“Open your eyes.”

“…”

“Open them and look.”

“I… I don’t understand why you keep telling me to look.”

As Sveta shifted timidly, the large hand enveloping hers tightened its grip.

The sensation brushing against her curled fingertips felt unreal.

‘How can anyone possibly… do something like this…?’

She could not believe that everyone engaged in such shameless acts.

Embarrassed by the low groan woven into his breath, she rubbed her lips against Aiden’s broad shoulder. At the same time, the heated exhale he released dampened the crown of her head.

Even without musk, the duke carried his own fragrance. The natural scent of a man rising from his smooth skin only heightened the warmth between them.

He pressed his thumb between her tightly sealed apricot-colored lips. The damp breath spilling from within moistened the thick finger marked with calluses.

“Good. Like that… breathe.”

Now Aiden commanded even the rhythm of Sveta’s breathing. Their bodies overlapped once more, and he reclaimed his position above her.

Her mouth felt parched, her insides burning. She slipped out her small tongue and licked her lower lip.

Looking down at Sveta through clouded eyes, he slowly ran his tongue over her lips and along her chin.

Seeing the corners of her mouth glisten with saliva, Aiden curved his lips into the smile of a predator.

Sveta was crushed helplessly, like softened dough—by his massive body, by his composure, by his practiced ease.

She ached. Under the unbearable pressure, a soft gasp escaped her lips.

Gripping the sheet, she shook her head fiercely.

And through it all, he watched—capturing every moment in his gaze.

Twisting her damp lashes, Sveta pleaded.

“Ah… ngh… don’t look… please…”

“Why not?”

“Just… just because.”

If only it had been night—she could have hidden in the dark.

It was a strange feeling. As though her entire body were still covered in wounds, she felt unbearably small.

He was a radiant sun, a vast ocean. He was her whole world.

That was why. Her heart for him had grown far too large. And yet she did not know his heart. That uncertainty frightened her.

She did not want to lay all of these emotions bare.

The well-shaped eyes studying her narrowed slightly.

“If you give me a reason I can accept.”

“……”

“Then I won’t look.”

The next moment, a restrained breath slipped past Aiden’s crimson lips as he lifted his head. Sveta wrapped her arms tightly around his sculpted back.

At times he stilled, brushing the bridge of his nose against her cheek. His expression was stiff in a way that felt unfamiliar.

It seemed as though he were enduring something—or perhaps restraining an unbearable impatience. It was clearly different from the first time their bodies had joined.

She liked that he was like this, yet it felt awkward. That unfamiliarity brought with it a trace of fear.

When her legs thrashed again, he caught them. His tightening grip pressed harshly into her thigh.

“Ah—!”

“Does it hurt?”

When his clouded eyes—like a mist-veiled green sea—met hers, Sveta understood. Or thought she did. The meaning behind what he was doing.

In her days as a slave, she had heard stories from the bed slaves who shared her barracks. They said attending at night was grueling.

Even if they fainted, it did not stop. They were made to kneel and subjected to cruelty. Men would pant like beasts, strike them in frustration, and once satisfied, turn coldly away.

But Aiden was different.

He was trying.

The moment she realized it, the desire to resent him vanished without a trace.

It was the instant when the faint thread of affection she had so desperately longed for finally cast its shadow over her.

Breathless, as though granted salvation, she whispered,

“…It’s good.”

Even if what he gave her was a fleeting emotion, fragile as a mayfly’s life, she was still grateful.

Sveta carefully stroked his rigid back.

“It doesn’t hurt. I like it, Your Grace.”

The pain must be great, as great as the difference in their builds. It was only their second time—of course it would be.

Her hair, the color of flame, fluttered vividly. With tear-bright eyes, she shook her head emphatically.

It was impossible to tell whether she meant it hurt or that it didn’t.

Aiden slowly withdrew, then pushed forward again.

The sensation of skin meeting, sliding, and pressing together was maddeningly good.

Her body, marked with red imprints, swayed with each of his movements.

Brows faintly furrowed in pleasure, Aiden bit down on her full lips as though devouring them. A sweet cry spilled into his mouth.

Even his mistress’s saliva tasted sweet.

Rolling onto his side, he shifted her until she sat astride him.

Her slender arms, trembling like vines in the air, settled against his chest. Crooking his index finger, