Maylily - Chapter 125

“Count?”

Maylily’s voice trembled with unease as she felt the Count of Everscourt’s body sway.

The reporters gathered around them screamed and scattered in all directions. Some fled the scene entirely, some scribbled in their notebooks, and others fired off flashes as they took photographs.

Amid the chaos that erupted in an instant, only Maylily and the Count remained standing like an isolated island.

“Are… you alright, Maylily?”

The Count loosened his arms around her and asked, his brows drawn together as if enduring pain. Maylily’s gaze, fixed on the cold sweat forming on his forehead, filled with deep anxiety.

“Yes… what about you, Count?”

“…I am too.”

After confirming that Maylily was unharmed, a very slow yet distinct smile formed on the Count’s lips, deep enough to show his dimples.

It felt like the bullet was flying toward us… Was I mistaken?

Just as Maylily let out a faint, dazed breath, the Count collapsed to his knees as if crumbling. A dark red stain spread rapidly across the shoulder of his white shirt, filling her vision.

“No!”

Maylily screamed and dropped to the ground, clutching the Count’s body as it tilted forward. His sweat-damp hair and ragged breathing spilled over her slender shoulders. Her trembling hands were quickly soaked with hot, wet blood. The metallic scent mixed with his familiar fragrance made her feel like she might retch.

Help me. Please, help him.

In an instant, her face was covered in tears. Maylily moved her lips with all her strength, but no sound came out, as if she had lost her voice. In her fear-clouded mind, only one thought remained clear. She had to save the Count. She pressed her palm firmly against the wound pouring out blood.

“Please step aside. We will take care of the Count.”

The attendants rushed over and took the Count from Maylily’s arms. Pushed aside, drenched in blood, Maylily stared blankly at his face as it grew paler by the second. One of the attendants pressed a handkerchief against the wound to stop the bleeding, then tore the hem of his own shirt and wrapped it tightly around the Count’s shoulder.

Beyond them, the remaining attendants subdued the shooter at the scene. The woman, pinned to the ground with her hands bound behind her back, screamed something toward Maylily.

But to Maylily, soaked in shock and tears, neither her face nor her voice reached her. Only the heat of the blood staining her hands and skirt dominated her senses in that moment.

***

Click.

The scissors used to cut the bandage were placed on a silver tray. After tightly wrapping a bandage around Hugh’s shoulder where the bullet had been removed, the surgeon finished the operation and stood up, wiping his blood-stained hands with a damp cloth. Fatigue showed clearly around the darkened eyes of the middle-aged doctor who had been called in at night and performed the surgery for nearly an hour.

[The scapula seems to have blocked the bullet, so there should be no damage to the organs. There is a possibility that the bone cracked from the impact, but even so, it should heal naturally over time. However….]

David, who had stayed by Hugh’s side throughout the surgery, felt relief at the surgeon’s diagnosis, but only for a moment. The words he feared most followed.

[There was significant blood loss, so I cannot be certain he will regain consciousness.]

[Does that mean… the Count could pass away like this?]

[If he does not regain consciousness within a day, you must prepare for the worst.]

David’s eyes, filled with shock, turned toward the bed. Just a few hours ago, Hugh had gone to the theater looking healthier than ever, yet now he lay in critical condition. It was hard to believe.

After cleaning and arranging the bloodstained surgical tools in hot water, the doctor patted David’s shoulder in quiet consolation.

[The surgery has just finished, so let’s observe his condition a little longer. I’ll leave some pain medication in case it’s needed.]

The doctor placed a small brown medicine bottle on the bedside table and explained how to use it. Then he left the bedroom, saying he would return for another visit tomorrow.

***

Maylily sat alone in the reception room with light blue silk wallpaper, glancing anxiously at the wall clock. It had already been over an hour since she arrived here.

The Count of Everscourt, who had been shot, was quickly transported from the scene to the mansion, and Maylily followed him. David said he would take her home, but she couldn’t turn away and leave the man who lost consciousness after being shot in her place. She had to see with her own eyes that he opened them again.

She had to… but when will the surgery even end?

It was when she wiped away the tears that kept rising in the prolonged anxiety. With a knock, the door opened slightly and David appeared.

“Did the surgery go well? Has the Count woken up?”

Maylily sprang up from the sofa and spoke in a hurried voice. David stepped inside with slower steps than usual and shook his head.

“Not yet…”

At his dark expression, her heart dropped. Maylily swallowed dryly, her lips trembling.

“Then… when did they say he might regain consciousness?”

“For now… we’ll have to observe his condition.”

It was a roundabout way of saying that nothing could be guaranteed. Maylily bit her lip tightly to hold back the sob welling up inside her.

“The Count will definitely wake up.”

David spoke in a calm voice, but with conviction. It was reassurance meant not only for Maylily, but for himself as well.

Hugh, whom he met again in Cereno, seemed to be living the happiest period of his life. Whenever he got into the carriage to head to Maylily’s house, he wore an expression as excited as a boy in first love. How could Hugh Scard, a man who must have whatever he desired, close his eyes while the woman who awakened those feelings remained by his side? He would wake up. He had to.

“Mr. Curren, may I ask you a favor?”

Maylily, who had barely calmed her agitation, looked at him with steady eyes still damp with tears.

“Yes, please tell me.”

“Could you… bring Dylan here?”

Because it might be necessary to prepare for the worst. As if understanding the words Maylily couldn’t bring herself to say aloud, David nodded with a grim expression.

“I’ll go right away.”

Before leaving the mansion, David called for a maid to help Maylily tidy herself up, saying she couldn’t possibly see Dylan in such a blood-soaked state.

He was right. Even if he couldn’t speak well yet, she couldn’t show a child who could keenly sense his mother’s emotions a face collapsed in despair. Thinking of Dylan, Maylily steadied herself and followed the maid to a guest bedroom.

She washed her hands thoroughly in the basin of warm water and wiped away every trace of blood that had splashed onto her face with a damp cloth. Then she stood before the wardrobe under the maid’s guidance.

“Please choose a dress you like from here. I’ll help you change.”

When the maid opened both doors wide, rows of dresses tightly filled the inside.

This is a mansion where the Count lives alone….

For a moment, she wondered why so many dresses were prepared here, then Maylily realized they were all clothes the Count had once given her as gifts.

Why would he keep the clothes she discarded long ago as if they were precious memories and bring them all the way here….

With her throat tightening, Maylily chose a cream-colored indoor dress. After changing, she was immediately led to the Count of Everscourt. When the attendant who had been caring for him stepped out, only Maylily and the Count remained in the wide bedroom, heavy silence settling over the space.

Even in early spring, the nights in Cereno were warm, but a fire burned in the fireplace. It was to maintain the patient’s body temperature.

With the crackle of firewood, the flickering flames illuminated the Count lying on the bed, but they couldn’t erase his pale complexion. His lips, which usually held a healthy color, were now drained and ashen. The Count looked like a man standing at the threshold of death.

Death. The one word that crossed her mind made it feel as if the sky was collapsing. Taking a labored breath, Maylily sat in the chair beside the bed and took his large, limp hand. The hand that always warmed quickly at her touch felt especially cold today. Gently rubbing it, Maylily examined the Count’s face, and her gaze fell on the photograph placed in a frame on the bedside table.