Sold As A Slave, Returned To Be Queen - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Charlotte looked at Oliver—disappointed, but silent.
She turned and gave Valeria a respectful bow. "Lady Valeria, I'm all right. Please don't worry yourself."
Lady Valeria.
Each word was like a dagger to the heart of the Hastings family.
For a moment, Valeria stood frozen. Her eyes brimmed with tears again as an old memory came rushing back—of the sweet little girl who used to curl up in her arms, calling her Mother in the softest voice, gently wiping away her tears when she was sad.
But that girl was gone. Now all that remained was a stranger.
"Charlotte… do you still blame me?" she asked, voice trembling. "Back then, I truly had no choice. One wrong move and it would've cost lives. You and Brielle are both my children—equally precious to me. But she'd just returned after twelve years away… If there was a mistake, it was mine. I failed to guide you both properly. How could I possibly…"
She didn't finish, but Charlotte understood. In Valeria's heart, she had received twelve years of love and care from the Hastings family. So when punishment came, she was the one expected to bear it.
"I would never dare blame you, Lady Valeria," Charlotte said softly. "I'm a servant now. Even if the Hastings family redeemed me from the Red Pavilion, I remain a slave. It's only right that I speak and carry myself as one. Please, don't trouble yourself on my account."
Valeria let out a quiet breath, as if relieved. "That's just talk from outsiders," she said. "To us, you're still a daughter of the General's estate—just like Brielle. Nothing has changed."
It was what they'd said back when Brielle returned, when everyone had questioned whether Charlotte should stay.
And Charlotte had believed it.
After all, twelve years of affection couldn't vanish overnight.
But now… she couldn't afford to believe it anymore.
She was about to respond when Valeria gently took her arm and led her inside.
"I had Rainmere Hall cleaned up for you," she said. "It's right next to Brielle's quarters. The two of you can keep each other company."
Brielle chimed in, eyes full of admiration. "Charlotte, Mother prepared Rainmere Hall just for you! Even I didn't get this kind of treatment. Look—she even hurt her hands fixing it up."
Charlotte glanced down at the hand resting on her arm—small cuts and scrapes covered her fingers.
Her chest tightened.
Twelve years together—perhaps Valeria did still care for her. At least a little.
"Thank you, Lady Valeria," she said softly.
Behind them, Oliver muttered through clenched teeth, "Seriously? Is it still not enough? Mother's done everything for you—and that still doesn't erase your bitterness? You were in the Red Pavilion for three years. But Brielle? She grew up without the love of her real parents."
The words had barely left his mouth when Brielle let out a delicate sniffle, her eyes brimming with tears at the mention of her lonely childhood.
Immediately, Valeria let go of Charlotte and wrapped her arms around Brielle, comforting her softly.
Charlotte looked down at her empty arm and almost laughed.
Three years in the Red Pavilion—three years of beatings, hunger, and humiliation—and to them, it didn't even register. They used to say she was innocent, that she couldn't be blamed for the switch at birth. But now? They couldn't even be bothered to pretend.
Maybe to keep her from hearing more, Valeria shot Oliver a warning look. "She's only just come back. Must you say such things now?"
She turned and continued walking with Charlotte toward Rainmere Hall. But her hand never reached out again.
Only when they arrived did Charlotte understand how Valeria's hands had gotten injured.
The courtyard walls were cracked and crumbling. The front gate leaned crookedly on its hinges. Weeds ran wild across the yard. The door was wide open, and inside, the furnishings were sparse and crude—so few you could count them on one hand.
This place was so run-down, it wasn't just neglected—it was dangerous. You could cut yourself just brushing against a table.
Valeria gave an awkward smile. "The estate's been busy with so many things. I only had time to come clean at night. The lighting was poor, and I may not have arranged things to your liking…"
Charlotte's voice was calm but cool. "You're too kind, Lady Valeria. If you didn't have time, you needn't have troubled yourself. I can live anywhere—it makes no difference."
Before Valeria could respond, Oliver snapped from behind, "Mother's been running herself ragged these past three months planning Brielle's coming-of-age party. She barely has time to breathe! And she still found time to come set this place up for you. Isn't that enough?"
Charlotte had told herself again and again not to feel hurt. But it was useless. Her heart still felt as if something had been carved out of it.
So… they'd started planning Brielle's ceremony three months ago.
And during those three months, how many times had Charlotte been beaten? Gone hungry? Cried herself to sleep? Not once had the Hastings family thought of her.
