(Evelina's POV — Hospital Room—Continuation)
The last flicker of the blue screen faded, leaving the sterile hospital room quiet again. Too quiet. Even the heart monitor seemed to hold its breath.
"Why aren't you speaking?" Kael's voice cut through the air like frost. Cold, clipped, and perfectly condescending—because of course it was.
I didn't answer right away. The system's words still hovered in my mind: Hidden Quest: You've attracted the Male Lead's attention.
Great. Just what I needed—attention from the one man in this story who'd rather romance a duck than deal with me. But...that also means… anything could happen if I upset him.
I'd made it through Easy Mode already. Barely. And I had the mental scars to prove it. Now that I was in Hard Mode, survival meant two things:
One, keep my villainess act flawless. Two, minimize contact with the male lead like he's a walking bad ending.
I met his eyes, cold, sharp and untouchable. "If my near-death counts as attention, then tell me—why are you here, Mr. Valtore?"
His eyes widened—a flicker of surprise breaking through that perfect mask. "…What?"
Of course he's shocked. Evelina used to cling to him like a lovesick fool. She used to call him 'my dear Kael' in public.
SHIVER!!!
I actually shivered at the memory—goosebumps prickling up my arms like I'd been cursed. No, thank you. I'd rather choke on hospital jelly than let those words leave my mouth again.
He didn't respond, just stood there, looking at me like I'd grown a second head.
I continued, voice calm—too calm—the kind that made people lean in just to realize it was a blade.
"You said at the engagement party that you'd rather marry a duck than me," I murmured, meeting his eyes. "So forgive me if I'm a little confused about why you're suddenly concerned about my well-being."
Kael's jaw tightened, his crimson eyes narrowing. Then came a soft, cold laugh—humorless and sharp.
"I see… you're not even informed." His tone dripped frost. "If it wasn't for me, you'd already be dead."
I blinked once.
Slowly.
Then smiled, faint and brittle. "Oh? Then what do you want—gratitude? Should I curtsy and thank the man who couldn't stand the sight of me?"
He flinched. Barely—but enough.
"I risked more than you realize," he said, voice low and controlled. "You were poisoned—at my event. Do you have any idea what kind of scandal that—"
I cut him off, my tone smooth but venom-laced. "Forgive me, but I was poisoned at your party, Mr. Valtore—under your watch."
I shifted slightly, letting the IV tube tug against my arm for dramatic emphasis. "So if we're talking about responsibility…"
My eyes met his—steady, unflinching. "Shouldn't it be you answering me? Why was I the one dying on your ballroom floor?"
The question landed like a slap. His expression darkened, the control in his posture fracturing for a split second. But he said nothing.
Of course he didn't. Because deep down, even he didn't know who did it—or worse, he did, and he didn't stop it.
I leaned back against the pillow, the corner of my mouth lifting just enough to twist the knife. "Relax. I'm not expecting an apology. because according to you, a woman like me doesn't deserve those, right?"
For a moment, Kael didn't move. His gaze held mine—steady, unreadable. The silence stretched, thick enough to choke on.
Then he sighed. The kind of exhale that carried both irritation and resignation. "…It was a mistake," he muttered, his voice low, each word clipped with disdain. "To come here. To see you."
He turned toward the door, hands sliding neatly into his pockets like he was walking away from a business meeting, not a hospital bed. "I did the right thing breaking off the engagement," he added without looking back. "You're exactly the kind of woman who turns everything she touches to ash."
And then—
SHUT!
The door slammed so hard the glass on the flower vase rattled.
I blinked once. Twice.
"..."
"…Bastard," I muttered under my breath.
My voice echoed faintly in the quiet room.
He thinks the world revolves around him. Technically… it does. He's the male lead, after all. But that doesn't mean I have to orbit around his ego like some pathetic moon.
I sank back into the pillow, glaring at the ceiling that looked way too smug for being inanimate.
"...Tch. At least he was useful for something," I muttered, my voice dripping with mock gratitude. "I gained some freedom, thanks to him."
