Cinderella lost her mother at a young age, and was raised by a stepmother and her new siblings…
The bookshelf shut with a dull thud. In an instant, we were sealed inside this suffocatingly narrow space—just wide enough for two people to stand shoulder-to-shoulder.
The only light came through the cracks between the densely packed shelves, casting thin slivers of dim illumination into the gloom.
As the bookshelf closed before my eyes, a tight, crushing pain seized my chest.
“You useless wench!”
“Stay in there and reflect until the merchant guild’s work is finished, you foolish Emelyn…”
Emelyn Violdrot.
I winced at the old name echoing in my mind.
My breath quickened.
Darkness. Tight space. Confinement.
The combination of those three was more than enough to drive me mad. Without realizing it, I’d already grabbed the bookshelf, fingernails digging in as if trying to pry it open.
That’s when Erik’s hand gently covered mine.
His crimson eyes glimmered faintly in the dark.
Outside, voices echoed.
“Why is no one on this floor? Even the Lord’s study is open!”
Startled, a maid stammered in reply.
“T-The Young Master summoned the servants to the third floor for a moment… I-I apologize. I should’ve left at least one stationed here…”
“For now, get out. Lock the room properly when you leave.”
With the steward’s harsh command, I heard the maid exiting the room.
I couldn’t breathe. I doubled over, gasping for air.
Erik whispered into my ear.
“What’s wrong? Are you injured…?”
I couldn’t speak. My insides roiled, and every fiber of my being screamed to be released from this cursed space.
“Let me out! You insane bastards! Locking up a ten-year-old like this—are you even human? Hey! You sons of… Father… Father! Please let me out! I was wrong…! I take it back—no, I take it back, please…!”
The screams of the young
Emelyn Violdrot
rang through my ears.
But I’m not her anymore. I’m
Emelyn Wedgewood
now. I’m not ten—I’m twenty-two…!
As soon as the servants’ footsteps vanished, Erik released his grip on the bookshelf.
“Huhhhh!”
With a strangled gasp, I pushed the bookshelf aside and burst out.
“Emelyn Wedgewood! What are you—!”
Crawling on all fours, I scrambled away from him. Erik reached out to grab me, but I shook him off violently.
I bolted straight to the door and seized the handle with both hands.
“Let me out… please… let me out of here…”
My voice trembled weakly, choked by nausea and breathlessness. I kept twisting the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. The maid must have locked it on her way out.
Erik looked down at me—this trembling wreck clawing at the door—as if I were some crazed spirit.
His crimson eyes.
The moment I met that gaze, I froze.
Because the same red eyes had stared down at me in the dream—the Duke of Orléans, standing in this very study, pointing a spiritual weapon at my chest.
“Ha… Ha…”
I gasped like someone who had just escaped a spirit beast's pursuit.
Slowly, reason returned to me. And realization crashed over me like a wave.
I had been rummaging through the Duke’s private study…
And got caught.
By Erik Orléans.
The Duke’s one and only son.
I’m doomed.
I looked up at Erik.
He scoffed, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“What kind of farce did I just witness?”
This isn’t a performance, you bastard.
Swallowing the curse that rose in my throat, I avoided his gaze and forced myself to speak calmly.
“Th-the... the steward said he’d show me around the Duke’s manor, but I... I got lost on the way…”
No matter how hard I tried, the stuttering wouldn’t stop.
“You just happened to wander in here by chance?”
“Y-yes?”
I hunched over like a withered weed, answering timidly. Erik looked at me like I was spouting nonsense.
He raised his hand. I clenched my jaw and bowed my head.
Even though I knew Erik wasn’t the kind of man to strike me, the memories from the shadowed corner I’d just escaped dragged my mind back to darker times.
Erik looked down at my trembling form, then ground his teeth audibly.
“Once again... treating me like some beast from the lower realms, Lady Emelline Wedgwood.”
When I lifted my head at his words, his furious face met mine.
Erik extended a hand. He meant for me to take it and stand.
The look in his eyes—half pity, half contempt—burned into me. My face flushed with heat again.
Here it was again. That anger. That scorn.
And that sliver of pity that made it all worse.
‘Who do you think you are…’
I bit down hard.
I ignored his hand and got to my feet on my own. It was like being doused in cold spiritual water—my mind snapped back into focus. The thought of how pale I must look right now only stoked my fury.
Why does nothing ever go my way? Why?!
“Now,” Erik said, voice sharp, “explain. Why were you hiding in the Duke’s cultivation chamber?”
“I-I told you just now… I was just exploring the estate…”
“Enough with the stammering act. Drop it.”
This isn’t an act! I’m genuinely nervous this time!
“Speak like you did earlier in the reception hall—when you called Vivian’s hairpiece decorative.”
“T-that was…”
“You were just sightseeing? Then why were you opening bookshelves?”
His crimson eyes gleamed with spiritual pressure, sharp enough to pierce through me.
Damn it… No choice now.
I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Then what about you? Why were
you
inside the bookshelf?”
“What? This is the Duke’s manor. Whether I’m inside a bookshelf or under a bed, what business is it of yours—”
“But this is the Duke’s private chamber. And you dismissed all the maids from this wing before sneaking in. Doesn’t quite match your righteous indignation, does it?”
His expression froze.
‘The young master called all the servants up to the third floor for a moment… I’m sorry. I should’ve left at least a few behind…’
The maid had said that just before she left. I heard it all.
Seeing the cracks in his mask, I pressed harder.
