My Child’s Father Is the Emperor - Chapter 2

Four Years Ago

Adele wandered aimlessly after leaving home, her emotions swirling in a storm of despair.

“I’d rather die than marry that old man!” she muttered bitterly, her situation feeling unbearably grim.

“Modest? Demure? What a joke.”

Who didn’t dream of a loving, happy marriage? Yet her reality was far from it: a sick father bedridden for years, a mother who squandered borrowed money on useless remedies, and a father too weak to stop her. Now, her mother had gleefully sold her to an elderly marquis. It was all too much.

Before she knew it, her feet had carried her to the Novus Vita Bridge over the Proba River.

Novus Vita, meaning “new life.”
Proba, meaning “trial.”

The irony was not lost on her. The bridge was infamous as a site where despairing souls came to end their lives.

“Was I really thinking about dying?”

Adele looked around, shocked by her own actions. Of all places to end up, why here?

“Would it really be easier if I just died?”

She slowly climbed the bridge, her thoughts dark and heavy. The sun was setting, casting an eerie twilight over the world. A light drizzle began to fall, and the streets were deserted.

When Adele reached the top of the arched bridge, she froze.

At the highest point, on a small terrace-like ledge, stood a man in a black hood, staring down into the rushing river below.

He looked like someone preparing to let go of life.

“Wait, is he…?”

As the man leaned forward, ready to jump, Adele’s instincts took over. She lunged forward and grabbed him.

“No! Don’t do it!”

Her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him back from the edge.

“Help! Somebody, help!”

The man was tall and solidly built, far stronger than Adele. She needed just one more person to help pull him back completely, but the bridge was deserted.

Her heart pounded wildly, the fear of witnessing someone’s death overwhelming her.

“Let me go,” the man said, his voice calm yet commanding.

“What?”

Adele finally looked up at him, and their eyes met.

Underneath the hood, the man was devastatingly handsome. His skin was pale, almost ghostly, his stormy gray eyes sharp and piercing. Black hair spilled from beneath the hood, as dark as the fabric itself.

For a moment, Adele forgot to breathe.

Adele could feel the solid muscles of the man’s body pressing against her as she held him tightly.

The striking man scowled, his brows knitting in annoyance.

“How long do you intend to cling to me like this?”

“Oh! Sorry!” Adele stammered, quickly letting go and stepping back.

But the moment she moved, her foot slipped.

“Huh?”

In an instant, her body tilted dangerously over the edge of the bridge.

The Novus Vita Bridge had earned its reputation as a prime location for ending lives for a reason.

First, the railings were perilously low—barely reaching thigh height, making it easy for anyone to fall or jump. Second, the sheer number of visitors had worn the stone floor smooth and slippery over the years. And lastly, hesitation at the final moment was common, but here, even a moment’s doubt could seal your fate—the slippery stone and low railing seemed almost eager to assist.

Today, the rain had made matters worse. The damp, glassy stones were treacherous.

“Ahhh!”

Adele screamed as she felt herself plummet.

She caught a glimpse of the man’s startled expression, his stormy gray eyes wide with shock.

“Traitor,” Adele thought irrationally as she hurtled toward the river below. “You didn’t even try to save me.”

Splash!

The freezing water engulfed her, and she began to thrash. Adele couldn’t swim, and her waterlogged skirt clung to her legs, dragging her down, deeper and deeper.

The river churned as another loud splash echoed nearby.

Her consciousness began to fade.

“Maybe this is for the best,” she thought. At least she wouldn’t have to walk down the aisle to marry the marquis.

 

* * *

 

“Ugh…”

Adele opened her eyes, groaning softly.

“Cough, cough.”

Her throat and nose felt raw and uncomfortable, likely from the water she had swallowed. She pushed herself up from the bed, looking around in confusion.

“Where… am I?”

The room was small, musty, and sparsely furnished with cheap, worn-out furniture. Through the window, she could see a signboard swaying in the breeze—an inn.

Adele let out a long sigh.

“I’m… alive.”

Her wet clothes had been removed, and she was now wearing thin, borrowed pajamas. Feeling exposed, she pulled the sheet from the bed and wrapped it around herself like a shawl.

Just then, the door creaked open.

The man from the bridge stepped in.

He, too, appeared to have borrowed clothes—a simple, thin shirt clung to his broad shoulders.

