Chapter 12
He hurled so many cruel words at my mother, Ithiel. And yet, with the current Marchioness, Kyrke, he walks on eggshells, always trying to avoid conflict.
Ditron’s influence within the family had significantly weakened ever since Illan and Kyrke were married. So, he turned all his pent-up frustration toward me instead. Calliope tilted her head, as if reminiscing. The memory wasn’t pleasant, and yet she smiled—not out of warmth, but because she was planning to return everything he’d done to her, exactly as he’d done it.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“…Pardon?”
Jack glanced up at Calliope. Her face showed no nervousness, only pure anticipation. It made him frown, as if he were exhausted just looking at her. At first, he thought the suffocating air about her reminded him of the Marquess, but now that he looked again, someone else came to mind.
The Marchioness. Kyrke.
That attitude—the calm, firm resolve—was just like hers. And yet, he quickly shook off the thought. As with most stepmothers and their husband’s children from a previous marriage, things rarely went well. To say they were alike or shared traits would be foolish. He didn’t want to let such thoughts slip out by accident. Jack scratched the back of his neck.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll do just fine, my lady.”
Soon, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of a grand mansion. Compared to the few manors they had passed on the way, this gray, fortress-like estate was on a different scale entirely.
Two stone-carved eagles stood guard at the entrance. As they passed through the gates and reached the front steps, someone was already waiting for them. Calliope accepted Jack’s hand as he helped her down from the carriage.
“Welcome, Lady Calliope. We’ve been expecting you. May I take you directly to the Marquess?”
The servant didn’t waste a moment. As soon as he greeted her, he moved to carry out the orders he’d been given. Calliope simply raised her chin slightly, silently giving her approval. That small, wordless command, the subtle tilt of her head—it was so distinctly noble that the servant paused for a moment in quiet confusion.
She was raised like a commoner?
She didn’t seem like it at all. Still, he kept his thoughts to himself and respectfully lowered his gaze. Calliope walked ahead as if she belonged there, naturally taking the lead, with Jack and the servant following behind.
Normally, unless there was a very specific reason, a servant would never walk in front of a noble. In this situation, they would usually stay behind and guide gently with verbal directions. But Calliope walked with such certainty, as though she already knew the layout of the estate.
The servant walking behind her glanced at Jack with a silent question. Jack responded with a slight shake of the head—he didn’t know either.
Fortunately, they encountered no one else from the marquis family on their way to Illan’s office. Only a few servants passed through the quiet halls, bowing politely as Calliope passed. Still, none of them could hide their curiosity. Their eyes lingered longer than they should have.
Calliope noticed. And she laughed inwardly at their blatant interest. Soon enough, they’ll look down on me as an illegitimate child anyway. It won’t take long.
“Marquess, Lady Calliope has arrived.”
Once they reached the office, Calliope stood silently in front of the door. The servant stepped forward and knocked. Knock, knock. A voice called from inside—low, rough, but composed.
It was a voice she hadn’t heard in years. One that might have stirred emotion. But her heart remained still—calm like a windless lake.
As the door opened, a large desk came into view. Behind it stood her father, Illan Anastas. The man who had given up on her mother. The man who, only now, had decided to seek out his daughter.
Calliope stepped through the door without a smile, her expression cool and composed.
“I’ll need to have you taught proper etiquette right away.”
Illan clicked his tongue when she said nothing and simply stared at him. It was only then that Calliope’s cold face broke into a smile—not because she wanted to please him, but because what he said was so amusing. He had said the exact same thing the first time they met in the past. No greeting, no kindness—just that.
“I was wondering how to greet a father I don’t even remember. Should I go with ‘Hello, it’s nice to meet you’? Or maybe, ‘It’s been a while. It’s me, Calliope’? Which one do you think fits better, Father?”
Her voice dripped with sarcasm. Illan’s mouth snapped shut. The furrow of his brow looked caught between surprise and displeasure.
“Oh, I suppose now I know which one is more appropriate.”
Calliope exaggeratedly grabbed the sides of her skirt, bowed her head, and offered a formal curtsey.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Father. I’m sure, just like me, you don’t remember my face at all. That might be upsetting—but please bear with it. It’s been such a long time since you last saw your daughter, after all.”
The only reason Calliope could speak so bluntly now was because of the memories of her past life. Back then, she had stood frozen, anxiously searching for the right words, afraid to make a mistake. She had bowed too deeply, stayed standing until he allowed her to sit, and struggled to keep her trembling legs from giving out.
