The Male Lead’s Sickly Aide is My Type - Chapter 97.2
Chapter 97.2
A sense of despair, of being trapped with no escape, washed over Archen. He lowered his gaze. The man sensed Archen’s turmoil.
“Does she know you don’t have much time left? If not, the answer is simple.”
The mention of a solution jolted his attention.
“What is it?”
“Before that, answer my question. What is she like?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your lover.”
The man wanted information about Carinne in exchange, but Archen couldn’t divulge anything about her to this stranger. Perhaps the man had an ulterior motive from the start.
After a moment’s hesitation, he replied.
“I can’t say.”
“Is that all?”
“….”
“You must cherish her deeply. Or perhaps you simply don’t trust me.”
When Archen remained silent, the man chuckled, amused.
“Very well. Consider this a fortunate encounter. I’ll tell you the answer. There’s a rare herb that grows only on the southern islands of Irita. When consumed, it causes a slow, fatal buildup of toxins. Give it to your lover. It’s unknown to the world, so she’ll die without understanding why.”
“What are you saying?”
“You’ll die together. You’ll share the end.”
For a moment, Archen wondered if the man was insane. Still, his calm demeanor betrayed no sign of illness or jest. He was perfectly sane and utterly serious.
“Isn’t it romantic?”
“You’re mad.”
“I’m simply offering a solution. The choice is yours.”
“Just go. I’ll never do such a thing.”
There was no point in continuing the conversation. Archen turned and left without a proper farewell. As he disappeared from view, the masked man clicked his tongue.
‘Typical of people from small countries.’
In his experience, they tended to think in simpler terms. He’d offered a solution, and it was rejected. But what could he do?
It was the man’s choice.
Thinking it was a waste of talent, Ian walked into the shadows of the garden.
* * *
The woman who took the stage had long, curly red hair. She wore an extravagant dress laden with jewels and lace. When a passerby accidentally stepped on her foot, she grabbed the offender by the hair.
At a ball, she’d poured a drink over a noblewoman’s head because she disliked her greeting, and she’d verbally assaulted a poorer lady for wearing an outdated gown.
After wreaking havoc, her demeanor transformed with the arrival of a man.
Her haughty stride became demure, her cruel expression replaced with the innocence of a country maiden. She trailed after him, vying for his attention, which he brushed off with annoyance.
She fumed, then vanished backstage.
When she reappeared, she was dressed plainly. The malicious tormentor was gone, replaced by a picture of composure. She greeted passersby with a gentle smile, offering a sweet to a begging child with a twinkle in her eye.
She engaged in political discussions with bearded men and laughed merrily at tea parties.
She was a completely different person.
And observing this transformation from the shadows was the very man she had pursued earlier. The man expressed his interest, and the woman, feigning reluctance, eventually accepted his advances.
With a satisfied smile, he took his leave.
The woman, her steps light and carefree, crossed the stage only to have her foot trod upon yet again, this time by a passerby.
A shrill cry immediately ripped through the air. She slapped the offender’s cheek, her voice rising to a scream. From “How dare you step on my foot!” to “Now you’ll feel what it’s like!” she ground her heel into the passerby’s foot.
Her actions were not only excessive but bordering on comical, and the audience, realizing this, erupted in laughter. The person in front of Carinne laughed, those on either side of her laughed, and the people behind her couldn’t contain their amusement either.
Whispers buzzed around her.
‘I know who that is.’
‘It’s who I think it is, right?’
‘See? A leopard can’t change its spots.’
Surrounded by the cackling crowd, Carinne quietly clenched her fists. Had all her efforts been in vain? Was her desire to take over another’s life and live well in their place so reprehensible that she deserved to be judged?
‘I didn’t even ask to transmigrate…’
She hated the world, hated the people. She wanted nothing more than to shut herself away, bury her face in her blankets, and disappear.
The only person she wanted to see was Archen.
She longed to be held by him, to bury her face in his warm embrace and sob. He wouldn’t ask questions, just hold her tight. But he had excused himself to the restroom and still hadn’t returned.
Feeling her eyes welling up, Carinne tilted her mask and dabbed at them with her sleeve.
It was at that very moment that a hand landed on her shoulder.
★ support nana on ko-fi!
≪ Discord ≫
≪ Novel Updates ≫
YOU MAY ALSO LIKE
