That’s How I Became a Villainess - Chapter 21

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 21

Bridget recounted to Milea everything that had happened before she lost consciousness.
Upon hearing her story, Milea’s indignation flared.
Anger flushed through her as she planted her hands on her hips and stood before the window, opening her mouth to speak only to close it again, then try once more.
Nothing she could summon would be anything but crude.
She swallowed down a torrent of vulgar oaths and, at the very limit of her patience, condemned Isaac in the most refined terms she could muster.
“That there exists a man more contemptible than my own husband!”
For her, to compare anyone unfavorably to her husband was the harshest curse imaginable.
Everyone knew she did not regard her husband as human at all.
Milea marveled at how fortunately Julian had arrived in time to save Bridget, and relief flooded through her.
“Thank goodness Your Majesty acted so swiftly—I dare not imagine what would have become of her otherwise.”
Then she tilted her head, puzzled.
“But how did Your Majesty know where Bridget was? Surely you weren’t keeping watch over her the entire time.”
It was a mystery to Bridget as well.
Even if Milea had relayed her account, for him to find and rescue her so quickly, with such directness—it seemed improbable.
“What will you do now? Will you inform your family?”
“I wish nothing from my family.”
“I see.”
Milea asked no further questions.
Among the nobility, marriages were often sustained not by romance or fidelity, but by the intricate web of interests between houses.
That neither her own family nor anyone else could truly help her—Milea, who bore the weight of the crown itself and yet remained bound to a contemptible husband unable to divorce—understood this better than anyone.
“You’re welcome to remain here at my estate until you’ve steadied yourself.”
Perhaps it was the kinship born from their shared misfortune with equally dreadful husbands.
Milea extended considerable kindness toward Bridget.
Yet Bridget politely declined her offer.
“Thank you, but I intend to return to the Winston Estate.”
Milea understood that eventually, this was what would have to happen.
But there was no need for it to happen at once, was there?
“Are you certain you’ll be all right?”
“I don’t wish to run away.”
Bridget nodded, her eyes steady and resolute.
“After an ordeal of such magnitude, to show such stubbornness—I cannot fathom it.”
Realizing she could not hold Bridget here by force, Milea made a proposal.
“Then at least remain here until your injuries have healed. I cannot send back to His Majesty a woman covered in wounds.”
Though the injuries were not grave enough to require true recovery, it was a thin pretext to keep Bridget with her.
“Do not be stubborn. I will not yield any further.”

