“Put the gun down, Ariana Clifford.”

The man’s voice was firm as he rebuked her inside the cold, lifeless bedroom.

But despite her husband’s command, the woman with ash-blonde hair didn’t so much as flinch. Bathed in the moonlight pouring through the arched window behind her, Ariana Clifford stood still—her face pale and luminous, like glass smoothed to perfection.

Yet the blue eyes that stared at her husband were hollow—emptied by the despair that had already swept through her.

“…Kenneth.”

Her husband, Duke Kenneth Clifford, was the most powerful figure in the entire Cremisa Empire, holding the imperial treasury firmly in his grasp like a tightened rein.

He was a man who towered over everyone else, never showing a single crack in his armour. His deep blue hair was always swept back neatly, and his perfectly tailored suit always fit his large, imposing frame without a hint of disorder.

Now, however, his hair was damp and dishevelled, and instead of his usual formal attire, he wore only a partially unbuttoned white shirt and simple black trousers.

Would those who only ever saw Kenneth as a businessman be able to imagine him like this?

‘Perhaps only the women who wish to sleep with him could.’

As for her, who had been dragged to his side three years ago, there had never been the slightest hint of excitement.

No matter how perfectly sculpted his body was, how could she admire it?

After all, his once-flawless body now bore bullet wounds, as though the gods had scarred him in a cruel act of mischief.

And it wasn’t just the gunshots. His torso was also marked with countless stab wounds.

Every time she saw those scars, a suffocating guilt tightened around her like a noose.

Kenneth knew exactly what went through her mind whenever she looked at them.

With his signature cold sneer, he raised an eyebrow.

“So you’re finally thinking of killing me, are you? How impressive, Ariana.”

“…”

“It’s rather bold of you to even consider shooting me.”

As the empire’s leading diplomat, he had grown accustomed to assassination attempts, which occurred every few days.

Having miraculously survived a gunshot wound at the age of twenty-one, little could frighten him now.

No matter how Ariana pointed a gun at him, he would never cower.

He took a leisurely step forward, exuding a suffocating pressure that made every hair on her body stand on end, from the crown of her head to her tailbone.

“If you want, go ahead and shoot.”

“…”

“But have you thought about who would save you afterwards?”

“There’s no one, obviously.”

Ariana smiled faintly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Her family had betrayed the Clifford family, with whom they had once been close, a long time ago.

Ariana herself had even married one of Kenneth’s political enemies.

Although that marriage ended within half a day, the disgrace remained forever.

In the end, it was Kenneth who rose victorious from the political turmoil, taking Ariana as his wife—a reward befitting his triumph, and a seemingly magnanimous gesture from the gracious Duke of Clifford.

“The Duchess shall not interfere in family affairs.”

Even if he were to cut off her hands and feet, and never treat her like a proper wife, she had no choice but to endure it all.

All she could do was stand by the duke’s side and offer him a practised, gentle smile.

Naturally, society was merciless in its gaze.

If he had shown her even a hint of tenderness behind closed doors, she might have endured it more willingly — but from their very first night together, he had made his stance perfectly clear:

“There will be no children between us.”

There were nights devoid of affection where not even pain could be expressed.

“I have no intention of seeing my heir born from you.”

The next morning, when she woke up alone and abandoned, the misery was unbearable.

Could this even be called a marriage?

Perhaps it would be more accurate to describe it as a warden and prisoner sharing the same space.

Still, Ariana was grateful simply to be alive. She endured it all.

She might have spent her whole life as a criminal.

Had the child never been conceived, that is.

“But Kenneth, there was no need to be so cold to our child.”

Even if there had been no love between them, something had come from their time together:

A daughter — fragile and barely brought into the world.

Despite the misery surrounding her, Ariana wanted nothing more than to love that child with all her heart.

“You will be my only family.”

But the child was laid to rest in the cold earth soon after seeing the light of day.

And Kenneth…

“I never expected you to cry. Couldn’t you have mourned with me, even just a little?”

On the day of the funeral, he simply stood there, staring indifferently at the grave before turning away.

Didn’t the fact that their daughter was buried without even a headstone strike him as pitiful at all?

When she asked him, he crossed his arms.

The moment she saw that cold, indifferent expression, Ariana knew what the answer would be.

