Guidelines for the Perfect Goodbye - Chapter 230
Nigel kicked a stone toward the departing carriage. It struck a wheel before rolling off, and he snorted at the sight.
‘If it’s Father, he’d gladly listen to that woman’s words and more.’
His father was far more foolish than anyone could imagine. People claimed that, in his youth, the Marquis had been a capable leader, balancing sharp judgment with command. To Nigel, born years later, such stories sounded like exaggerated myths.
By the time Nigel came into the world, his father was already an old geezer. The once-majestic tiger depicted in portraits had long since grown soft, with a bloated belly and a diminished presence.
And yet, the old man had the audacity to treat Nigel’s mother—ten years his junior—as if she were an aging fox. Worse, he kept Guinevere, seven years younger than Nigel’s mother, by his side as if she were some youthful prize.
‘Who’s the real fox here? If you’re losing your wits, at least do it gracefully. Can’t even tell the difference between friend and foe.’
Nigel had naively thought that after the sachet incident, his father might finally take notice of him. At the very least, he had expected the old man to distance himself from Guinevere or hold Ulysses accountable.
But instead of abandoning Ulysses, the Marquis clung to him even more, lavishing him with affection that Ulysses neither wanted nor appreciated.
‘Why does Father value him so much? Is it because Ulysses is the ideal son in his eyes?’
No. It was because Ulysses was Guinevere’s son.
The woman, still strikingly beautiful despite losing sight in one eye, stood firm at the Marquis’s side, manipulating him effortlessly.
As long as Guinevere lived and their father breathed, Nigel knew he could be discarded at any time.
‘But if I ever stooped to committing a crime against him for the sake of inheritance, I wouldn’t be able to face my mother in the afterlife.’
Before anything else, Nigel needed to rid his father of the parasite leeching off him—Guinevere Deinz.
To achieve that, sacrifices were inevitable. Whether Cecilia Lasphilia would prove worth the price was yet to be seen.
Ironically, Nigel was one of the few who genuinely valued Cecilia. Even if he didn’t fully recognize it himself.
Then again, there were still many things that he couldn’t see.
“Damn it…”
He ran a thumb over his busted lip, where Ulysses had landed a punch. Blood beaded up and smeared against his skin.
He wiped it away roughly but paused as his mind drifted.
Lips.
The memory of Cecilia’s lips came unbidden.
…They had nearly touched.
If they’d had just a little more time, would they have?
Would he really have gone through with it? Pressing his lips to someone he once deemed beneath him?
The thought was revolting, yet undeniably true—at that moment, he hadn’t intended to stop. So close that he could feel her breath, he had imagined far more than a mere kiss.
Her lips had nearly been his.
If they had touched, he would have licked them. If he had licked them, he would have pried them open.
‘That was dangerous.’
He had almost done something he’d regret for the rest of his life.
It was pure luck someone had entered the room at the perfect moment. Relief mingled with an odd irritation bubbling just beneath his skin.
‘Why am I even still here?’
Kicking another loose stone, he glanced around aimlessly. The Rosencrantz carriage had long since vanished, and Count Heens was busy smoothing things over.
He had somewhere to be—the royal barracks.
He could go back. He should go back.
So why was he lingering? Waiting, as if someone might appear?
“Damn it…”
Nigel ruffled his already disheveled hair and forced himself to move forward.
Just then, someone stepped out from the entrance. His head turned instinctively.
“Cecili…”
The name caught in his throat as he took in the figure.
“You don’t even lower your head when you see a noble, do you?” he sneered.
Logan raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“Judging someone’s status on a first meeting, I see.”
He smiled, his sharp eyes narrowing in a teasing manner.
“And it seems the noble sir has quite an interest in commoners.”
