The One Who Won't Be Abandoned - Chapter 30

Without so much as a knock, as if it were his own room, Andre casually pushed open my unlocked door and walked in, carrying a tray with a sandwich and a glass of milk.

I was sprawled out on the bed in the middle of the day—not out of leisure, but because I was fuming. I had been so enraged that I had taken to bed like an invalid.

And the reason? The very man who had just stepped into my room.

I glared at Andre, who entered with that same innocent expression, then wordlessly turned my back on him, curling toward the wall.

I heard a faint hitch in his breath—he must not have expected my glare. He set the tray down on my desk before approaching the bed.

“Jeanne.”

I ignored him. I hated him.

Andre sat on the edge of the mattress, and I felt the cheap bed sink under his weight.

“What’s wrong? Are you sick? I heard you haven’t eaten.”

“……”

“Jeanne. Tell me what’s wrong.”

I had no idea why His Lordship was going around asking about a mere servant’s meals. And personally delivering food? Ha! What a ridiculous turn my life had taken.

I scoffed, pulling the blanket up to my chin and squeezing my eyes shut as if I were about to sleep. A blatant act of dismissal.

“Jeanne?”

I felt his hand shake my shoulder, gently but insistently.

Annoyed by his touch, I yanked the blanket over my head, cocooning myself inside.

But Andre wasn’t deterred. He tugged at the covers, determined to uncover me.

His grip, though careful, was strong—I didn’t stand a chance. In the end, he pulled the blanket away, exposing my face to the world once more.

With a touch so delicate, as if he feared I might melt away like a snowflake in his hands, Andre guided my gaze to meet his.

His touch was so familiar now.

And for a fleeting moment, I thought I could feel the warmth in it—his kindness, his concern.

A lump rose in my throat, my eyes growing unbearably hot.

But I refused to let it show.

Swallowing the emotion, I sat up abruptly, throwing the blanket off in an exaggerated motion.

“Why are you here again?”

The sharp edge in my voice was undeniable.

But Andre, as always, remained unfazed.

His gaze swept over my face, still filled with concern.

“…Are you sick? You never skip meals.”

His hand lifted toward my forehead, as if checking for fever, but I turned my head away, rejecting his touch.

“I’m just tired.”

“Did Madame Judith overwork you?”

“It’s nothing like that. I’m just… tired. You know how some days even breathing feels exhausting?”

“That doesn’t mean you should starve yourself. Even in the mountains of Kayal, when all we had were wild berries, you still made sure to eat three times a day. Have you been skipping meals often while I was gone? Or is it the food here? Should I hire a new chef?”

The way he spoke, anyone would think I was some gluttonous noblewoman.

And now he was seriously considering hiring a new chef just because I skipped a meal?

How utterly insane.

His words grated on my already frayed nerves.

“I can skip a meal, you know. They say eating less is good for your health.”

Even as I snapped back, my eyes flickered—ever so slightly—toward the sandwich.

From the moment Andre had entered, the scent of perfectly crisped bacon had been tempting me.

And despite myself, I had noticed.

Sure enough, the sandwich was stuffed with thick slices of bacon.

The moment the scent fully registered, my appetite roared back to life, saliva pooling in my mouth.

I hadn’t felt even a hint of hunger while sulking in bed, but now, with food right in front of me, the emptiness in my stomach became impossible to ignore.

Andre followed my gaze, turning his head toward the sandwich.

Noticing where my eyes had landed, he reached for it and held it out to me.

Without thinking, as if drawn in by some invisible force, I took the sandwich from his hands and immediately bit into it.

“Chew properly.”

Andre picked up the glass of milk and gently pressed it to my lips.

I quickly adjusted to the tilt of the cup, taking a sip before eagerly taking another bite of the sandwich.

Andre watched me with the expression of a mother watching her child eat—fond, satisfied.

“Jeanne, slow down. If it’s not enough, I’ll bring you more.”

“I’m fine. This is plenty.”

Only after I had devoured the entire sandwich did the realization hit me—I had eaten without the slightest bit of restraint.

And worse, I had let Andre serve me as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

To be fair, after my collapse, I had grown accustomed to Andre fussing over me. But that didn’t make my behavior any less embarrassing.

Mortified by my own thoughtlessness, I did what I always did when I was flustered—I lashed out.

“Master Andre, please don’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

“Coming into my room whenever you please. And waiting on me like a servant. What do you think people will say about you?”

“I want to do it. Who cares what anyone says?”

He spoke with an almost irritating level of confidence, as if embarrassment wasn’t something he had ever experienced.

“Get a grip, Master Andre. We’re not children anymore. We should act according to our positions. And why don’t you ever consider my situation? A high-ranking nobleman like you wandering in and out of a maid’s quarters? Sure, technically this is your house, but still—what do you think people will say about me? There are already plenty who see me as an eyesore.”

My sharp tone finally got through to him.

Andre’s face darkened, his expression turning serious.

“…Has someone said something to you?”

“They wouldn’t dare say it to my face, but that doesn’t mean they’re not talking. And more than that… you’re supposed to get engaged, aren’t you? What do you think your fiancée will feel, knowing you spend your time sneaking into a maid’s room?”

His brows furrowed deeply.

“Who told you I was engaged?”

The moment he asked, something in me snapped.

Unbelievable.

