Chapter 29
A Failed Wish

In an instant, Matthias’s smile vanished, his face turning so cold and merciless that Layla instinctively held her breath.

“I’ll be leaving.”

Unable to bear meeting his eyes, she stared down into her teacup as she spoke.

“…What?”

“I won’t dare trouble Your Grace’s estate any longer. I’ll leave.”

“Leave? To where?”

“Anywhere.”

Her hands trembled, but she tightened her grip. Don’t be afraid. Even if it was pointless, she told herself.

“This world doesn’t begin and end with Arvis. It isn’t the only place for me.”

The barb carried the sting of defiance. Perhaps it was too petty, too laughable, for he gave no reply.

She wanted nothing more than to rise and walk away, but memory struck: that summer day when he had flung her hat into the Schulte River simply because she refused to eat what he offered, and she had ended up drenched in the icy water. She couldn’t let it happen again.

Bracing herself, Layla hurriedly drained her still-hot coffee. She almost choked but forced it down. Only when the cup was empty did she feel she could breathe.

“Layla.”

Her name, spoken in a voice pitched dangerously low, made it sound like a threat. Frozen stiff, she fumbled in her bag and placed money at the edge of the table.

“What’s this?”

Matthias gave a sharp, amused laugh.

“For the tea I drank,” she answered, eyes fixed on her fingertips.

“You think I’m the sort of man who’d collect coin from the likes of you?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t wish to drink tea at Your Grace’s expense.”

Her hands grew colder, her nails white, but she wanted it clear. This wasn’t Arvis, his world where she lived as an unwanted guest.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me, Layla.”

“Don’t command me.”

Her eyes flared with anger as she finally looked up at him. Reckless courage blotted out fear.

“I’m not Your Grace’s maid.”

“Maid?”

“Yes. I live under Uncle Bill’s roof in Arvis, but that doesn’t make me your maid.”

“Is that so? Then what are you?”

“…Nothing.”

Her eyes glistened red.

“I always was, and always will be, nothing.”

Moist green eyes held him, and in them she denied him.

Matthias’s hand tightened on his cup. Memory returned—how he had once wanted to throttle her neck, how he had rolled in the dirt in disgrace, mad with rage over one insignificant girl. That late summer afternoon had been filthier than the mud itself.

What if he had done it then?

Perhaps it wouldn’t feel so wretched now. Not like this, ensnared by a woman who was supposed to be nothing.

He picked up the money she had left and rose. Slowly, he dropped it onto her lap.

“Take it.”

Her eyes shone redder as she looked up. He met them steadily, then tossed several gold coins into her skirts.

“These too.”

“What are you—”

“You should be saying, ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’”

His smile cut sharp. Layla’s eyes turned clearer, brighter with tears.

“You take Claudine’s money easily enough, don’t you? Graciously. Thankfully.”

Her lips parted as if to protest, but no sound came.

“I’ve stolen your time, and since you’re not my maid, I’ll pay you fair wages for it.”

No matter how she clenched her teeth, she couldn’t stop the tears.

“If you don’t like that, then call it charity for a pitiful orphan.”

Her tears fell, glittering like shards of glass.

“You who love a man simply because he’s willing to marry a poor orphan—what’s so different, really, between that and these coins? Isn’t your pride just as cheap?”

She glared at him, unwilling to yield, but her tears streamed down unchecked, tracing her cheeks.

Relief washed through Matthias as he left the café. Layla would never smile for him, but neither could she keep from weeping.

If he couldn’t make her smile, then he would make her cry. If what he gave her was not joy but wounds, then so be it. Either way, she could never again treat him as nothing.

Before stepping out, Matthias turned. Layla sat with her glasses set aside on the table, crying openly.

As he walked out of the museum, his steps unhurried, he wished two things: that Layla would marry the doctor’s son soon and vanish from his world—and that the tears and wounds he had left behind in her would last forever.

The sun was already setting, yet Layla had not returned to the hotel.

Kyle, who had come to fetch her for dinner, emerged from the lobby with worry etched deep on his face. She wasn’t a child, true, but Latz was unfamiliar to her—and full of dangers.

“Unbelievable. That little thing has no fear.”

His chest tight with panic, Kyle sprinted through the streets. He had been certain she’d be at the museum, but by the time he arrived, it was closed. She was nowhere in sight.

Did she get lost?