* * *

Milea had brought Bridget breakfast that morning, insisting that eating something, however little, would lift her spirits despite her lack of appetite, and had suggested she call on Julian when he was at leisure.
Bridget changed out of the nightgown the servants had dressed her in and into a maid’s uniform that Milea had provided.
It was a cream-colored shirt and a muted indigo skirt, both in a tediously modest design.
The garments perfectly reflected Milea’s preference for simplicity, yet the elegant luster of the fabric and costly mother-of-pearl embroidery elevated the plainness into understated luxury.
Ironically, the dress suited Bridget far better than it would have Milea.
The austere design made Bridget’s delicate features and translucent skin all the more striking.
The scab at the corner of her lip was even accentuated by it, a small drawback.
Milea had attempted to conceal Bridget’s wound with cosmetics, sympathetic to her distress, but the blemish on such pale skin proved impossible to hide.
“When you see His Majesty, say nothing and do nothing.”
Milea pressed this upon Bridget urgently before the Reception Room where Julian waited.
“I have seen many lose their heads over a careless word. If you’ve heard the rumors, Bridget, you know the Royal Palace is in a period of turbulence.”
It was a genteel way of referring to Julian’s tyranny.
Milea said she would speak on Bridget’s behalf, expressing gratitude for his rescue, and instructed her merely to bow in respect; she herself would handle the rest.
“And no matter what you see of His Majesty, do not be alarmed. He is simply free-spirited.”
Though she had raised him from childhood, his nature was so fierce that she could not let her guard down—like a keeper entering the cage of a beast she could never fully tame.
Bridget watched with mounting tension as Milea approached the door and knocked.
“Your Majesty. I am entering.”
Milea finally opened the door.
‘……!’
Bridget was thrust forward, and as the Magical Aura washing over her struck like a blow, she reflexively squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again.
The black mist-like Magical Aura was so thick that even in broad daylight, it felt as though darkness were swallowing her whole.
“Come in, Bridget.”
Milea gestured to her.
Just as eyes adjust when moving from brightness into shadow, so too did vision adapt to the Magical Aura, and before long the surroundings became clear enough.
Bridget stepped into the suffocating miasma.
‘Julian.’
He sat at an angle on the sofa, his back to the window.
With one arm draped over the backrest, he leaned askew, his expressionless face lifting to regard both women.
Bridget’s heart raced, and she could not meet the gaze of her former lover—her eyes fell.
Some intoxicating emotion—she couldn’t tell if it was excitement or tension—made her shoulder blades ache, and she kept swallowing dry saliva.
He, whom she had longed for so desperately, stood before her.
“The Countess of Winston wishes to offer His Highness her gratitude for last night’s events.”
“…….”
Julian drained the glass in his hand while holding Bridget’s gaze.
His shirt hung open, his bare chest exposed, and wine bottles lay scattered all around him.
Milea, accustomed to seeing him drunk since midday, didn’t so much as blink at the sight.
For someone like Milea, who valued cleanliness and propriety, it should have been unbearable—and yet she had grown so inured to it that the shock had long since worn away.
But because it was Julian, not someone else, she found it easier to endure.
There was something peculiar about him—even in complete disorder, he did not appear sordid.
It was the same now. Though he had not seen daylight and drunkenness had furrowed his pale brow, his eyes held a mesmerizing gleam; his disheveled hair seemed artfully composed, harmonious even.
Milea found herself oddly unsettled by the sensual air he exuded today, and she glanced sideways at Bridget to gauge her reaction.
Fortunately, Bridget did not look directly at Julian—her eyes remained lowered, her expression docile.
Milea cleared her throat, signaling Bridget to kneel and pay her respects.
Bridget complied readily with Milea’s instruction.
“I have heard the full account from the Countess. Thanks to Your Highness’s intervention, she has come through unharmed.”
Julian said nothing.
Milea, as if she had expected this, wrapped up the matter appropriately.
“Since the Countess is in poor health, I thought to have her recuperate at the palace for a time before she returns home. That will be acceptable, yes?”
It was a formality. Julian involved himself in nothing that transpired in the inner chambers; whatever Milea decided was what would be done.
Not expecting an answer, Milea made to lead Bridget back outside.
Then Julian, who had not once taken his eyes off Bridget from the beginning until now, smiled with what seemed like derision and commanded:
“Tell her directly.”
Milea stopped.
“Your Highness.”
“Tell her directly, Milea. Don’t hide behind me. You’re treating me like some plague carrier.”
Strictly speaking, it was not a plague carrier she was treating him as, but a mass murderer.
“You’re intoxicated, Your Highness. This hardly seems an appropriate time for conversation. The Countess requires rest after last night’s ordeal.”
“Are you afraid I’ll kill her?”
“I cannot say otherwise.”
Milea answered stiffly.
Julian laughed despite himself, as if in disbelief.
“If I meant to kill her, I wouldn’t have brought her here.”
He meant he would not kill her.
Julian was capricious and violent, but he kept his word to Milea.
“I’m fine, Milea.”
Bridget, who had never intended to let this reunion end anticlimactically at this point, stepped forward.
Unable to hold her ground any longer, Milea withdrew, her eyes filled with worry as she looked at Bridget.
“Milea.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Leave.”
“…….”
When Julian gestured for her to go, Milea—who had only stepped back without truly vacating the space—reluctantly exited.
…….
Silence hung in the Reception Room with only the two of them remaining.
Julian, pouring more wine into an empty glass, rose slowly and approached Bridget.
Empty wine bottles clinked against the floor beneath his bare feet.
Dragging his feet across the cold marble, he circled leisurely around her.
With that slow movement, the scent of sweet liquor drifted up on the air.
“You’ve roasted Milea quite thoroughly, haven’t you.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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