“How would you feel about working at the ducal estate?”

“…Pardon? Working there?”

At the unexpected proposal, Ophelia’s eyes widened in shock.

Maintaining a calm expression, the duke continued speaking.

“Society is already in uproar because of what happened at the estate yesterday. If your identity becomes known on top of that, it won’t end well for either of us.”

Had he investigated her overnight?

She lacked the courage to ask, so she remained silent.

The duke continued smoothly.

“Other nobles may start flocking to the ghostwriting shop as well. And if that happens, it becomes troublesome for me too.”

“Ah…”

“If you stay at the ducal estate, there will be no risk of your identity being exposed. Wouldn’t that be better for you as well?”

There was nothing incorrect about his reasoning.

It was something Ophelia herself had been worried about.

She had no proper justification to refuse.

And yet, for some reason, her thoughts felt tangled and complicated.

As though reading her hesitation clearly, the duke spoke again, a faint chill woven into his voice.

“Madam. Are you hesitating right now? I’m trying to help you.”

“But what kind of work would I even…”

“After reading the letter you wrote yesterday, I thought you would do well as a secretary.”

The duke held out the crisp white document he had been carrying in his hand the entire time.

“This is the contract. If you make your decision, come visit whenever you wish.”

After saying everything he needed to say, he rose from his seat as though the matter were already finished.

Ophelia stared blankly upward, following the duke’s tall figure with her eyes.

“Then I’ll excuse myself. I have another appointment.”

Step. Step.

His retreating figure moved away without the slightest trace of lingering attachment.

The butler accompanying him hurried after him while presenting his next schedule.

“Huh….”

The tea in the cup had not even finished cooling yet.

Left alone in an instant, Ophelia could only stare blankly at the white contract before her, overwhelmed by the unexpected proposal.

Unlike the brilliantly sunny weather spilling through the large windows, her thoughts were in complete disarray.

***

Cedric watched Ophelia crossing the garden from beyond the window for a long moment.

Then, before long, a quiet laugh escaped him.

‘To think things would turn out this way.’

Unable to hold herself back any longer, Adre had finally caused a disaster.

To break off her engagement with the young Viscount Berkshire, she had conspired with one of the servants to fabricate fake love letters.

At first, Cedric’s only concern had been the headache of cleaning up yet another outrageous incident caused by his younger sister.

But the moment he saw the ghostwritten letter Esmond handed over—

The moment he saw the neat handwriting covering the page—

Cedric’s thoughts had stopped entirely.

Like a man whose mind had gone blank.

Grabbing the trembling Esmond, he demanded over and over who had written the letter for him.

In a voice barely above a whisper, the servant revealed the location of the ghostwriting shop <We Write Your Letters For You.>

“T-There’s an employee there named Summer. She wrote the letter for me…”

Summer.

Clinging desperately to that absurd pen name like the thinnest thread of hope, Cedric had gone searching for the shop.

And when he stepped inside—

Never, not even once, had he imagined that girl would truly be standing there.

That girl he had longed for even in his dreams.

The girl whose face looked exactly the same as it had in childhood, staring at him with wide rabbit-like eyes.

Ophelia Dauer.

The woman he should have called Countess Roswell.

The woman who had given endless love to that man, Hemian.

The girl he had tried so hard not to think about anymore…

Cedric slowly rolled the pen between his fingers.

It was a meaningless habit he unconsciously repeated whenever he had something deep to think about.

[Do you perhaps have a dream?]

[Someday, I want to visit the biggest and most beautiful art gallery in the capital. You’ll come with me then, right?]

And yet rational thought escaped him completely.

Because every single moment with her still lingered in his memory as naturally as breathing.

To think her handwriting had not changed at all.

As the memories came crashing over him without mercy, Cedric surrendered himself to them, burying his face in both hands as he closed his eyes.

[They say when people die, they become stars in the sky. So they can shine down and guide the people they love whenever they lose their way.]