I turned my head toward the faint reflection on the window—pale skin, tired eyes, and an IV line running down my arm.
Freedom. The word sounded too big for this fragile body, but it was the only thing I had right now.
"Congratulations, Evelina," I murmured to myself. "You've officially upgraded from dying prop to semi-functional NPC with dialogue options."
A humorless laugh slipped out. Honestly, what kind of game gives you freedom after you nearly die and insult the male lead?
The system's logic was as broken as my life.
Still… I wasn't complaining.
If I could talk freely and act freely—Then I could control what came next.
But freedom didn't mean safety. Not in this cursed script.
Sure, I could avoid the male lead now—keep a safe, duck-free distance from his divine presence—but there was still one terrifying problem waiting for me.
Evelina's family.
The same people who, at some point in the game, eventually killed her.
My pulse thudded. Not from fear, but from the weight of reality settling in.
Once I was discharged, I'd be stepping straight into a den of snakes dressed in silk. The perfect Modern nobel family—cold smiles, sharper knives.
If I wanted to live—no, if I wanted to survive—I'd need a plan.
***
[Hospital Room—Three Days Later—Discharge Day]
Three days later, I was officially declared "stable."
Which, apparently, meant my organs had decided to keep doing their jobs out of sheer obligation.
In those three days, Lucien and Father visited me a few times. They never talked to me. They'd sit quietly, read a magazine, exchange polite words with the doctor, and then leave.
No warmth. No questions. No, "How are you feeling?"
Just… silence dressed in fine suits.
And as for the others? Mother didn't come. Arden didn't come. The heroine certainly didn't come.
"Congratulations, Miss Hartgrave," the nurse said brightly as she handed me the discharge papers. "You've recovered faster than expected."
Faster than expected, huh? Maybe dying once gives your body a head start on healing.
She motioned toward the hallway. "Please, this way, Miss Hartgrave. Your family's car is waiting outside. Mr. Lucien Hartgrave is here to escort you home."
I nodded and stepped out, the faint squeak of my hospital slippers echoing down the corridor.
Lucien stood a few feet away, speaking quietly with the doctors. His posture was perfect, his expression unreadable—typical of a man who'd been born knowing how to hide things behind a polite smile.
When he noticed me, he gave the nurse a short nod. "Thank you for your service."
The nurse smiled and excused herself. Lucien turned back to me, his hand halfway lifted. "Let's—"
But I was already walking past him. Honestly, I didn't even notice his hand until I'd taken three steps ahead.
I stopped, turned slightly, and blinked. "Aren't you coming?"
He froze, hand still in midair. For a second, something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe. Then he sighed softly, ruffling his hair in that polished, exasperated big-brother way.
"…Yeah," he said finally, falling into step beside me. "Let's go."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable—but it wasn't comforting either. It was just there. Like everything else about the Hartgraves.
But even that fragile neutrality shattered the moment Lucien opened his mouth.
"We've been investigating the poisoning," Lucien said finally, voice cool and composed—like he was discussing a business report, not an attempted murder.
I didn't slow down. "I see."
He hesitated, his polished calm slipping just slightly. "But there wasn't a single suspicious figure caught on CCTV. Not one."
My steps faltered, just for a heartbeat.
Of course there wasn't. The system wouldn't leave evidence.
But the way his eyes lingered on me—sharp, assessing—told me exactly what he and the others must've started to believe.
I turned my head slightly, voice soft but razor-edged.
"So what exactly are you implying, Lucien?" I asked, turning to meet his eyes. "That I poisoned myself for attention?"
He flinched. Just barely. "Evelina, I didn't mean—"
I cut him off with a cold look, one sharp enough to slice through his careful tone.
"Don't," I said quietly, stepping past him. "There's no point continuing this when you've already written the ending, brother."
The sound of my footsteps swallowed the rest of his silence. And just like that, whatever fragile illusion of family warmth there had been was gone.