Wow.

Now that his hood was gone, Adele had a full view of his features. His physique was like something sculpted by the gods, each line exuding power and elegance. He seemed like a war god who had descended to the mortal realm, a man so striking that Adele suddenly became painfully aware of her own bedraggled state.

“I guess he saved me,” she thought, feeling embarrassed about having called him a traitor earlier.

The man silently handed her a cup.

“Thank you… for saving me,” Adele said as she took it. The liquid was hot, honeyed tea, and as its rich sweetness slid down her throat, her entire body shivered from the warmth.

“My name is Adele,” she said, looking at him. “What’s yours?”

He gave her a look as though questioning why she needed to know.

“You saved my life; the least I can do is know your name, right?”

“Van.”

Of course, Adele thought. It was a name that suited his strikingly handsome face.

“What were you doing there?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Were you… planning to end your life?”

Adele studied him closely. With that face, that body, and that presence, it was hard to understand why someone like him would even consider such a thing.

“No,” Van replied curtly, his expression hardening.

Adele fell silent.

“Phew,” Van sighed, breaking the awkward quiet.

“Why did you want to die?” Van’s deep voice broke the silence.

Adele’s eyes widened momentarily before she lowered her gaze.

“My mother sold me,” she said quietly.

“I see.”

They say even rolling in filth is better than death, Van thought. But clearly, that sentiment didn’t resonate with everyone. The oppressive weight of her words lingered, echoing the bitterness of her reality.

“I wasn’t planning to die, but… I did think about it,” Adele admitted, turning her head to look at him.

“And you?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Everyone wants me dead,” Van replied, his stormy gray eyes clouded with sorrow.

“I killed my brother with my own hands today.”

Adele gasped, her lips parting in shock.

“My grandmother, my brother, even those I once called friends—they all wish for my disappearance.”

A bitter smile tugged at his lips.

“My honor as a knight is sullied. There is no one left in this world who wants me alive.”

The rawness of his despair hung heavy in the room. Adele could feel it, a deep void of loneliness and futility.

His grandmother and brother? she thought incredulously. What kind of knightly family lives like this?

What a mess.

Still, Adele understood. Even in the Dreyfus estate, families would stop at nothing to claim the successor’s seat. She had seen the same merciless struggles for power.

Moved by an unexpected surge of compassion, Adele reached out and gently placed her hand over his, which rested neatly on his knee.

“Van,” she said softly, “I’ll be someone who wants you to live.”

His gray eyes, which had seemed so lifeless moments ago, flickered with curiosity as he looked at her.

“When everyone else wishes for your death, I’ll stand here and pray for you to live with me.”

Her grip on his hand tightened, as if to anchor him to her words.

“I’ll be the one who wishes for your life.”

Van looked at her with a mixture of surprise and something deeper, something unspoken. His expression, which often mirrored that of a wounded wolf, softened ever so slightly.

“Will you?”

Adele nodded firmly.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, pulling her hand closer. Slowly, he lowered his lips to her hand, brushing a kiss over her knuckles.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Her heart pounded erratically as her eyes met his over the top of her hand. His lips lingered for a moment, warm against her skin, and the connection sent an undeniable shiver down her spine.

“A-ah…”

Her cheeks flushed crimson as she tried to pull her hand back, flustered by the sudden intimacy.

But—clap.

Van’s larger, pale hand firmly caught hers, holding her in place.

The air between them shifted, thick with tension. Van’s voice dropped to a low, intimate tone.

“Adele,” he murmured, her name rolling off his tongue like a vow.

Van’s voice rumbled, like something boiling up from deep within him.

Adele, innocent and inexperienced, couldn’t have known just how much her timid gestures were igniting the fire in this man’s chest.

Her shy movements and her trustful gaze, full of unguarded sincerity, only added fuel to the flames.

It didn’t take long.

By the third kiss, Adele found herself yielding completely to Ban, surrendering her heart, her body, and her everything to the man who had entered her life so suddenly yet so irrevocably.

 

* * *

 

The Ruthless Butcher, Vanhelm von Albrecht.

He was the fourth prince of the Albrecht imperial family, a dynasty blessed with no fewer than seven sons born to the empress and concubines. The late emperor had no daughters, only a lineage of male heirs.

