About Your Pride and My Prejudice - Chapter 105: He Burnt Down Our Story

Chapter 105: He Burnt Down Our Story

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It was early in the morning when I woke up alone in a large bed that didn’t feel warm. The moment I woke up to the subtle sound of birdsong, I had to hold my breath urgently.

This is not my…….

“……Ah.”

Only then did the events of last night slowly dawned on me. It was hard to believe that I had slept peacefully in Alan Leopold’s room without even waking up.

A morning with nothing inconsequential weighs on me slowly. As I was immersed in my thoughts in the faint light that was leaking through the curtains, my heart ached.

From the beginning, there was only one option. Getting up straight away and going back to the annex as if running away.

As soon as I made up my mind, I ran out of Alan’s room as if on fire. It was so hectic that I realized long after I left the main building that I didn’t clean up the messy bed at all.

I managed to escape from this gigantic castle to the most relaxing place,

“Uh?”

The pitch-black ashes lying horribly on my beautiful reading table viciously occupied my vision.

It didn’t take long to know it was a pile of my notebook and manuscripts.

“……What the hell……”

It felt like the blood all over my body was getting cold. While I was away, the room was swept away to the point where there was not a single dust, but the table top was unorganized.

Anger soared to the top of my head with that mean obvious intention.

“Excuse me!”

Running out into the hallway, I called the maid who was opening the window. My heart went up and down in a burst of anger.

“How did this happen?”

“What do you mean?”

The maid asked back without looking back at me as if she were annoyed. The windows were opened and the fresh autumn morning air rushed into the hallway.

“My…”

All I wore was a thin sheet of Negligees. The sudden chill gripped my heart.

I managed to move my lips with my arms wrapped around me.

“My novel….”

“…….”

There was no way of knowing whether her hearing was bad or if she was deliberately ignoring me, but the maid walked briskly without answering. Then she opened the window right next to me.

“Hey……!”

It was only natural that the hands, which were hugging both arms with goosebumps, suddenly got strength.

“My novel is burned to the ashes now!”

I burst into a rage. I didn’t even remember how long it had been since I made such a loud noise. It was as if it wasn’t me.

Maybe it’s because I’m still half asleep or because I cried too much yesterday, or maybe it’s because I can’t believe that a novel I’ve been working on has gone to ashes in one day—

“He told me not to clean it up, but to leave it as it is.”

“……What?”

Even the will to get angry at her shameless attitude disappeared. Ah… I’m dizzy as if I’m going to faint.

Yes, what’s the point of getting mad at the maid? The employees of this mansion are paper dolls that are operated only by the owner’s orders. There were no good will, nor ill will to me.

So the only person I can blame is…….

* * *

For me, <Paradise on the Moon> was not a simple piece of writing. It was the only refuge that allowed me to forget this unrealistic reality and live a normal life, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying.

Unfortunately, after my novel disappeared from the world, there was nowhere else to hang on to.

Having no place to hang on to means that I just have to endure this abnormal life. Recklessly as if standing defenseless in the middle of a battlefield full of bullets.

At first glance, it may seem that I was devoted to writing the novel under Alan’s instructions, but in fact, I was not writing to dedicate the completed <Paradise on the Moon> to Alan.

I was only writing for Melissa Collins.

To get out of here first. To escape the shadow of a man who holds my life. Only then can I learn to love myself completely and live for myself.

The feeling of losing all those goals and will overnight cannot be explained by just being stunned or feeling hopeless. Anxiety and fear surged into me as if I was falling into an endless abyss. It was a huge panic indeed.

That’s why I’ve been hanging around the garden since morning. It was a cloudy day, but it was fortunate that it didn’t rain.

As if overcoming yesterday’s nightmare, I strode through the bushes where I had seen him and Monica, and farther, more thoroughly, looking for him, unaware of the weed stains on my hem. I had to meet him.

It suddenly occurred to me that Alan would have left the mansion early in the morning, while I was around like a madman.

What was he thinking when he burned <Paradise on the Moon>?

Alan Leopold loved my novel. He said he would read it, so he volunteered to be on the Academy Jury, and he even duplicated the manuscript secretly. Only to complete the story of the novel. It was only recently that he asked me what happened to the main character, Troy.

