No Love For The Villain - Chapter 4
“How long will those people stay here?” Sierra asked in a weary voice. Daniel pulled her closer to his side.
“Father said that man has found a place to stay in Stelsia. It seems what he’s after is here. Here…” Daniel trailed off, his gaze unconsciously drifting toward Sierra.
“Father told me to be careful of that man. Be careful, Sierra. There’s no telling what he might do.”
Daniel glanced furtively behind Sierra. His lips moved nervously, anxious that the man might follow them.
“Eli… Dimion…” he stammered, reciting the name his father had warned him about.
Each drawn-out syllable of the name etched itself deeply into Sierra’s mind. Eli Dimion. The terrifyingly beautiful face and the gaze that had lifted her veil circled in her thoughts.
Whenever she recalled his quietly staring eyes, a prickling sensation ran down her spine beneath the coarse fabric of her dress. It was as if her frozen body had thawed, leaving a raw, tingling awareness in its wake.
Eli Dimion. Eli. Dimion. Eli…
Though Sierra regarded the name as an ominous curse, she couldn’t stop herself from repeating it inwardly. The more she wanted to escape Daniel’s tight grip pulling her along, the clearer the name became.
The red house was bustling with visitors who had come. Now that the funeral was over, all obligations of sorrow had ended, and laughter erupted.
But Sierra couldn’t bring herself to laugh. Since the day her father died, she had lost both her laughter and her tears. She passed by the lively laughter of the guests and headed to her room.
In her room, as she was taking off her veil, Sierra buried her head in the wardrobe and pulled out her father’s button. It was something she had secretly hidden when the pastor was organizing her father’s belongings.
I should have buried it with him in the grave.
A fragment of sorrow remained, having lost its place to go. While people’s laughter echoed as if crossing the walls, Sierra, unable to laugh, felt a tightness in her chest.
The unending grief felt like it would explode like gunfire, tearing her entire body to shreds. She felt suffocated. On an impulse, she grabbed a pencil and paper and rushed out of her room.
Treading softly as she passed the dining room, Sierra overheard the pastor’s voice.
“If we use the inheritance for the church’s reconstruction, Mr. Knightley would also find it meaningful. He was truly devout during his lifetime, after all. In fact, I’ve already met with an architect and confirmed the costs. This might be a good chance to buy more land too.”
At the pastor’s words, Mrs. Miles laughed.
“My husband is such a planner, you see. He’s already making plans for Daniel’s wedding.”
“Getting married? Congratulations.”
The mayor of Newland smiled warmly and looked at Daniel.
“It seems your son has been taking good care of Miss Knightley, hasn’t he? Well, after losing her father and being left all alone, if he stayed by her side, she’d have no choice but to give him her heart. Miss Knightley always seemed a bit timid; she’ll probably require a lot of attention.”
In response to the mayor’s concern, Mrs. Miles affectionately patted her son’s shoulder.
“Daniel is soft-hearted and couldn’t just stand by seeing her in such a pitiful situation. Isn’t it better for a wife to be on the timid side? She won’t be running around with too much wild energy.”
Mrs. Miles winked to indicate it was a joke, and laughter erupted. Under his mother’s affectionate gaze, Daniel replied, “I will teach and guide Sierra well so she can become a good wife. In a peaceful home, raising children, Sierra will also find happiness.”
The mayor praised, “You have a very reliable son,” and the clinking of wine glasses followed.
The family smiled with faces that resembled each other. There was no place for a face that couldn’t smile. Sierra left the house. No one noticed as the door opened and closed.
The garden, once tended with her father but now barren, was covered in snow. Sierra crouched beside it, clutching a pencil in her stiff, frozen hands.
A line was drawn on the paper. The paper was cut by the knife-like pencil. It was entirely stained black with the vomited grief. Even the hand clutching the pencil tightly was smudged. The paper, lacerated by the black lines, was about to tear.
The headlights of a car speeding down the night-shrouded street sharply pierced her vision. The glare left spots in her eyes. Sierra winced. Through the blinding spots, she could see a figure approaching.
A gleaming black bonnet. That man’s car.
Eli… Dimion…
Sierra slowly recalled his name, her mind as frozen as the cold.
The car stopped and the man got out. He wasn’t alone. There was another person with him. A low voice reached her.
“How long do you think it will take?”
“Hard to say.”
The other person asked politely; the man answered indifferently.
“Father hopes you will handle this thoroughly. He wants no trace left of what Prosecutor Knightley left behind.”
Prosecutor Knightley. The moment she heard her father’s name, Sierra’s gaze was snatched away, darting toward the other side of the wall.
A long coat fluttered in the wind. The man was shrouded in shadow, but his gaze came to her mind vividly.
That piercing gaze that would tear its way in, leaving no place to hide.
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