He ran harder.

Or… did something happen to her?

The thought of it made him want to collapse. Then he saw her. By the fountain at the far end of the museum boulevard, Layla was tossing coins toward the statue at its center.

“Layla!”

She turned, startled.

“Oh—Kyle?”

After leaving him half frantic, she stood there looking baffled.

“What are you doing here?”

Pushing damp hair from his brow, he strode toward her.

“Why aren’t you back at the hotel? What about your exam prep?”

“Is that what matters right now? You—really… honestly, you…”

Kyle gripped her shoulders, panting. Only after a long while did his ragged breath subside.

“You okay? Do you want to sit down?”

Layla, instead, looked at him with concern.

Who was supposed to be worrying about whom?

Kyle cupped her face in his hot hands. A hollow laugh escaped him. Then he noticed her eyes were swollen.

“Layla, have you been crying?”

“No.”

Her instant reply was answer enough.

“Why? Who made you cry?”

“No one.”

She smiled faintly, nudging his hands away.

“I just visited the museum, walked in the park, and made a wish.”

“A wish?”

“Mm. Everyone else was doing it.”

She gestured toward the fountain, where people laughed brightly as they tossed coins.

“I even wished for you to pass the exam.”

Kyle pointed at the statue’s urn. “Looks like you have to land it in there for it to count.” The air was full of groans from those who missed.

“Of course I made it.”

She looked smug.

“I’m good at this.”

“Naturally.”

“It’s already dinner time. You hungry? Let’s make one more wish before we go.”

Clutching a gleaming gold coin, she strode forward. Kyle blanched.

“Layla! Don’t tell me you’ve been throwing gold coins in there? You, of all people?”

She didn’t answer—just hurled it. It struck the rim and bounced away. Layla gasped in dismay.

“And you’re supposed to be good at this?”

“I don’t get it. The others all went in!”

“How many coins have you thrown already?”

The sight of her, so unlike herself, made Kyle laugh again.

“Fine. Since you’ve donated half the treasury of Latz, I’ll make a wish too.”

“Don’t you dare!”

She grabbed his hand in alarm.

“Don’t waste it!”

“And you say that after pitching in gold?”

“That money was different!”

“There’s ‘different’ money?”

“Yes!”

She was adamant.

“Don’t. It’s wasteful. If you really want, buy ice cream with it instead.”

“Now that sounds like the real Layla Llewellyn.”

He shrugged and tucked the coin away.

“Let’s go, Layla.”

He offered his hand. She only patted it lightly and walked on ahead, light-footed. Kyle quickened to keep pace.

“What did you wish for?”

“Uncle Bill’s health and happiness. For you to pass the exam and become a good doctor. For me to become a good adult. I scored all of those.”

“And the last one?”

“Hm?”

“The one that failed.”

Her cheerful face turned solemn.

“That one’s… a secret.”

She shook her head vehemently and walked faster. Kyle thought to press her, but her seriousness made him stop. He only grinned.

“Let’s go eat, Layla. I’m starving from chasing you all over the city.”

Doctor Etman sighed as he opened the bedroom door.

Inside, his wife lay in bed. She had been like this ever since Kyle and Layla left for Latz.

“Dinner’s ready, dear. Come out.”

“Leave me.”

Her frail body belied the steel in her voice.

“I understand your feelings, but…”

“No. You don’t. Gentle, generous Doctor Etman—never.”

She sat upright abruptly, eyes flashing with fury.

“You liked Layla too.”

“Yes. I admit it. Layla is a good child. Were it not for you and Kyle, I could have liked her always.”

“Marriage changes nothing, you say? If Kyle marries her, she doesn’t change? She’s still that same good child? No. What changes is our son’s status. And you’ve agreed to drag it down!”

“The world is changing, dear. Status itself will soon be a relic.”

“Never.”

Sweeping her hair back into a tight knot, she rose. For someone who had eaten little in days, she stood with startling strength.

“As long as people live, there will always be status. If titles vanish, something else will replace them. Always.”

“Darling—”

“And whatever the measure, Layla will never be a match for our Kyle.”

With that chilling final word, she brushed past him.

Watching her retreat toward the garden, Dr. Etman gave the housekeeper a weary smile.

“My apologies, Mrs. Becker. Please clear the table.”

With another sigh, he stepped out into the darkened garden after his wife.