I, Who Was Betrayed By The People I Loved Most - Chapter 3

Seated at the writing desk set in a corner of the salon, I was flipping through the pages of my planner.

It was supposed to be a simple task—just organizing my schedule and preparing for the following week. That was all I intended.

“…Huh?”

My hand paused, pen still in my grasp, as something caught my eye.

Just a few days ago—Oswald had been away on an official trip.
Right next to that entry, I had noted Camille’s overnight stay at a social acquaintance’s estate.

—This day, too… and this one as well…

I flipped back to the previous week. Then the one before that.

And there they were—“coincidences,” written down again and again.

Every time Oswald was away from the mansion on official duties,
Camille, too, would leave to “stay over” at the home of another noble.

I had written these notes myself.
At the time, nothing about them struck me as strange.

But now, seeing them side by side like this… the alignment was eerily precise.

“…It’s just a coincidence, right?”

The moment I muttered that to myself, a sharp ache bloomed in my chest.

Coincidence. Surely, it must be.
And yet… could something align this many times by chance alone?

The thought that maybe—just maybe—it was deliberate flashed through my mind, and I immediately hated myself for it.

“…What’s wrong with me? Suspecting them like this…”

I quietly closed the planner.
Even I could feel the subtle tremble in my fingertips.

“Marie… would you call for Émile, please? The steward.”

My voice cracked slightly when I spoke, and I hurriedly cleared my throat to compose myself.

Soon, a knock came at the door, and Émile stepped into the room.
Though still young, he was diligent and sincere, and his precision in handling affairs had always been a great help to me.

“Milady, how may I assist you?”

“There’s something I’d like to confirm. Could you retrieve the records of my husband’s recent official outings—the days he was away from the estate? And please include Camille’s overnight stays as well.”

“As you wish.”

Émile didn’t appear particularly suspicious and left without question.
He returned shortly with several neatly compiled sheets of paper.

I accepted them with trembling fingers.

—Please, don’t match. Please, don’t match…

Each time I read through a line, I repeated the words silently in my heart like a prayer.

Let it be a mistake. A miswritten note, a clerical error.
If the mistake was mine, that would be a relief.
I would rather be wrong. I wanted to be wrong.

But as I turned each page, the dates and notes recorded with such order and clarity perfectly matched the entries in my own planner.

On the very days Oswald was away—attending to duties at the castle or inspecting provincial holdings—
On those exact same days, Camille had left the mansion, citing “a stay at a friend’s house” or “an extended evening party.”

“…I see. Thank you, Émile. You may go.”

That was all I could manage, smiling faintly with just my lips.

I waited until the door closed. Then, holding the documents in both hands, I gently laid my head down on the desk.

I wanted to believe it was all just coincidence.

But when it happens over and over again… it’s no longer just coincidence.

“…No. This… this is nothing but paper. This can’t be real. It has to be some kind of divine joke. Yes… just coincidence. That’s all it is…”

But the more I tried to convince myself, the more the tears I’d tried so hard to hold back came falling down—unstoppable.