Chapter 440: He Confesses

Arthur’s gaze lifted slightly when he saw her, his eyes as dull and lifeless as ash, devoid of any fighting spirit.

Isolde had originally planned to merely observe from a distance, but upon seeing Arthur’s desolate expression, a wave of sympathy unexpectedly welled up in her. She had never felt sympathy for an enemy before, and so she found herself puzzled by this unfamiliar emotion rising within her. The sorrow in his eyes seemed oddly familiar, as if she had seen it before, and that recognition tugged at her heart.

She approached him, trying to place that familiar sorrow.

Arthur’s cold voice interrupted her thoughts. “What? Happy to see me like this?”

Isolde studied him, and then, as if a light bulb had gone off in her mind, a fleeting image of another face appeared. His features, though not identical, shared a subtle resemblance to Ruben. No wonder she felt such an odd familiarity—the sorrowful eyes, the melancholy in his demeanor—just like Natasha’s savior. It made sense now.

Of course, Arthur and Ruben were no blood relations.

“Happy?” Isolde responded, her voice low. “You and I never really had any deep enmity, but if you hate me, suppose you would be happy seeing me fall.”

Arthur stared at her, taken aback by her words. Did he hate her? No, he merely despised her. He had never gone this far with anyone. Even those who had wronged him in the past—his classmates or colleagues—he’d merely exchanged words with them or shown a little resentment. But to feel such deep disdain… he was perplexed by his own reaction to her.

In that instant, a wave of helplessness and confusion washed over him. He didn’t understand how he had become this person.

His mind flashed back to Geoffrey’s death, and he felt a cold shiver down his spine.

“Oh, seems like you’re having a nice chat,” a sharp, sneering voice came from behind them. Isolde didn’t need to turn around to know it was Agnes.

Agnes stormed up to them, her gaze sharp as she sneered at Isolde. “You’ve come back, and yet you haven’t even checked on your mother? Do you really think you’re the one in charge of the Valen family now? You clearly don’t understand respect for rank or age.”

Isolde turned and smiled, her tone calm. “This early in the morning, hearing a rabid dog barking—really spoils the view.”

“Who are you calling a rabid dog?” Agnes snapped, grabbing Isolde’s arm in anger.

Isolde glanced at her, casually shaking her arm free. “Whoever calls for it, gets called.”

“You’re the rabid dog! You wild mutt, making trouble in the Valen family. You have no shame!” Agnes spat, her anger boiling over.

Isolde raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by Agnes’s fury.

“Agnes,” Arthur’s low voice interrupted, his tone heavy. “I came to ask you to come back to the house with…”

“I’ll say it again—tell your parents to apologize to me. If they don’t, I’ll divorce you?” Agnes’s voice was cold.

“All the mistakes are mine, not my parents’ fault,” Arthur said, his tone full of helplessness. “Why take your anger out on them?”

“Don’t tell me my mother is blameless! Do you know how she spoke to me?” Agnes shouted, her voice cutting through the air as she vented her frustration. “She’s never cared for me! You may have risen quickly, becoming a Baron at such a young age, something many could only dream of, but now look at you! You’re nothing but a beggar. What right do you have to ask me to come back? If you want me to, get your title back, and then we’ll talk.”

Isolde listened, her lips curling into a wry smile. In the past, Agnes had always spoken of her husband with admiration, even when looking at him. But now, with his title stripped away, her attitude was completely different. It was clear now that love in marriage was likely based on status, not affection. Without the Baron’s title, Agnes no longer held Arthur in any regard.

Arthur’s face turned pale as he listened to her words, his heart sinking.

“Well, if you want a divorce, then let’s get one,” Arthur said quietly, his voice tinged with defeat.

A voice interrupted from the doorway. “Well, well. What a bold declaration. A man of honor, speaking his mind,” came the sharp tone of Margaret.

Everyone turned to see Margaret standing at the corner of the hallway, flanked by two maids. She wore an elegant gown, her white fur cloak trailing behind her, walking with a regal grace that commanded attention. Her presence was so imposing that even Arthur, who was a good half a head taller, seemed to shrink before her.

Arthur slowly lowered his head, murmuring, “Margaret.”

She smiled gently at him and replied, “No longer ‘Margaret.’ From now on, you will call me Mrs. Valen.”

Isolde, unable to stand her smug expression, turned away and walked off. Would the divorce happen today? She didn’t know. But Margaret wasn’t just putting on a show—was she really going to give up on Arthur?

Agnes was someone who always made decisions but lacked true conviction. When it came down to the real choices, she always deferred to her mother. If they did divorce, it wouldn’t be surprising. But what baffled Isolde was why Margaret, who held such a high status, would let Agnes and Arthur go through with it. It would make her the subject of gossip, a woman of her stature reduced to becoming a mere talking point.

Curious, Isolde decided to investigate further. She had Hazel follow Arthur. Once he left the Valen family estate, she arranged to meet him outside.

In the past, she might not have cared much about this, especially since Arthur had indirectly caused her father’s death. But now, she needed answers. She couldn’t let anyone scheme behind her back.

Hazel reported back to her that Arthur had agreed to meet her without asking many questions. It was clear he was eager to speak privately with Isolde.

When Isolde met Arthur, she noticed his slumped posture. His hands were twisted in a nervous gesture. He looked like a man weighed down by guilt.

“I see you’ve written the divorce papers?” Isolde asked, noting the ink stains on his hands.

Arthur looked emotionless as he muttered, “That’s my personal matter.”

After a long pause, he finally looked up at Isolde, his eyes full of conflicting emotions. “I do resent you. The way I ended up here, half of it is because of you. But you are you, and Geoffrey was Geoffrey. Since his death, I’ve been unable to eat or sleep, and I feel nothing but guilt. I killed him.”

“Is that why you wanted to meet with me?” Isolde asked, her voice cool.

She didn’t fully blame him for Geoffrey’s death; she felt she bore the greatest responsibility for her father’s passing.

Arthur’s face grew paler. “Yes. I wanted to apologize to you. I was hoping you would allow me to go to Geoffrey’s grave and seek forgiveness.”

Isolde’s response was blunt. “There’s no need.”