“So it’s true?” I scoffed. “You could’ve told me yourself. It’s not like I would’ve had anything to say about it—what right would I have? But did you really think you had to hide it from me? What, because I’m just a maid, so I don’t deserve to know about something so important?”

“Why are you so angry?” He sighed. “Calm down. I didn’t tell you because it’s not going to last.”

“Oh, I see. So you planned to break off the engagement soon? Right after the wedding, maybe?”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” he said, his tone measured. “It’s temporary.”

“I’m not angry, Andre. I’m hurt.”

“…Hurt?”

As the conversation continued, the emotions I had buried all day—bitterness, frustration, betrayal—began to rise like an unstoppable tide.

“I must have been delusional.” My voice wavered, but I pushed through. “I thought I was special to you. Special enough that you’d at least mention something this big to me. But I was wrong, wasn’t I?”

I hated how my voice trembled, how it carried the weight of unshed tears.

It made me feel like a child.

Andre didn’t say anything right away.

Instead, he silently tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear before pulling a handkerchief from his pocket.

With gentle care, he dabbed at the corner of my lips.

When he pulled away, I saw a faint trace of milk on the fabric.

The heat rushed to my face. I wanted to disappear.

“…You are special,” he said quietly. “There’s no one more important to me than you. You should be proud of that.”

His words filled me with relief, a warmth spreading through my chest.

And the moment I realized just how much I had been waiting to hear them, it hit me like lightning.

It didn’t matter whether he was engaged or not.

What I needed was to hear him say that nothing had changed. That I was still different. Still his most important person.

Andre’s gaze turned uneasy as he watched my face light up—only to dim once more.

“…If you heard about the engagement, then you must have also heard who I’m engaged to.”

I nodded.

“Then you know there’s no way I’d ever love someone like her.”

He immediately launched into a rant about the princess—how cruel and arrogant she was, how she discarded men as easily as changing clothes, how she never thought before speaking.

I had no idea how much of it was true, but one thing was clear: Andre had no affection for her whatsoever.

“…I’m sorry,” he said eventually, his voice softer. “I should’ve told you first. Please, Jeanne, don’t be upset anymore.”

His tone was almost pleading, his eyes filled with uncertainty.

If I refused to forgive him, he looked as though he might actually break.

“…No, it’s fine,” I murmured. “I’m sorry, too, Master Andre.”

“There’s no need to call me that when we’re alone.”

I hesitated. “Still… I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“I deserved it.” He smiled faintly. “I made you upset.”

As I spoke with Andre, a realization dawned on me.

I finally understood why the news of his engagement had shaken me so deeply, why my heart had been so heavy with bitter emotions.

And the truth was unbearable.

Unable to meet Andre’s gaze, I lowered my head, guilt weighing heavily on me.

It wasn’t betrayal that I had felt first when I heard the news.

No—before the flood of anger, before the sting of betrayal, there had been something else.

Fear.

Fear that my place in his life was no longer secure.

Fear that his fiancée would take away the privileges, the favoritism, the unspoken bond I had always taken for granted.

And yet… what were those privileges, really?

Meaningless. Disposable. Things I should never have had in the first place.

And yet, the moment I learned of his engagement, I had clung to them, terrified of losing them.

Shameless girl. Ungrateful wretch. Who do you think you are? Who do you think you are…?

I cursed myself over and over.

I felt like the most despicable person in the world.

Shame clawed at my throat, turning my breath ragged.

Andre cupped my cheeks with his calloused hands, gently tilting my face up to meet his gaze.

But I refused to look at him.

The truth was unbearable.

It wasn’t Andre’s engagement itself that had shaken me—it was the fear of falling from the pedestal I had unknowingly built for myself.

The fear of losing my place beside him.

The fear of watching those who resented me revel in my downfall.

And so, instead of admitting it, I disguised my fear as anger. I hid behind outrage, telling myself it was because his fiancée was the daughter of my enemy.

And when the weight of my own hypocrisy became too much to bear, I did what I always did—I blamed Andre.

“I was being arrogant,” I admitted. “But that’s your fault. Look at you. Right now, you should be scolding me for being rude, for overstepping my place. Instead, you’re apologizing. What kind of noble apologizes to a maid? You’re the reason I’ve become so insolent.”

“I know,” he said, unbothered. “But I like things the way they are. I want you to keep being my Jeanne, just the way you are.”

“You ruined me,” I shot back. “I used to be a proper lady who knew her place.”

Andre chuckled, a deep, easy laugh that filled the room.

It was the kind of laugh that made it impossible not to smile along.

For the first time in a long time, I found the courage to meet his gaze.

His eyes—clear and bright, like the endless sky—held no trace of doubt, no hesitation.

And as ridiculous as it was, knowing that he still saw me as irreplaceable was enough to put me at ease.

Despite the storm of emotions swirling inside me, that realization filled me with relief.

With happiness.

The unease still lingered in a corner of my heart, but I ignored it, choosing instead to drown in the warmth of the moment.

“Jeanne.” Andre’s voice was steady, unwavering. “All you have to do is stay by my side. You don’t have to worry about anything. I’ll handle it all.”

He said exactly what I wanted to hear. And just like that, I let go of my worries. I smiled back at him, mirroring his expression. Maybe I was avoiding something important. Maybe I was deliberately looking away from the truth.

But for now… I didn’t care.

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