They knew the rules. They knew that when a girl came of age in the Red Pavilion, she would be sent to serve her first client. They knew. And still—they waited until the day before to bring her home.
Charlotte kept her head down, quietly listening as Oliver lectured her.
"Try thinking more about Mother's feelings instead of wasting energy on things that don't matter. This courtyard's not bad at all—definitely better than wherever you were staying in the Red Pavilion."
Charlotte glanced around at the dusty, neglected yard. Yes, it was better than the Red Pavilion—much better. She had no right to be ungrateful. Besides, he was still here. She had made it back. She could still see him. That was already more than enough.
No matter what Valeria said, Charlotte remained quietly respectful. Her posture perfect, eyes lowered. It was as if none of it concerned her at all.
Eventually, Valeria's words began to falter. Her expression grew strained, her voice soft but tired. "Charlotte, you must be worn out after the journey. Get some rest. Tonight, we'll have a proper family dinner.
"You're home now, so settle in. This is still your home. If anyone mistreats you, come straight to me."
Charlotte bowed and bowed deeply, hands pressed to her forehead. "Yes, Lady Valeria. Thank you for your kindness."
"You're unbelievable," Oliver muttered before turning and walking away in frustration.
Valeria hesitated, clearly wanting to say something more. But in the end, she just sighed. With the help of her maid, she turned to leave.
But before she could step out the door, Charlotte spoke, "Lady Valeria."
Valeria turned back, a flicker of hope in her eyes.
Charlotte still stood in the same spot—frail and slightly hunched. But for the first time, she met Valeria's gaze directly. Her eyes were calm, too calm, the kind of calm that came after everything had already been burned away.
She looked like someone who had aged far beyond her years.
And yet, tomorrow was supposed to be her coming-of-age.
A strange ache tightened in Valeria's chest, a sudden fear that this girl in front of her might simply vanish. "Charlotte?"
"You once made me a promise," Charlotte said quietly. "Does it still count?"
She didn't explain further, but Valeria understood instantly.
Back when Charlotte was sent to the Red Pavilion, she hadn't gone willingly. She had begged, crying, not to be sent.
The Red Pavilion was a place that swallowed people whole. Even those who survived came out broken. The King had wanted to make an example of her—a punishment for impersonating a Hastings daughter. The sentence had been deliberately harsh.
But Charlotte wasn't just anyone. She had been the daughter Valeria had raised and loved for twelve years, her pride and joy.
Valeria had hesitated. Her heart had softened more than once. But in the end, between Charlotte and Brielle, she had chosen Brielle.
She'd reminded herself over and over, 'Brielle is your real daughter. Charlotte is just a girl who didn't belong here.
She lived like royalty for twelve years—wasn't that already more than enough? What's three years in the Red Pavilion compared to that?'
She had convinced herself she'd made the right decision.
And to make Charlotte go quietly, without resisting, what had she said back then?
"Serve your three years in the Red Pavilion, and afterward, you and the Hastings family will have nothing more to do with each other."
Now, hearing those words thrown back at her, Valeria froze, her face full of disbelief. Then, her expression hardened. "Charlotte, don't be foolish. You're a young girl—if you leave the Hastings family, where would you even go?"
The maid at her side chimed in, voice full of anguish, "Lady Charlotte, you only think of your own suffering these past three years. But did you know that Lady Valeria hasn't had a single peaceful night's sleep in all that time? She's cried every day for you. It's normal to act out a little on your first day back—but how could you say something so cruel?"
Valeria raised a hand to stop her. "Charlotte, you come of age tomorrow. Think carefully before you speak again. For now, I'll pretend I never heard what you just said."
Charlotte lowered her gaze once more, her voice even. "Understood."
But inside, she couldn't help but feel bitter.
Once upon a time, she might have believed those words. She might have been moved by Valeria's so-called concern.
But the Red Pavilion had taught her something vital: if you want to know someone's heart, watch what they do—not what they say.
The Red Pavilion wasn't far. The Hastings family was powerful. If they'd truly wanted to see her, they could have. But they never came.
All those sleepless nights and tears—if they ever happened—were just guilt in search of a convenient outlet.
She didn't need that. Not anymore.
Valeria gave her one final look—one full of disappointment. "Oh, one more thing—Brielle's coming-of-age party is tomorrow. The heir of the Marquis' estate will be attending. Be sure to make an appearance, but… keep your distance."