“Looks
very
suspicious to me. You said this is your house, sure—but why secretly investigate the Duke’s study after clearing out all the servants? Feels like something straight out of a dramatic cultivation chronicle... Maybe starring Lady Margaret Beaufort?”
I raised my brows pointedly.
His face no longer had mere cracks—it had shattered completely.
His complexion turned blotchy red and blue, and though he opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, only a deep sigh escaped.
I waved my hand with a mocking smile.
My tension had eased by now, and my voice came out smooth and confident.
“So let’s just pretend we don’t know anything about each other’s little excursions. I was just admiring the expensive-looking spirit furniture. And honestly? I don’t even care why you were sneaking around here.”
To be honest, I didn’t really care why Erik had snuck into this place.
Noble clans like his—overflowing with wealth and power—rarely cultivated the kind of deep familial bonds we common folks clung to. In such a twisted nest of spirit contracts and bloodlines, what did I have to gain by getting involved?
Besides, I had just confirmed one thing for certain: Erik of the Orléans Clan was far too powerful, far too dangerous, to be a proper ally.
With that in mind, I casually searched around the Duke’s study for something that might help pry open the door—perhaps a brush-pen or a paper blade.
Then, behind me, Erik murmured softly.
“Figures. This is your true face, isn’t it?”
“Yes, yes. Think whatever you want…” I answered half-heartedly, not really paying attention.
But then Erik said something strange.
“Then why didn’t you mention what Lady Vivian said about you and your mother? You had no problem saying awful things in the parlor.”
I turned sharply, frowning.
Erik was watching me with the lazy gaze of a panther, his crimson eyes half-lidded.
“You knew?” I asked.
“I did. Lily told me.”
Ah. So our loyal Lily turned out to be loyal only to her clan. Or maybe that’s just how it is—she
is
a maid of House Orléans, after all. Can’t blame her for playing by her master’s rules.
Putting on my most innocent expression, I spoke in a wounded voice.
“Well… if I had said anything, my mother would have been hurt…”
“And yet you still forged a letter from Vivian with a counterfeit scribe,” he replied, pulling the letter from his sleeve—the same one Philip had presented to the Duke.
My eyes widened.
“Lily told me about this too,” Erik added flatly.
Damn that Lily! And curse you too, Philip! How could you not even notice we were being followed?!
And you call yourself a con artist? I’ve told you time and time again—if you’re going to do bad things, you need the
brains
for it!
As my face began to twitch with rage, Erik grew visibly smug.
“Even so,” he pressed, “why did you pretend not to know? Hm?”
“Well…” I hesitated.
Erik’s brow creased.
“Because what Vivian did was wrong, right? Lady Vivian Cavendish
did
insult you and your mother. And if someone causes harm to another, then they should be punished. Causing pain is… a wicked act.”
His words made me instinctively take a step back.
I didn’t need anyone to teach me that hurting others was wrong. I knew full well that wicked deeds deserve retribution.
The problem was…
I had never met someone in the real world who actually
believed
in that kind of simplicity. That kind of clarity.
And worse—Erik had seen through it. Seen that I’d been wounded.
Suddenly, an unfamiliar anger began to rise inside me.
A righteous noble? That’s not fair. They already have spirit stones, influence, golden sigils—and now they get the moral high ground too?
If I’d been born into a life of ease, with no debt collectors at my heels, I could’ve been righteous too!
“You’re such a naive young master,” I snapped.
“What did you just say?” he asked, eyes narrowing.
“I said you’re a naive young master. So what?”
I glared at him.
I had no intention of speaking respectfully. Whether this so-called kindness was genuine or a carefully crafted act didn’t matter. Either way, it grated on my nerves.
“No—actually, if you were truly that naive, then when you received Vivian’s letter of protest, you should’ve said something immediately. Like: ‘Vivian’s the one who spoke first. She insulted someone first.’ But you didn’t.”
“...That’s…” he faltered.
His troubled expression said it all. That’s what had been bothering him this whole time.
I shook my head in disbelief.
Then Erik said something I never expected.
"I hesitated for a moment. I was curious about your answer. But... that hesitation was a mistake. So this too... I’m sorry."
Sorry?
For some reason, that word made me angry.
Was this really an apology? Or was it just more of that same pitying tone?
Or worse—was this all just an act too? Like Valdek’s?
I stepped closer to Erik, my face cold and unreadable.
"Listen, oh righteous young master. Were you really so naïve you didn’t know what your father was doing? Or did you just
not want
to know? Either way—wilful ignorance is still a sin in the cultivation world, Erik Orléans."
Erik’s brows furrowed.
"What are you trying to say…?"
I studied his face carefully—trying to see whether he truly didn’t know, whether he’d only vaguely sensed it, or if he had known everything all along and was just showing me a false mask of virtue.
And then it happened.
BANG!
A sharp crack tore through the air like a spirit art splitting the heavens.
I clapped my hands over my ears, eyes wide.
“W-what was
that
just now?!”
Erik replied in an unnervingly calm voice.
“Your brother and the Duke must’ve startled some bird on their walk. Sounded like a spirit-hunting musket.”
The moment I heard the word
musket
, a shiver ran through my entire body.
A gunshot…?
I rushed to the window.
In that instant, an image flashed through my mind—Philip, crumpling to the ground from a gunshot, and the Duke standing before him, musket in hand.
I flung open the window. Without hesitation, I climbed onto the sill.
Erik shouted behind me.
“Wait, you’re not actually— No, hold on! We can open the doors if we just wait a— This is the second floor, Emelline Wedgwood!”
“WHO CARES!”
And I jumped—straight down.
Chapter 9
.