But now, she knew better.
He wouldn’t lash out. Not easily. Illan Anastas—her father—carried a certain guilt toward her. That much, she understood clearly now.
“May I sit down?”
When Calliope boldly glanced toward the sofa and asked, Illan let out a short sigh and gave a nod. Without hesitation, she sank into the plush cushions, leaning comfortably against the backrest. Illan stepped away from his desk and sat across from her, carefully observing the unfamiliar daughter seated before him.
Her features were delicate—slender, soft, unmistakably like Ithiel’s. The long, dark lashes that framed her large eyes, her small chin, the way her eyelids gently lowered to partially hide her gaze—everything mirrored the woman from his memories. Illan fell silent for a moment, lost in thought as he traced the outlines of the past.
“Your eyes,” he finally said, “they look like mine.”
Calliope had to resist the urge to laugh. Instead, she simply lifted her gaze and answered with dry indifference.
“I suppose they do.”
Her voice held no warmth, no curiosity—like it didn’t matter in the slightest. Illan fell silent again, and Calliope didn’t mind that silence. Of the two attendants present, one took the opportunity to flee under the excuse of fetching tea, leaving only Jack behind, standing stiff as a post beside the door.
“Beckham.”
“Yes, my lord?”
Jack flinched like he’d been struck by lightning and rushed forward. Illan didn’t even look at him as he asked,
“What is she wearing? I gave you more than enough money, didn’t I?”
Jack hesitated, scrambling for words in his mind. Wasn’t it normal for a father who had barely acknowledged his child to just throw money at the situation? He wasn’t expected to commission custom dresses for a girl he barely knew… right? While Jack stood there floundering, visibly panicking, Calliope spoke up on his behalf—calmly, as if granting a favor.
“I chose this outfit myself.”
“…So it was intentional.”
“Yes.”
And once again—silence.
Calliope remained composed, but for Jack, the tension was suffocating. Was it really okay for a father and daughter reunited after so long to be this cold? He had never expected Illan to tearfully embrace his daughter or cry out, “I missed you, my child,” but he’d at least hoped for a kind word, maybe even a little small talk. Something.
But Illan said nothing. The room was filled only with silence and the sound of quiet breathing. The servant fetching tea had yet to return, Jack was sweating nervously by the door, and Illan sat frozen, face unreadable, lost in thoughts no one could guess.
Eventually, it was Calliope who broke the stillness with a sigh.
“We do have things to talk about, don’t we?”
All of the assets Illan had once planned to give Ithiel now sat in legal limbo. What he meant to pass on to her mother had lost its recipient with her death. In the past, those assets had simply reverted back to the Anastas estate. But Calliope had no intention of letting that happen this time.
Back then, she had been too young and too naïve to realize what he was doing—trying to use her, his own daughter, to barter with Ithiel in exchange for property. If I’m going to be sold off, I might as well fetch the proper price. Her heart was cold and clear.
“I’d like to receive the inheritance meant for my mother.”
“I’ve already received a summary of the matter. But I can’t approve it.”
“Why not?”
“You’re not legally of age yet. And besides, some of it isn’t necessary for you.”
“My age shouldn’t be a problem, should it? The estate can manage it until I’m of age, then transfer it over to me.”
Illan fell into silence again, as if reconsidering, but Calliope didn’t give him room to hesitate. Her voice came sharp, almost pressing.
“And I don’t quite understand what you mean by unnecessary. Isn’t it better to have more than less? And it’s not like it’s even that much, is it?”
A vineyard outside the capital, a stretch of nearby land, a nearly depleted gold mine with maybe ten years left in it, a townhouse in the capital, and a dignity allowance on par with that of a noble lady of the house. Technically, not insignificant. But compared to what the Anastas family owned overall, it was nothing—small and trivial.
Calliope smiled faintly, twirling the ends of her hair between her fingers.
“It’s not like I’m asking for anything grand.”
To an outsider unfamiliar with the Anastas fortune, her request might sound brazen, even greedy. But to Illan—her father—it would seem like mere scraps. Still, she couldn’t yet figure out why he was hesitating.
A few seconds passed after she finished speaking, and then Illan finally responded.
“The estate and land outside the capital, as well as the gold mine—you can have them. But the dignity allowance Ithiel was meant to receive is unnecessary for you.”
Illan’s eyes fell briefly to the pale ends of her hair.
“If you need money, you can access the family vault whenever you wish. There’s no need to cling to something like a personal allowance.”
Calliope let out a quiet, mirthless laugh.
