~Chapter 95~
The Second Revenge
The kitchen maid’s eyes widened again.
“Y-you’ll be the one to take it, my lady?”
“Yes. Is there a problem?”
And there was—a very big one. Everyone in the manor knew that Lady Eleanor and Young Master Damian had been sworn enemies since childhood.
But as a lowly kitchen maid, she couldn’t exactly say that out loud.
It would’ve been nice if a senior maid had been around to answer in her place, but unfortunately, they had all either gone for lunch or were busy attending to other tasks. She was alone.
“Y-you have to feed him directly… and clean up any mess… It’s quite a demanding task, my lady. I just thought it might be a bit too much for you…”
She tried to keep her tone as polite and affectionate as possible.
Eleanor simply offered a faint, graceful smile.
“I know. But I’ll still do it. I just… feel like I should.”
“Pardon…?”
“Damian and I haven’t exactly gotten along, I know. So it’s natural for you to feel concerned. But still… he’s my family.”
There was something sentimental about the smile on her lips. And when she spoke of family, her voice sounded almost fragile.
The maid felt an odd sense of sympathy toward Eleanor.
“It hurts my heart, you know? The one I’ve thought of as a little brother all my life… is sick. I’ve never once taken care of him during an illness, and that’s been weighing on me. So just for today, I want to do this myself. Will that be alright?”
It was such a gentle and heartfelt statement that the maid’s chest tightened.
Even more surprising, Eleanor had asked for her opinion so kindly, despite the maid’s low rank. The moment felt tender and refreshing.
“Of course, my lady. I’ll prepare it for you right away.”
“Thank you, Sophia.”
The lady knows my name?! And thanked me, too?!
Sophia blinked in astonishment, nearly in tears from the unexpected kindness.
She quickly and carefully prepared everything—a spoon, a napkin, lukewarm soup, and water, all laid out neatly on a tray to make Eleanor’s job easier.
Eleanor thanked her once again before gracefully picking up the tray and leaving the kitchen.
As she walked, the faint aroma of soup wafted up from the covered dishes. Despite the lid’s intended purpose of keeping dust out and warmth in, the rich scent continued to radiate.
Despite the fact that Damian had fallen from his position as heir and was now little more than a burden to the household, his meals remained of the highest quality, even as a patient.
Of course, if he was healthy, he would not have eaten such “bland” food.
Eleanor walked with perfect posture up the stairs, tray in hand.
But instead of turning right—toward Damian’s room—she went the opposite way.
She walked all the way to her room, set the tray down on her table, and lifted the lid. Then, carefully, she removed the bowl of soup from the tray.
Turning her head, she scanned the room—and spotted what she was looking for: a plate of food sitting atop a low decorative cabinet in the corner.
Hilda had brought it earlier, just as Eleanor had asked. She’d left without a word, likely out of consideration, so Eleanor wouldn’t feel awkward.
Eleanor walked over, retrieved the new dish, and placed it where the soup had been.
Then she covered it back up—and it looked exactly like the original.
‘Oh, right. The gift.’
Smiling in satisfaction, she turned back quickly and picked up a prettily wrapped package. Her hands were full, so she awkwardly balanced it all with the help of her elbows.
Knock, knock.
Finally arriving at Damian’s door, Eleanor knocked politely.
“It’s me, Damian. I’m coming in.”
What a strange thing—for her to be knocking on his door and for Damian to respond with silence instead of yelling for her to go away.
She opened the door and saw him lying there like a corpse, only his eyes moving as he tracked her entrance.
“My lady? What brings you here… is that Young Master Damian’s meal?”
The servant attending Damian blinked in surprise.
“Yes. Could you step out for a moment? I’ll be feeding him today.”
“Y-yes, of course.”
Unlike Sophia, the servant didn’t ask any questions. He simply obeyed, even though Damian was letting out pitiful groans of protest.
But it was only natural.
Anyone who spent time around Damian now knew exactly how helpless he was—and how others would begin to treat him.
‘What’s that smell…?’
Even though the scent leaking from the food tray was unmistakably odd, the servant said nothing and quietly left the room.
Clack.
The door closed behind him.
Eleanor slowly walked over to the bed.
“Ughhh! Aaah! Ghhk—!”
As she came closer, Damian thrashed weakly and let out pitiful noises, his whole body trembling.
How miserable it was to be with the person who had harmed him and still be unable to scream, curse, or defend himself.
“Yes, Damian. It’s painful, isn’t it? You would’ve been better off dying that night. But what a shame… You survived, and now look at you.”
