It was Helena who came to Ione’s rescue.
“…Mischievous, did you say?”
“Yes, Your Grace. You were being mischievous.”
Adrian’s glass-like blue eyes slowly shifted from Ione to Helena, and then back to Ione.
“I see.”
Despite the sharp question he’d asked earlier, the duke stepped back rather meekly at Helena’s comment.
Ione wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or worried—but either way, she didn’t reject the helping hand.
Just as she was about to catch her breath—
“So, what was it you wanted from me?”
Adrian abruptly cut to the point before she could collect herself.
“Pardon?”
“You insisted on seeing me immediately, didn’t you,
my lady
?”
Was it her imagination, or did he put extra emphasis on
“my lady”
and “
wanted to see me
”?
Ione gave a strained smile, her mouth twitching awkwardly.
“Well… um…”
As she fumbled for words, Helena interjected.
“Your Grace, the duchess isn’t feeling well. Perhaps you should speak in the drawing room? The hallways are quite drafty.”
Seriously?
Ione’s head spun at Helena’s unexpected confession.
“The duchess is unwell?”
“That’s not—”
Before Ione could clarify, Helena once again cut in swiftly.
“Yes, it seems she’s come down with a cold. I was just about to call for Dr. Benson, but Her Grace insisted she had to see you first. We were in the middle of arguing about it, actually.”
“That’s completely untrue!”
If this went on, she’d lose.
Ione had no intention of following the original novel’s arc of being the abusive, troublesome ex-wife.
Feeling the crisis closing in, she dropped her expression and lowered her voice.
“It’s absolutely—”
Just as she was about to emphasize her point again, she felt something drip from her nose and instinctively sniffled.
Sniff.
“This isn’t—!”
She hurried to insist it was nothing, but it was already too late.
“Bring Benson.”
Adrian’s gaze turned cold, like he was looking at a lying child.
“It’s just a mild cold,”
Ione said preemptively, before the physician could speak.
“Your Grace, you have a high fever,”
Benson replied.
What was he talking about?
“A fever? No way! I should’ve checked sooner…”
Helena, who’d dragged Ione around the estate all day, turned pale.
Flustered, Ione waved her hands in denial.
“Really, it’s nothing! You’re all overreacting to something so minor—it’s just surprising.”
“You have a fever, Your Grace.”
“But I don’t have a headache, and if you just touch my forehead—”
Feeling the mood shift ominously, Ione dramatically placed her hand on her own forehead.
“I feel totally—”
She was just about to reassure Helena when—
A large, cool hand pressed over the back of hers.
“Ack! Cold!”
Goosebumps shot up as her whole body shivered involuntarily.
Startled, Ione looked up to see Adrian slowly shaking his head with a strange expression.
“Your fever has gone up.”
There was a faint sigh in his tone.
“Gone up? What do you mean?”
“I felt your temperature in the carriage.”
Ione blinked, confused.
“I’m sorry, what are you talking about?”
His glacier-like blue eyes rolled slowly toward her.
His expression was blank, his voice detached—but for some reason, he seemed flustered.
“When I carried you in the reception room.”
Helena and Benson’s eyes visibly twitched.
“Your body temperature was slightly elevated.”
“The reception room was just warm…”
“It’s not that warm. But even in the cold, windy carriage, your temperature didn’t drop. I figured maybe you were excited.”
Once again, Helena and Benson’s expressions twisted.
Wait—hold on. What did they think he meant?
Before she could clarify, Benson suddenly stood and pulled Helena aside.
“Urgent matters,”
he muttered.
What?
“I’ll go prepare the medicine. Please send a maid to retrieve it shortly.”
“Understood.”
“Make sure she takes the antipyretics and painkillers regularly.”
“Of course.”
“Her meals should be light and easy to digest.”
“Naturally.”
“She should drink warm water often, and avoid tea until she recovers.”
“Is there anything she should avoid eating?”
Their conversation was so serious, Ione couldn’t even cut in.
“Excuse me?”
“You’d best lie down and rest now,”
Adrian added at just the right moment.
Completely defeated.
She hadn’t felt ill at all before lying down, but once she did, her whole body suddenly felt heavy.
A weak moan threatened to escape her lips.
I thought I was lightheaded from too many compliments—but it was the fever?!
Rolling her eyes toward Helena and Benson, Ione watched as the doctor explained instructions.
She still didn’t understand how things had come to this.
She blinked, disoriented—until Adrian spoke again.
“Don’t worry. Benson is a competent physician.”
“….”
She stared up at him with her mouth slightly open, then smiled.
He was like a proud, divine being… while she lay there with a runny nose, looking pathetic.
She couldn’t help it.
If she didn’t smile, she felt like she’d cry.
Hearing that she could rest without worry… for some reason, it comforted her.
Even though she knew this man could kill her.
Even though she knew this moment was a setup by the original novel to make her fall for him.
They’d only known each other for two days—but the constant tension was melting from her chest.
But still!
Ione pouted inwardly.
Since her transmigration, she’d never once been cared for.
Even on days when she felt like she might die from exhaustion, she had to tend to her mother and manage the estate.
Understanding, empathy, comfort—those had always been someone else’s story.
And now the first real care she’d received… came from the very man fated to kill her.
The fact that it was so sweet, so comforting—it made her want to laugh.
Because otherwise, she might cry.
Even when Adrian’s expression stiffened slightly at her smile, she couldn’t stop smiling.
“Mm!”
Five minutes later, Helena appeared with a bowl of medicine.
“The medicine is ready. Drink it in one go.”
“Wait. W-wait a second.”
Ugh. What is that smell?
She gagged.
It smelled worse than sewer water.
“Seriously, what kind of medicine—urp!”
She couldn’t drink this.
No human should drink this.
Despite her desperate resistance, Helena easily restrained her.
And of course—pinched her nose.
The moment she gasped for breath, the foul-tasting liquid poured into her mouth.
“Ugh!”
She retched instinctively.
Helena shouted in alarm.
“If you throw it up, you’ll have to drink it again!”
“Mm!”
The feeling of desperately swallowing the bitter, vile medicine was a new level of horror.
Even Adrian couldn’t bear to watch—he silently left the room.
Being an ‘evil ex-wife’ side character was no easy job.
Damn it all.
“Haa… living is hard.”
The duchess, having downed the medicine, sighed and dozed off, eyes hazy.
With her vibrant gaze hidden, she looked so fragile—as though she might disappear at any moment.
Benson, still by her side, even reached out to check her breathing without realizing it.
“Worried now, after giving her that disgusting stuff?”
Helena asked dryly.
“…I don’t think someone who pinched her nose shut should be saying that,”
Benson replied.
“Hmph. It’s not like I
wanted
to do it.”
“Of course. Naturally.”
“I’m serious! As if things weren’t hard enough—I had to feed her something that gross just because it’s medicine!”
“But there was no other choice. Without a seal of approval, we needed an interim solution. And she
did
need medicine. In a way, it all worked out.”
Everything Benson said was true.
But perhaps he hadn’t heard—
The duchess’s soft, exhausted murmur:
“Living is hard.”
Her expression in that moment had been one of utter defeat.
When Helena stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her, she clasped her hands together and prayed.
Please, please let Her Grace recover soon.
She didn’t even believe in any god—but she prayed earnestly, over and over again.
She had no choice.
She knew exactly how it ended for people with that kind of expression.
Every single one of them.
All of them had fled this bitter northern land, unable to endure.
But the pitiful duchess…
She probably wouldn’t even be able to run.
All Helena could hope for was that she would rise from that bed soon.