“Why should I?”

“Kenneth—”

“That child was a mistake.”

He uttered the word ‘mistake’ with cruel clarity, as if driving a nail into her heart.

Only then did his expression soften slightly, his lips curling into a bitter sneer.

“And how touching, Ariana. The way you speak, one would almost believe that you loved that child.”

“…”

“A hypocrite like you… as if you could ever—”

“So that’s how you see me.”

Ariana smiled faintly and slowly raised the gun.

But the barrel wasn’t pointed at him; it was aimed at her own temple.

At that moment, a gust of wind swept the deep purple clouds across the sky, obscuring the moonlight. His expression disappeared into the darkness.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

“Ariana.”

“Kenneth.”

“Stop this nonsense. Put it down.”

“Our baby’s name was Beatrice. It means blessing.”

If she hadn’t loved her daughter, she wouldn’t have given her that name.

If she hadn’t still loved Kenneth, her executioner, it would never have been a blessing.

“The truth is, on the day you nearly died… I was planning to tell you that I liked you.”

Click.

The sound of the safety catch being released rang clearly in the silence.

Ariana smiled, a smile full of resignation.

“That’s the truth.”

To confess her feelings only on the brink of death —

It was pitiful yet strangely liberating, as if a heavy weight had finally been lifted from her chest.

Only then did the moonlight return, dimly illuminating the room through the window.

What expression was Kenneth wearing now?

“Ari—”

Bang!

However, the barrel was positioned too close to Ariana’s head to capture her final expression clearly.

Ariana Clifford, the twenty-three-year-old Duchess of Clifford, was killed.

It was the perfect suicide: clean, final and irreversible.

It was committed right before her husband’s eyes.

They say that, in the final moments before death, a person’s entire life flashes before their eyes.

This was certainly true for Ariana, the daughter of the Viscount of Aberdeen.

As her final breath left her body, she saw the full tapestry of her life unravel.

But the moments of joy in her short life were few and far between.

These were far outweighed by the constant undercurrent of fear and unease.

Much of that fear stemmed from her mother, Josephina Aberdeen.

After her frail husband passed away early, Josephina poured all her love and ambition into her eldest son, Quentin.

Three years her senior, Quentin was the family’s only hope —the shining prospect who was destined to restore the Aberdeen to their former glory.

Naturally, he was given first choice of everything good — every luxury and every affection.

Even Ariana’s favourite desserts.

The trifle — a sponge cake layered with fruit and soaked in honey — only ever appeared when Quentin came home on leave from the academy.

It was as if to make sure that Ariana understood from a young age that love was not distributed equally.

“That’s for your brother, Ariana!”

Whenever Ariana reached out towards the cake, entranced by its sweetness, Josephina would slap her hand away sharply.

‘I want some too.’

Ariana swallowed hard, but said nothing.

Quentin looked apologetic, but he didn’t give anything away.

He wasn’t naturally cruel; he just didn’t feel the need to give anything away.

“Sorry, Ariana. Being a good sister means letting your brother have it.”

“… Okay.”

“When I succeed, I’ll make sure you can eat as much as you want.”

“….”

Ariana simply nodded in silence.

‘Once our family’s situation improves, Mother will care for me too, won’t she?’

Despite being pushed aside, Ariana still looked forward to Quentin returning during the school holidays.

This was because her mother beat her less when he was home.

Then, when Ariana turned ten, one of her brother’s friends came to visit for the first time:

Kenneth Clifford.

Was there anyone in the entire Cremisa Empire who didn’t know that name?

“The imperial family may bear the name Claude, but the empire’s purse strings belong to Clifford!”

Duke Clifford’s house was discussed so frequently that its name practically became a proverb.

‘Is Clifford really that great?’

When the young nobleman came to visit, Ariana’s eyes sparkled with curiosity.

Her brother was visibly proud, eager to introduce her to his high-ranking friend.

“Kenneth, this is my sister, Ariana. Ariana, this is Kenneth, the friend I told you about. You remember him, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

Having followed her mother’s advice, Ariana offered a polite and graceful greeting, but deliberately opened her eyes wide to examine Kenneth more closely.

She soon realised, however, that this was a grave mistake.

The young Master Clifford was more beautiful than the angel statues decorating the mansion.