Chapter 15: What Kind of Blade Do You Wish to Draw?
Eve stood in disarray amid the night wind—quite literally, not as a taphor. The window at the end of the long corridor in the main residence was open, and gusts of wind poured in, lifting the hem of her skirt. She had been standing like this for a full half hour.
This area was the core of the main residence, and ordinary servants rarely passed through.
So…
When exactly was she coming? How tedious…
Eve maintained a standard posture with an expressionless face. She instinctively wanted to lean against the wall, but professional reflex forbade it. Instead, she took out the notebook from the pocket hidden in her skirt.
It was the one the Head Maid had given her earlier. Was this not the perfect way to pass the ti?
Originally, she was supposed to et in the study. But the Head Maid had said the Young Miss was bathing, so the arrangent changed to waiting directly outside the bedroom door. If things continued in this direction…
They might as well tell her to go inside and warm the bed.
A sigh passed through her thoughts. Rather than overthinking, she might as well read. To be fair, the Head Maid’s notes were impressively thorough. Every precaution was written with ticulous clarity.
For instance, the Young Miss’s daily schedule: from the morning wake-up service, selecting a change of clothes, assisting with washing and grooming—it was hardly different from caring for soone with special needs.
Then ca a full day of studies—no exaggeration. In the morning, piano and yoga; in the afternoon, illustration and tea ceremony.
In the evening, in the study, courses in languages, history, economics, and social maneuvering.
Even on paper, the intensity felt suffocating. It was all ntal work. Eve admitted she would likely struggle with it; raising her combat record would be easier.
Still… do not assu that being a noble young lady was easy. The cultivation they underwent was relentless. Otherwise, what qualification would a re ornantal vase have to enjoy such privilege?
Beauty alone was insufficient to serve as a tool for political marriage. They had to beco works of art—flawless, polished, and, in the process, stripped of any room to struggle.
“What are you reading?”
A tender yet arrogant voice sounded. Eve lowered her head slightly toward the left at the sound. After recognizing the speaker, she put away the notebook.
Turning to face her, she folded her hands before her lower abdon. “Good evening, Young Miss.”
The familiar fiery red hair was still visibly damp, a strand clinging to Vivian Hatherin’s forehead.
She stood with one hand on her hip but did not pursue the matter of what Eve had been reading.
“I have been standing here for several minutes, and you did not notice. If I had not spoken, would you have remained there forever?”
As domineering as ever. Eve thought, With soone so small, who would notice? Next ti, perhaps she should jump, or hang a bell around her neck.
“I did notice, Young Miss. I was simply waiting for you to speak first.”
Vivian crossed her arms. “You certainly carry yourself like an official. Were you expecting
to take the initiative?”
“……”
“Why are you not as sharp-tongued as you were last night? Speak.”
Eve offered a professional smile, unwilling to argue further. Continuing would only create unnecessary conflict. “If the Young Miss says so, then it is so.”
“Hmph. That smile is ugly,” Vivian scoffed.
Her eyes drifted to Eve’s altered maid uniform. Instinctively, she thought it suited her—the uniform enhanced her rather than the other way around.
No… why was she thinking of praising her? She should be tearing her down, making her aware of her lowly status, breaking her will until she willingly beca a pet.
With that thought, Vivian nodded. “I thought you would run away. It seems you truly do not believe in my thods?”
“I believe in them. But if the Young Miss truly intended such things, my tombstone would not even bear my na,” Eve replied calmly. Empty threats did not work on her.
“Tch. Do not try to read my mind!”
“Understood.”
“How irritating,” Vivian muttered.
In truth, it was not entirely because of Eve. She endured the relentless weight of the cultivation program every day, and nightti was her rare mont of respite.
She was exhausted, yet until she broke free completely, she had no choice. She was Vivian Hatherin.
The resentnt in her heart had nowhere to go, so naturally it landed on the maid before her.
If she had objections, she could endure them. She would not dare voice them.
“Why are you still standing there? Open the door. Must I do it myself?”
“If the Young Miss wishes.”
Vivian’s eyes widened. “What did you say?”
Was this not how it was supposed to go? Should she not shout sternly, and the maid realize her mistake and obey obediently?
Just as Vivian was on the verge of exploding, Eve moved swiftly. Even the door seed unable to react before it was forcibly expanded open.
Eve stepped aside and gestured toward the room without speaking. Vivian did not move either, waiting for her to speak.
“Young Miss, please.”
“Hmph. You may as well anger
to death,” Vivian snapped before finally stepping inside. Her petite figure left behind a cold command. “Co in.”
Only after the words fell did Eve follow, closing the door firmly behind her. A gust of wind surged, and one might have expected a loud bang—but her timing was impeccable.
Just as the door was about to slam shut, a gloved hand reached out, cushioning it to a silent stop. The entire motion was smoother than the honey syrup brewed by the elderly woman next door.
Click.
The door closed.
Eve turned toward the direction of the retreating footsteps, taking the opportunity to observe this newly unlocked territory on her internal map.
As befitted a noble young lady, Vivian’s bedroom was vast and spacious. Aside from a massive four-poster bed occupying the center—large enough to hold ten people comfortably—there was only a wardrobe, bedside table, and dressing table.
Call it minimalist, yet the magenta-toned elegant décor and pervasive air of wealth contradicted that simplicity. Call it lavish, yet the room felt almost empty.
In summary, it was wealth without restraint. They said that once people rose too high, they forgot their origins—but Vivian had never known hardship. She had been born into a realm ordinary people could not even approach.
In Eve’s line of sight, Vivian sat on the edge of the great bed. Her nightgown blended seamlessly with the magenta velvet covers.
Vivian looked at her impatiently. “I am here. Why are you standing there? Co over.”
Outwardly, Eve complied. Inwardly, she began to wonder whether things were drifting further out of place.
eting in the bedroom was one thing—but the situation increasingly resembled a eting on the bed itself. What aning Vivian intended to draw from this, only she knew.
When Eve stopped three steps away, Vivian spoke again.
“Are you an idiot? Co closer.”
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