Don't Hate Me, Don't Love Me

The Frederick family had more than two daughters. I was the youngest, the fifth, and I had a third sister called Bianca.

But Bianca had always been my father's favorite. He could not bear to harm her.

When my father came to me that day, he looked guilty. He held my hand under the candlelight and spoke for a long time about how helpless he was and how much he was reluctant to part with me.

I just looked at him in confusion. Why couldn't he simply admit that he was greedy for power? Why did he need me to believe that he truly cared about me?

We talked until deep into the night. I yawned repeatedly before my father finally went straight to the point.

He said that the Archer family was so wealthy that no matter how much dowry the Frederick family gave me, it would never be enough. So, instead of returning Elyse's dowry, they would use it for mine.

See? That was what he had really wanted to say.

So, I had no grand bridal procession, no guests, no family to see me off. I was secretly carried into the Archer family's residence in a bright chair.

Even the maid accompanying me sighed in pity.

But none of them knew that I was willing to be the second wife of Draven.

...

The candles burned halfway down when Draven, my husband, finally entered the room, supported by a servant.

In a robe and black boots, he was reeking of alcohol as he collapsed onto the bed.

"Mrs. Archer, the young master is very happy tonight. He's drunk."

I had heard before that Draven was in poor health and never had alcohol. Even on the day he married my sister, he had not drunk more than a few sips.

But tonight, he was completely drunk. Whether it was because he was too happy or too sad, I did not know. And I did not care.

I only knew that he was now my husband.

I lifted the veil embroidered with flowers, which was my handiwork.

I ordered the servants to bring hot water and carefully wiped the alcohol-flushed cheeks of Draven.

It was only then that I got my first clear look at him. As the rumors had said, he was frail and sickly, with the kind of face that did not seem destined for a long life.

As I held the handkerchief, his hand suddenly grabbed mine. He looked at me with bleary eyes, mumbling, "Elyse… Elyse…"

I lowered my eyes, not wanting him to see the hatred in them.

He was calling my sister's name.

To outsiders, it was well-known that the daughters of the Frederick family did not get along, since we did not share the same mother, and my father never treated us equally.

They were actually right. My relationship with Bianca was awful. Whenever we saw each other, it ended in either a fight or her hitting me. Always her, never me.

I remember that when the Archer family came to accept me as a second wife, they had specifically asked about the relationship between me and my sisters.

When they received the answer that it was terrible, the person smiled with satisfaction.

At the time, I didn't understand why he smiled like that until I saw the scars all over Elyse's body when she died.

The thin handkerchief, soaked with water, could easily suffocate a drunken man if pressed tightly over his nose and mouth. It would take less than a quarter of an hour.

Draven stirred briefly before slipping back into unconsciousness. I, however, was haunted, placing the handkerchief embroidered with flowers over his face slowly.

He had tuberculosis, and now, with the alcohol rendering him insensible, if he suffocated in his sleep, no one would suspect me.

Before I realized it, my hand was covering his mouth and nose. His shallow breaths felt like the feeble purring of a sickly kitten. A little more force and I could end his life.