Eleanor clicked her tongue with mock sympathy as she set the gift box on the side table and the tray on the chair.
“I heard they’ll be moving you to a much smaller room soon. Then you’ll truly have lost everything.”
The bedroom Damian was currently in had always belonged to the heir of the Astria family, second only in grandeur to the Duke’s own room.
However, it was far too large for a bedridden disabled person.
The servants were just waiting for the right moment to ask the Duke to relocate him, perhaps once his rage cooled and a new heir was named.
“Living out the rest of your days trapped in a tiny room, eating flavorless slop, watching your body waste away… That’s not a life. Honestly, a dog’s life sounds better, doesn’t it?”
“Ugh—ughkk—!”
The mere mention of dogs drained the blood from Damian’s face.
His lower body might’ve been numb, but his face remembered pain—and his mind surely remembered the horror of watching those beasts devour him while he lay paralyzed.
Eleanor smiled brightly at the sight.
She gently lifted his upper body and put him up, then sat in the chair and set the tray on her lap.
“I brought this myself. For my poor, suffering little brother.”
She opened the lid gently.
A foul stench instantly filled the air.
The soup in the bowl was rotten and moldy, thick with curdled slime and specks of white fuzz.
Damian’s blue eyes shook in horror.
“It’s not as fresh as what you used to serve me, but since I made it with care, I’m sure you’ll finish it for me, won’t you?”
“AAAAH! UGHHH!!”
“Oh, don’t be shy.”
Eleanor chuckled sweetly, pretending his screams were just shy noises.
She knew perfectly well that he was crying out for help.
“Go on, have a taste.”
She stirred the moldy soup gently and brought a spoonful to his lips.
Damian clenched his teeth with all the strength he had left—but even that was too weak.
Eleanor simply pressed both his cheeks together until his mouth opened.
“Ugh! Guhh—!”
As the rotten soup slid down his throat, Damian gagged violently.
But Eleanor didn’t stop.
She kept feeding him, slowly and gently.
“Even if it doesn’t taste great… it’s still better than a live rat, wouldn’t you say?”
“After all, at least this was cooked,” she whispered, her voice dripping with ice.
“Guuhk! Ughhh!”
Damian vomited violently.
The mess splattered across Eleanor’s hands and gown, but she didn’t so much as flinch.
As if expecting it, she wiped it away and continued feeding him.
She spooned the vomit back into his mouth. Again, and again, and again—until the bowl was empty.
By the end, Damian was half-unconscious, his body limp.
His face was covered with filth, and the once-glittering eyes were vacant, staring at nothing.
“There, there. You were a good boy. Now it’s time for your present.”
Eleanor calmly wiped herself clean with a wet cloth.
She placed the tray on the floor and picked up the gift box from the side table.
“I really hope you like it.”
Whatever she said, Damian didn’t respond.
He didn’t cry or scream anymore.
He simply just lay there, hollowed out—the brief torture having drained what little energy he had left.
But that was fine.
Eleanor opened the box and pulled out its contents.
She stood up, held it above her head, and gave it a little shake.
Just enough for Damian to see it clearly.
A thick, long rope dangled in front of his eyes.
Damian’s pupils dilated in a flash.
A vision flickered in his mind —
That day.
The golden-haired dog, which he had killed.
Strangled and hung in Eleanor’s bedroom by this very rope.
“AAAAAH! UGHHH!”
He knew what this meant.
She was going to kill him. She was going to hang him like that dog!
That’s why she came with the rope. That’s why she fed him this way.
Revived by fear, Damian started screaming again.
Eleanor let out a soft laugh at the sound.
“Dreaming big, don’t you?”
She whispered, amused.
“Don’t worry, Damian. Your dear sister isn’t so kind as to end your life with her own hands.”
Just like she’d told Milo, Eleanor didn’t want Damian dead.
No.
She wanted him to suffer.
To beg for death.
And right now, he was exactly where she had always wanted him.
She was the lucky one. Not him.
Thunk.
She placed the rope on the side table.
“I’ll leave this here for you. Look at it often. Think about it.”
Damian looked confused. He still didn’t understand what she meant.
But he would—soon.
“Think hard about whether living like this is worth it… or if death might be easier. Wait for the moment when bedsores cover your flesh and loneliness eats your mind alive.”
She wanted him to know what it was like—to live like one of those chained animals he used to mock.
To have nothing left but misery.
To desire death.
Because the life he had ahead of him was emptier, lonelier, and more agonizing than anything he’d ever imagined.
And someday—he’d beg that rope to finish what the dogs could not.
