Chapter 30: Distant Memories

"Why do you wear that dress?"

Before she could answer, another voice cut through the silence, louder and filled with anger.

"Answer, you sneaky bitch! You stole it!"

"Vincent, mind your language."

When she lowered her head, Lydia saw two small hands trembling before her. They weren’t the hands she knew now.

The fingers were shorter, the palms smaller, and the skin still carried the softness of childhood.

She recognized them immediately.

Oh. This again. I was in a dream.

It was a memory from her childhood, from the time she had first been adopted into House Valendorf.

Back then, she had been so happy to receive a new home that she had believed everything would finally get better. Lydia had thought that if she behaved herself and worked hard, her new family would eventually accept her.

What a foolish child she had been.

"Do you know how precious this dress is?" her father asked.

Lydia raised her head.

The former Duke Valendorf stood before her, his dark blue eyes fixed on her with unmistakable displeasure.

Several maids and servants waited nearby, while Vincent stood at his side with an expression that made it clear he had already decided Lydia was guilty.

"You were explicitly forbidden from entering Nathalie’s room," the Duke continued. "Yet here you are, wearing one of her belongings. Explain yourself."

Lydia glanced down at the dress.

It was purple, decorated with layers of frills and delicate ribbons. The fabric was far more luxurious than anything she had ever owned before, and the dress had been carefully preserved as though it were a treasure.

She had never seen it until that morning.

"Papa, I didn’t steal it!" she protested. "I found it on my bed when I woke up. I thought someone had prepared it for me to wear."

"Then you expect us to believe that the dress simply appeared in your room?" Vincent demanded. "Nobody will buy your lie."

Lydia flinched at his tone.

"I’m telling the truth!"

"Liar! You must have sneaked into Nathalie’s room and taken it!"

"Vincent," the Duke warned.

His son immediately fell silent, although the resentment on his face remained.

Lydia looked back at her father, desperate for him to believe her. She had no idea how the dress had ended up on her bed, much less why everyone had immediately assumed she was responsible.

She had only been a child, and she had never dared to enter the room she had been forbidden to approach.

Why would she steal something that belonged to the Duke’s deceased daughter?

"I’ve never entered Nathalie’s room," she insisted. "I haven’t even seen this dress before today. Please believe me, Papa!"

"Your Grace."

A servant stepped forward.

It was Butler Paul, the man responsible for managing the household staff. He stood with his hands clasped neatly in front of him, his expression serious as he addressed the Duke.

"I have frequently seen the young lady going up and down the third floor lately. When I checked this morning, Lady Nathalie’s room was unlocked."

The words struck Lydia like a slap. She turned toward him in disbelief.

"That’s not true! I never went inside!"

But Paul ignored her and kept talking to the Duke, as if she had already been found guilty.

"I cannot say for certain whether the young lady entered the room, but the circumstances are certainly suspicious."

Suspicious?

Lydia’s eyes widened at his baseless accusations.

She had merely walked through the mansion’s corridors. Was she not allowed to go anywhere in the house anymore?

Even if she had passed the third floor, that didn’t mean she had entered Nathalie’s room!

Yet the moment Paul finished speaking, everyone turned toward her. Their expressions told her everything she needed to know.

They didn’t want an explanation. They wanted a culprit.

"Papa!" Lydia cried, taking a small step forward. "I really didn’t do it. I promise! Please, you have to believe me!"

She looked at him with all the trust and affection her young heart could offer. He was the man who had brought her into this household, given her a family name, and allowed her to live in a place she had once only dreamed of seeing, after all.

Surely, he would listen to her, wouldn’t he? Lydia hope he wouldn’t condemn her without proof.

But the Duke’s expression remained cold.

"From this day onward, all rooms on the third floor are to remain locked. Lock the staircase leading to the third floor as well. No one is permitted to enter without my explicit permission, especially Nathalie’s room."

He turned toward Paul.

"Summon the dressmaker and the jeweler. I want them here tomorrow."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Papa!"

Lydia called after him, but her father had already turned away.

He didn’t spare her another glance. His long coat disappeared through the doorway, followed by the maids and servants who hurried after him.

The little Lydia remained where she was, staring at the empty space he had left behind.

Duke Valendorf hadn’t believed her. Not even once.

"Honestly, you should have left this mansion when we told you to. You are just a replacement. A fake lady," Vincent muttered.

Lydia turned toward him, unable to understand what he meant.

Before she could ask, he shoved her roughly.

Her small body lost its balance. She stumbled backward, her feet missing the edge of the stairs, and tumbled down several steps before landing painfully on the floor below.

Pain shot through her legs.

For a moment, she couldn’t move. She could only stare at the staircase above her, struggling to understand what had just happened.

Vincent didn’t even stop.

He glanced down at her with irritation before hurrying after their father, apparently more concerned with catching up to him than checking whether the girl he had pushed was injured.

Lydia bit her lip.

Her leg hurt so badly that tears blurred her vision, but she forced herself to stand. She couldn’t let anyone see her crying.

If she did, they might accuse her of pretending to be injured to gain sympathy. That was why she decided she would endure it quietly.

And that was what Lydia had learned to do in this household.

As Lydia struggled to straighten her dress, a voice came from the top of the second-floor stairs.

"Useless trash."

Sylvain stood there, looking down at her with the same disgust someone might have shown at a garbage someone had carelessly left on the floor.

Then he turned and walked away.

Lydia remained at the foot of the stairs, her injured legs trembling beneath her.

She didn’t remember how long it took her to return to her room. She only remembered that the pain continued for weeks, and that Lydia never told anyone how badly Vincent had hurt her.

No one asked, either.

The memory shifted.

Years passed in the space of a breath. Lydia found herself wandering through stores, buying jewelry, accessories, and anything else that caught her attention.

She spent a lot of money on expensive things, hoping they would make her feel like she belonged among the nobles.

Brother Sylvain and Vincent never missed an opportunity to remind her that she didn’t, though.

"Do you even understand your position?" Sylvain asked in another memory.

"You don’t know your place," Vincent added.

Lydia heard their voices again and again until they blurred into the background of her life.

After the incident with Nathalie’s dress, she never called the Duke Papa again.

Not even once.