Chapter 242

Chapter 242

She practically snatched the sleeping child from Deatrice’s arms and forced her to stand.

“Wake up, Deborah! How many times must I tell you not to burden your teachers with such childishness? And Miss Fram, don’t coddle her. We are teachers, not her mother. Do you understand?”

Deborah rubbed her eyes as she reluctantly took Principal Anita’s hand. As she did, Deatrice felt herself slowly waking from her own daze. Though Lucius’s sudden appearance had left her shaken, the stern gaze of Principal Anita grounded her back in reality.

“Yes, I understand.”

When Deatrice responded respectfully, Principal Anita’s demeanor softened slightly, her anger somewhat abated.

“Sir Elliot came here to inquire about Priestess Sophie. No one knows her better than you, Miss Fram, so I suggested you speak with him. He’s been waiting for quite some time, so please provide him with all the information he needs. Sir Elliot, I apologize for the delay.”

With that, Principal Anita took Deborah’s hand, offered a brief curtsy, and left the room. The silence that followed felt heavy, like the calm after a storm.

Lucius approached her slowly, almost as if offering a truce, and held out the flower crown. But his grip was too tight, nearly crushing the delicate arrangement.

Deatrice glanced at the crown, then stepped back, putting more distance between them as she closed off her heart. She quickly regained her composure, as if she had expected this all along.

“Not surprised at all,” she said, her voice even.

Her calmness only deepened Lucius’s misunderstanding. He looked at her with a crooked smile, his eyes flicking to the crown in his hand.

“It’s as if you knew I would come.”

That same misunderstanding had festered in him all the way here, growing stronger with each passing moment. Lucius pulled a small envelope from his pocket and tossed it at her feet. Inside were the rings.

“Why did you send this?”

“…”

“Did you think I’d come running like a dog and beg you to take me back?”

Deatrice’s words were laced with bitterness, but it was clear that the sight of the rings had shaken her. The timing, the day Lucius was about to leave, made it unbearable for her.

Yet Deatrice didn’t even glance at the rings as she responded with a cold detachment.

“I was just returning what belonged to you.”

“Returning what belonged to me?”

Lucius laughed bitterly.

“‘Returning’ is something you do when it’s wanted. Do I look like I need these? They’re not even mine anymore, just trash after the marriage fell apart. Sending them to me—don’t you think that’s a bit forced? Writing a letter asking me to come back would have been less pathetic.”

His sharp words cut into her like thorns. Deatrice had anticipated that seeing the rings would stir uncomfortable emotions in Lucius. She had even considered that he might come to confront her, as he now had.

But even so…

“If you thought that, then you shouldn’t have come at all.”

Even if he did believe she was manipulating him, it didn’t give him the right to hurt her.

Deatrice lifted her chin, regaining a measure of her pride.

“If you think I was trying to pull you back with some scheme and you saw right through it… then you should’ve just stayed away.”

“Ha, so what you’re saying is that I’m the fool for coming here, and it’s got nothing to do with you?”

He gripped the back of a nearby chair, trying to hold back his anger. But soon, his resolve faltered.

“What are you trying to do with me?”

He couldn’t understand her at all.

The entire way here, Lucius had struggled to keep his anger in check. He’d told himself to stay rational, to avoid losing control and lashing out at her. But the moment he saw her again, all that resolve shattered.

Seeing her holding the child so tenderly, she seemed to embody the life they had lost. He’d never wanted children, but in that moment, he could vividly picture the family they could have had, the warm and peaceful future they could have shared.

And she, standing right in front of him, was the one who had willingly thrown it all away.

“Do you want me to beg? Do you want me to ask you to come back?”

His words were sharp, almost desperate. It was hard to tell if he was chastising her or pleading for her to give him that answer.

Deatrice, sensing his desperation, took a few steps back, her face turning pale as she realized the weight of the situation.

“No, how could I possibly ask that of you?”

“‘Possibly’…”

He muttered bitterly. His throat burned as if he had swallowed poison, despite not having touched a drop of alcohol.