman!”

“Yes, my lady?”

“There should be a log under the driver’s seat. Bring it here. I don’t step on people.”

“Understood.”

The coachman hurried off, leaving Reinhardt crouched like a dog and staring up at Valetta with a peculiar expression. She averted her gaze, waving him away.

“You too, move out of the way.”

“My lady must really dislike me,” he said coldly, his voice as sharp and chilling as a blade. It was enough to make the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

When she turned back, though, Reinhardt was already standing, his face a picture of serene politeness.

Maybe he’s not upset after all?

Reinhardt’s tendency to slip into casual speech whenever they were alone had grown more frequent lately. She hadn’t made a fuss about it before, and it seemed he had taken that as permission.

I must seem like an easy target.

Even so, Valetta knew the truth: no one dared to truly cross him. She was one of the few who understood his nature and his ability to mask it flawlessly.

If he ever decided to slap her, she’d probably just let him. What else could she do? His act was too perfect, his subtle manipulations too skillful.

What a pitiful existence, she thought, sighing.

“And what brings you to the palace today?”

“The Crown Prince invited me for tea,” she replied dryly. “Something about discussing our engagement before the official announcement.”

Her disinterested tone masked any hint of emotion, but Reinhardt’s expression hardened instantly.

“Engagement?”

“Just one of those arrangements adults make. It doesn’t make much sense to me either,” Valetta said absently, not looking at him.

Her indifference was genuine, but Reinhardt’s face had turned to stone. His expression, stiff and unreadable, suggested he was as surprised by his reaction as she would have been if she had noticed.