Vanhelm, born of a concubine, clawed his way to the throne through a brutal succession war, cutting down all six of his brothers. The Albrecht dynasty, once known for its abundant offspring, descended into tragedy.

Even the dowager empress, who staunchly supported the first prince—the legitimate heir born of the empress—was mercilessly confined to a monastery by Vanhelm. When she died mere months later, whispers of his involvement only fueled his reputation as a cold-blooded tyrant.

His three-year-long military campaigns earned him the title “The Ruthless Butcher.” It was said that no one who faced his blade lived to tell the tale. Meanwhile, the domestic stability of the empire remained unshaken despite his long absences. The reason? Most of the nobility capable of challenging his authority had already been purged—seven parts during his rise to the throne, three more after his coronation.

“I’ve come to take my son.”

Adele’s heart stopped.

She had heard all the terrifying rumors about the Butcher Emperor, the ruthless Vanhelm. His name alone was enough to send shivers down the spines of both commoners and nobility.

“A mere commoner like me never imagined I’d meet the emperor, let alone face him in my dining room.”

Adele instinctively stepped forward, placing herself between Leo and the emperor.

“No. You can’t.”

In an instant, two knights at the emperor’s side moved.

With the sound of steel slicing through air, their swords were drawn and pointed directly at her throat.

“How dare you!”

“Do you intend to defy His Majesty’s will?”

Adele turned pale, trembling as the cold tip of a blade hovered mere inches from her skin.

She was paralyzed with fear. Her thoughts flashed back to that rainy night.

“Van, I’ll be someone who wants you to live.”

The man she had pitied and comforted—could it truly be this emperor standing before her now?

When Adele had discovered she was pregnant, she had desperately searched for Ban. She wrote letters describing his features to every nearby knight’s garrison and visited wandering knight guilds in person to inquire about him.

“Van? There’s no one by that name.”
“Hmm… Black hair and gray eyes? That’s too vague, miss.”
“We’ve got no ‘Van’ in our guild.”

Her growing belly was a constant reminder of her failure to find him. She had endured despair, her father’s death, her mother’s remarriage, and the debts that were heartlessly left in her name. The scorn of society for carrying a child out of wedlock had been another battle she had fought alone.

Through it all, Leo’s existence had been her salvation, the reason she pushed forward.

But now, as the emperor’s knights’ blades pressed closer, she was terrified.

If I step aside, he’ll take Leo.

She couldn’t let that happen.

But if I resist, he’ll…

The emperor wouldn’t hesitate to kill her if she stood in his way. That much was certain. His reputation as a man who removed obstacles without a second thought loomed heavily over her.

Adele’s hands trembled as she stood firm, shielding Leo behind her.

Adele stood frozen, arms outstretched to shield Leo, her body trembling uncontrollably.

“Enough.”

At the emperor’s command, the knights immediately withdrew their swords.

He stepped forward, each clank of his armored boots reverberating in the tense silence, sending chills through Adele.

“Leopold.”

The emperor spoke Leo’s name with a calm yet commanding tone.

“I am your father.”

Adele finally looked at Leo.

The little boy clung tightly to the hem of her skirt, half-hidden behind her, his wide eyes filled with curiosity as he peeked up at the man before him.

Adele felt her heart tighten in alarm.

“I thought he was dead.”

She had always deflected Leo’s innocent questions about his father, brushing them aside with vague answers. Deep down, she had assumed Van—no, the emperor—was no longer alive. He had told her himself that many people wanted him dead.

If he had truly been alive, surely someone resembling him would have surfaced during her desperate search. Surely, someone would have known.

“Will you come with me?”

The emperor’s every word was steeped in gravitas, as though the world itself bent to his voice.

Leo, entranced, released Adele’s skirt and took a hesitant step forward, his small hand reaching out toward the man who called himself his father.

As soon as the emperor clasped Leo’s fragile hand in his own, something within Adele snapped.

“No!” she shouted, her voice breaking with anger.

“He’s my child! I carried him for ten months—do you understand that? Ten months! Where were you all this time?”

Her furious words hung in the air, and for the first time, the emperor’s cold, gray eyes faltered.

The unshakable presence of the Ruthless Butcher, the man who commanded armies and silenced nations, seemed to waver ever so slightly under the weight of her accusation.