The Church of Saint Richelio stood on a snowy mountainside.

In a dim, secluded chapel within the church, a woman’s heated, breathless moans echoed, sounding out of place in such a sacred setting.

She sat on a polished pew made of dark red wood while a knight knelt before her.

Soft candlelight flickered from every corner, casting a quiet, wavering glow over them both.

He had once sworn his devotion before God.

Now, he had turned his back on the divine.

His broad back arched as he lowered himself beneath the folds of her skirt, his knees touching the ground — not in reverence to God, but for her.

Behind a deep violet curtain, a statue of a deity looked down on them in silence.

‘You shall not sin with your body before your God.’

The commandment held no meaning for the two of them now.

“Ah… hn…”

The man’s tongue moved slowly, wandering, tracing over her with deliberate care.

Isabelle, who had been indulging herself with him beneath her skirt, lifted her head.

“Ah… ah…”

A low, aching moan escaped her lips as she struggled to catch her breath.

He consumed her with his relentless, hungry kisses, and she found it maddeningly intoxicating. Truly, overwhelmingly so.

Each time that searing, blood-warm heat moved against her most sensitive place, a feverish wave of pleasure washed over her.

Her trembling fingers wove into his hair, clutching tightly.

Her breath came in uneven gasps as her body quivered and arched.

As if driven by instinct, her slender arms pulled him closer, pressing him deeper beneath her.

Her flushed, swollen lips trembled, and a faint, fragile cry escaped her, like that of a wounded creature.

Her black hair, once carefully arranged beneath a proper veil, had come undone, with strands clinging to the damp curve of her pale neck.

She felt as though she were on the verge of breaking.

Her vision blurred to white and her strength drained from her limbs.

As her eyes slowly closed, memories of gentler days began to surface — soft, distant, yet painfully vivid.

“I love you, Isabelle.”

That memory, once as bright as the midsummer sun, had shattered and dissipated.

Now it was winter.

They stood in a modest chapel on a snow-covered mountainside.

Though they clung to each other as if their lives depended on it, Isabelle knew that the moment they stepped outside into the cold wind, they would be torn apart.

She knew it all too well.

And surely Tenetta knew it, too.

It was then that he withdrew from her.

A faint, damp sound lingered in the air.

The intense pleasure that had been building came to an abrupt end and Isabelle lowered her gaze.

Her disheveled husband looked up at her.

“I love you.”

His voice was hoarse as he whispered the kind of words a husband overcome with desire for his wife might murmur.

His face was flushed, and his lips, still damp from moments before, caught the faint light.

His blue eyes were fixed on her, gleaming with raw desire and unfulfilled longing.

Even undressed, his beauty remained unmarred — intoxicating in its own way.

He looked like an angel.

Perhaps she could have loved him for his face alone.

If only that very face had not been the one to cast her out of paradise.

The husband who had killed the wife who loved him enough to die for him reached out and seized her wrist.

Unlike her, who was still wrapped in her fur, he had removed his gloves to serve her. His bare hand closed around hers with a rough, unyielding grip.

“I told you… I love you.”

He glared at her, his eyes filled with resentment.

Isabelle felt no urge to avoid his gaze.

As the haze of l*st slowly faded from her mind, a cold, mocking irritation flickered through her thoughts.

‘So what? You went down on me, and now you expect love in return?’

How ridiculous!

No matter how many times he buried his head between her legs, Isabelle could treat him however she wanted.

Malice.

Hostility directed at him.

Love had long since disappeared, leaving only those feelings.

If only she could sharpen those feelings into something lethal and drive them straight into him, she wouldn’t wish for anything more.

Perhaps that thought showed on her face.

“So… you don’t believe me.”

His lips twisted as he spoke, his voice low and rough.

Looking down at him, Isabelle lied without hesitation.

“I believe you.”

As she spoke, she pressed her foot against him.

Without taking her shoe off, she pushed her small foot firmly into his thigh.

She made no attempt to pretend it was an accident.

There had once been a time — long ago — when she had cherished the words that fell from his lips.

Now, however, she preferred something far less noble.

Sensing her silent command, the man lifted the hem of her skirt, his expression hardening.

The contact that had been briefly interrupted resumed once more.

As he disappeared beneath her skirt again, Isabelle drew in a sharp breath.

Ah, yes, she truly did.

She squeezed her eyes shut as heat rose from deep within her, her body shifting slightly in response.

Her soft, pale thighs closed around him, holding him firmly in place.

“Ah… ngh… ah…!”

At last, she reached her peak.

Her deep green eyes brimmed with tears, and a single, clear tear trickled down her flushed cheek.

Beneath her skirt, it was no different.

The man swallowed hard, his lips damp from what she had given him.

Having done what was expected of him, he slowly pulled away from her trembling body.

Humiliation flickered across his handsome face, lingering on his jaw where traces of her remained.

It was the quiet sorrow of someone used for another’s pleasure, tinged with something deeper and heavier.

Having been cast aside by love, it was only natural that he found no satisfaction in this.

And yet, he endured it, knowing that this hollow dissatisfaction was the closest thing to fulfilment he would ever experience.

Stepping out from beneath the warmth of her skirt, he wiped his lips in silence.

“If you don’t want to believe me, then don’t.”

“……”

“Because someday… you will.”

‘When?’

Isabelle blinked, her pleasure-clouded vision flickering as she mocked him inwardly.

‘You think I could ever believe your love again?’

That day would never come.

In that chapel, on a freezing winter’s day, Isabelle staked all her hopes on that certainty.

At the time, she truly believed it was impossible.

She really did.