By all accounts, it was clear that he had an affection for my story. Ironically, the original culprit that brought me here was also that same affection.

Is it too much to say the original culprit? I ended up living in Alan Leopold’s house, where I’d put my whole life on the line, with that writing as a medium. It’s not an ideal form, but it probably won’t happen again even if I was born again.

We often sit face to face, look at each other, talk about secrets, and sometimes kiss each other, and it’s not love, but it’s similar enough…… So I shared feelings that I sometimes get deluded. It was a time when I was dreaming and overwhelmed.

But he never told me that it’s love. It’s not Melissa Collins that Alan Leopold loved but it’s her novel. In other words, the person he kissed was me as a novelist.

Even the novelist is a woman who loves him enough to create a character who looks like him and write a story, so all the actions Alan took on me may have been a kind of encouragement or hostility.

So my question is, why did he burn my novel? Even if he didn’t love me, didn’t he love my novel?

‘It was this hand.’

You kissed my fingertips tenderly and said that you’ve waited so long for my novel to be completed, for that one thing. Why in the world?

“……Ah.”

It was when I wandered in the forest for a long time and reached the pond in the center of the garden. I had to stop walking for a while and lift the hem of my dress because my ankle hurt.

Sure enough, there was a thin scratch near the ankle. Seeing that pale drops of blood were seeping out, the wound did not seem to have been inflicted recently.

I didn’t even know I was hurt until now, but after realizing it, I was no longer confident in wandering around the garden because my ankle was sore. My ankle is injured, and I feel like my head is spinning. Eventually, even breathing became somewhat uncomfortable. My chest is stuffy.

I thought, staring blankly down at the flowers blooming by the pond. Am I feeling angry right now? Am I getting angry that my novel which I wrote painstakingly burned down?

“…….”

Suddenly everything felt like stupid. Why I’m here. What the hell am I supposed to live for? It’s just all of a sudden, everything is…….

“Miss.”

It was when I closed my eyes and quietly inhaled the faint smell of wood that was blown by the wind mixed with the faint smell of water.

“You were here.”

When I turned around, the head-maid was standing there. It’s been a while since I saw that face.

“Is Alan back?”

“No.”

“……No?”

The question arose momentarily. If it wasn’t for Alan Leopold, there’s no reason for the head-maid to come to the middle of the garden looking for me.

Standing awkwardly with all my nerves focused on my tingling ankle, the maid opened her mouth.

“I brought an official letter from Hessen Cathedral about the donation, and I’d like to ask you to sign it.”

“……What?”

I couldn’t understand the maid’s words at once, and spoke in a puzzled voice. I hurriedly rolled up a strand of hair that fell on the bridge of my nose because of the wind blowing in time.

“What and from where did you bring it?”

How do I know what the cathedral is doing, since I have been in the Duchy for several months and haven’t even stepped out of the mansion?

“The master is not here.”

However, the maid’s answer is more spectacular.

“No, so why would you ask me for it? You can do it yourself, right? Or the butler—”

“We’re his servants, not the master’s proxy.”

“…….”

……I’m not either.

The maid had a stubborn mouth as always, and her voice was curt, but she seemed very calm. She added, in a tone that would say, ‘The autumn is in full swing.’

“Because you’re the mistress of this house.”

“N…” (No)

“I can’t keep them waiting long, so please come in. There’s not much to it, so just sign it.”

At that moment, I remembered last night’s conversation like a lie.

—I think I love you in my novel, not you.

I definitely said this, and then…….

—After all, you are……Just a shadow of Troy.

Even after saying words like those. Alan had taken me to his room when he heard it. He said something happened to him. It was just like comforting care.

But come to think of it, there’s no way that ‘something’ suddenly occurred that night, even while he was talking to me.

Of course, if it’s the job of burning down all my novel manuscripts, it’s a different story.

“I mean….”

Are you jealous of Troy in the novel? That Alan Leopold?

But my novel must be more important to him than me. He doesn’t even love me. Why is he jealous…….

“Oh, my lady.”

I was frustrated as I stood still with my mouth closed, and the head-maid sighed like urging me to wake up.

“Mr. Alan said it himself. All right?”

“…….”

“Come on, follow me. Come on.”

“……It doesn’t make sense.”

Alan Leopold, do you love me?

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