Guidelines for the Perfect Goodbye - Chapter 236

The Marquis bore no resemblance to Nigel—or to Ulysses, for that matter. Or was it possible that they, too, would grow old like him someday? The thought was horrifying.

She was about to utter, “I’m sorry. It’s my fault,” but the sound of the door opening made her close her mouth again.

BANG!

It sounded as if the door had been kicked open rather than pushed. There was only one man who would storm into the Rosencrantz residence in such an uncouth manner.

Nigel Rosencrantz.

Nigel took a sweeping glance around the reception room, which had already been struck by a storm, before locking eyes with Cecilia. His gaze lingered briefly on her reddened cheek.

“Well, here I was bracing myself for a long-awaited family reunion…”

Leaning casually against the doorframe, he raised one sharp eyebrow.

“And yet, it wasn’t me who got slapped, but Cecilia?”

“You… You ungrateful brat! I was waiting for you to show up!”

Marquis Rosencrantz searched the room for his cane, glancing left and right. Guinevere hurriedly handed it to him, and he stomped toward Nigel, the cane thudding against the floor with each step.

Nigel turned his head to the side just in time for the Marquis to slap him. It didn’t seem to hurt much—Nigel had practically offered his face up for the blow.

“Look at the mess you’ve caused! See how you’ve disgraced yourself with this foolish wench!”

The cane’s tip pointed at Cecilia. Nigel’s gaze followed it back to her, studying her.

‘Crazy woman. Why would you crawl back here?’

He had no choice but to come, but why had she?

‘She must have known this could happen…’

Cecilia kept her head slightly lowered, staring at the floor. With her downcast posture, she looked like a penitent sinner.

Yet her eyes were constantly moving, scanning the situation. Just as he observed her, she was observing everything—the family hierarchy, the dynamics between the Marquis and Guinevere, and the flow of their conversation. She was absorbing every bit of information she could.

Although this situation was a result of his actions, she regarded it with detachment, as if it were someone else’s affair, searching for an angle to benefit from.

‘I see now.’

This was an arrogant test. She was deliberately putting herself in a tight spot to gauge his reaction.

But Nigel had no intention of playing along. He’d made no such promise.

‘A few slaps won’t kill me.’

It didn’t bother him.

‘I’ll just put some ointment on, and it’ll heal.’

He truly didn’t care.

“Did you really just strike the daughter of a count?” Nigel asked casually.

“She’s the daughter of a gypsy,” the Marquis snapped.

“Whether she’s a gypsy’s daughter or not, does that matter? She’s still the daughter of a count.”

“The Count of Lasphilla has a son. He’ll understand my position.”

A son? You don’t even treat me like your son, but now you care about sons? Nigel mocked his father internally.

“Are you referring to Nathan Lasphilla?”

“Yes.”

“If you’re thinking of him, you should know better than to act this way.”

“…What are you trying to say?”

The Marquis raised his cane as if to strike Nigel’s shoulder, but Nigel calmly offered his shoulder while replying.

“Do you think Count Lasphilla has forgotten Ulysses’s offense? As you said, he has a son, so he knows what’s at stake.”

“……”

“If you think he’s forgotten, you’re gravely mistaken. You’ve escalated this matter too much. The Count won’t simply let this slide.”

Nigel brushed aside his father’s raised cane and walked toward Cecilia.

Casting a glance at Ulysses, he dramatically grabbed Cecilia’s hand and declared,

“Hey. Since it’s come to this, let’s get married.”

As her eyes widened in shock, he smirked in satisfaction and turned to face his stunned father.

With a laugh, he added,

“…If the Count demands that we tie the knot, would you be able to refuse?”

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