Trying to comfort him, that child had once written such beautiful words.

And how much those words had meant to him…

That girl, Ophelia Dauer, would never know.

Remembering clearly the empty ring finger on her left hand, the duke smiled faintly.

“Divorce, hm…”

Now that she was alone once more, he had no intention whatsoever of letting this chance slip away.

***

The answer Hemian and his lawyer, Bard Krark, received from the courthouse was unwavering.

“The divorce process has already been completed. The submitted documents cannot be withdrawn.”

“Miss Ophelia Dauer is no longer the Countess of Roswell.”

Hemian’s fears had proven true.

Several days earlier, Ophelia Dauer had personally appeared at the courthouse carrying fully processed divorce papers already agreed upon by both parties.

Though Hemian clearly refused to accept reality, Bard privately believed the court’s stance was perfectly reasonable.

What truly bewildered him instead was his employer’s sudden change in attitude.

After all, had Hemian himself not personally consulted him just days ago to prepare those very divorce papers?

Bard had witnessed with his own eyes the count stamping the documents with his official seal.

‘To change his mind overnight like this… and I’m already exhausted as it is.’

Bard had been trapped in his employer’s office until late into the night.

Still, this was not the first time he had seen something like this.

Among couples who filed for divorce, it was not uncommon for one side to suddenly change their mind and demand the proceedings be canceled.

But Bard, now fairly experienced in his profession, understood one thing clearly.

The law made exceptions for no one.

Whether Hemian accepted the divorce or not, the fact remained unchanged, Ophelia was no longer the Countess of Roswell.

And since there was no possible way to reverse the divorce now, there was ultimately nothing Hemian could do.

The answer had already been decided.

At this point, Bard simply wanted to go home as soon as possible.

“At the courthouse earlier.”

Hemian, who had been silently lost in thought, suddenly spoke.

Startled out of his wandering thoughts, Bard straightened immediately.

“They said my wife never once mentioned division of assets?”

“……”

Despite the court repeatedly and firmly stating that Ophelia had said absolutely nothing regarding property or money, Hemian still seemed unable to let go of the matter.

Though his employer likely already knew the answer himself, Bard reluctantly shook his head.

“They said she did not.”

At that, Hemian fell silent once again.

Bard inwardly sighed, wondering how long this silence would last this time—

“That’s enough. You may leave now.”

“…! Thank you.”

Receiving the dismissal like rain after a drought, Bard hurriedly gathered his briefcase, bowed quickly, and practically fled the office.

Once the door closed and he was left alone again, Hemian sank back into thought.

It had been hours since nightfall, yet he had not gone to the bedroom.

He had not even changed out of the clothes he had worn all day.

He simply sat motionless in his office, staring blankly out the window.

The scenery outside had not changed at all, yet it felt as though everything surrounding him had.

Where had Ophelia gone after leaving the courthouse?

Ophelia had nowhere to go.

That was an undeniable fact.

And his wife possessed absolutely nothing.

She had even left behind the wedding ring, the only thing of value she truly had.

Without travel money, there was no way she could afford lodging for long anywhere.

The Baron and Baroness Dauer had died in a fire years ago, and she had no close relatives worth mentioning.

Nor did she have any friends she could rely on.

Throughout her entire life, her only friend and lover had been Hemian alone.

So where could someone in her situation possibly have disappeared to?

“…Sir?”

“……”

“My lord.”

After several calls, Hemian finally snapped out of his thoughts.

His office came back into focus once more.

Standing before him was Elliot, who must have entered at some point without him noticing.

Only then did Hemian remember assigning him the task of investigating the remaining acquaintances in Ophelia’s life, the last desperate thread of hope he had left.

Straightening his posture immediately, Hemian spoke.

“I came to report the results of the investigation.”

“Did you find anything?”

It was already deep into the night.

Suppressing his exhaustion as best he could, Elliot stepped forward and handed over the report he had prepared for his master.