The Villainess Just Wants to Study

Chapter 14 ~ Tea and Tears

"You can eat one more bite." Grisa's smile widened. "Eat."

Dylan made a face. "I'm full enough."

"You didn't eat this morning," Grisa said with a pout, "and I promised your maid I'd watch over you."

Dylan bitterly stirred her soup with her spoon. 

She realized that she was starting to feel feverish with body aches and a dry throat. Stress suppresses the immune system, which makes it easier for someone to get sick. Dylan's body, which was naturally weak, was not equipped to handle long-term stressful situations. 

After her appalling encounters with Axil and the Prince, she had been experiencing cold sweats and recurring, unwanted memories about the events. 

"You do swordsmanship?" Grisa asked, looking at her tenderly.

"Pardon?"

"Your hands," she explained, grabbing Dylan's free hand to examine its palm. "See here? There are cuts and blisters. They're from holding a sword, right?"

"I learned it to get stronger because I'm sick," Dylan said quietly. 

"All the better. It's good to keep your good health in mind."

Dylan could understand why everyone fell in love with Grisa. She was truly beautiful. She was beautiful for the way she thought. She was beautiful for the way she smiled. She was beautiful for the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about something she loved. Grisa's beauty wasn't just skin-deep—she was beautiful deep down to her soul. 

'How could I ever hurt you?'

Splash. 

Dylan's face was was soaked. Hot drops of tea rolled down her face and dripped into her eyes and from her chin. From the top of her head to her chest and collarbones—she was soaked. 

Suddenly, Dylan, who was covered in tea, looked at Grisa in shock.

'What the hell just happened?'

Grisa's eyes, which were fixated on something behind Dylan, grew dark. 

"Did you just dump your tea on Dylan's head?" she asked. "How repulsive."

Dylan turned around, her long hair dripping a warm green liquid. 

Her gaze met eyes the colour of honey jars in the sun. It was neither an accident nor an illusion. Lynette's eyes were full of ridicule and contempt. She had intentionally dumped tea on Dylan's head. 

"I'm so sorry," she said with an insincere expression, "I tripped and accidentally spilled my drink on Lady Dylan's head."

As the uncomfortable gazes of the students around them fell on her, Dylan felt her face burn. She could hear murmurs and conversations about her arise in the distance. Everyone was laughing.

"Ha, how insolent." Grisa's eyes burned with fire. "I didn't know you were an uncultured lowlife."

Lynette clicked tongue, her empty teacup still in hand. "People mess up sometimes. I'm sure Lady Dylan is benevolent and kind enough to understand."

Hushed whispers filled the air.

"It's fine," Dylan said, raising a hand to stop Grisa. "I understand, so be careful next time, Lady Lynette. It is unbefitting for the daughter of a Marquis to act so impolitely."

Lynette smirked, laughing malignantly. "You dirty blooded pig. It's annoying seeing you sit amongst the nobles with a Red Coat despite knowing your lowly origins. Just who do you think you are?"

Dylan rose from her seat and stepped towards where Lynette was standing. "I am the first and only lady of the Beaumon Ducal household, regardless of my origins," she said. "To openly insult me is to insult His Grace, the Duke."

Lynette clenched her teeth. "Ha, you even speak like that damned man too."

'What? Don't tell me...'

"I really can't stand to look at you," Lynette said with twisted eyes. "Not when you look and speak just like him."

"What?"

Dylan felt her soul crush beneath the weight of Lynette's actions and words. Something inside of her snapped. All the times she had suffered because of her damned father—Dylan had enough.

"I don't get to choose if I get hurt in this world," Dylan said impassively, "but I do have a say in who hurts me."

Silence enveloped them as the students in the cafeteria attempted to listen in on their conversation. 

"And you"—She pointed at her in front of everyone—"don't get to say a word to me. You don't get to take out your frustration on me just because I look like your dead father."

Lynette's eyes were visibly distorted at hearing her words.

Dylan let out a dry chuckle. "That's what it is, right? You're mad your dad died and since he's not here, you're taking your anger out on me."

"St-stop," she stuttered in response to Dylan's words, "just stop. What are-"

"Is it my hair? My smile? My eyes, perhaps?"

Tears began to trickle out of Lynette's wide eyes.

"Well, guess what?" Dylan said, stepping towards where Lynette cowered in place. "I'm not your fucking father."

There was a faint smile on Dylan's lips. Her eyes were faded. Dull. It was a sight disturbing enough to make you want to vomit. 

'Let's see, sister. Am I a villain in your story too?'

Lynette's moist eyes shook violently. "Y, you-"

Before Dylan could say anything more, a young man stepped forward and wrapped his long fingers around her wrist. He made her turn around and wrapped a soaked Dylan is his oversized Black Coat.

"Lord Laikin?"

He picked her up—one arm under her legs and the other supporting her back like a groom carrying his bride.

"What do you think you're doing?" Dylan squirmed in his arms. "P, put me down!"

"Shut up," he mumbled, heading towards the cafeteria doors with her in his arms. 

Lynette opened her lips to say something but quickly closed her mouth, realizing the gravity of her situation. 

Grisa, who watched Dylan be carried away, turned full around to look at Lynette. With an elegant movement, she picked up her teacup and poured her tea over Lynette's head. 

"Oops," she said, "my hand slipped."

Chasing after Dylan, she left Lynette standing alone with nothing but tea and her tears. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Comment down below your thoughts on this chapter! I'm curious to know if you guys enjoyed chapter fourteen as much as I did!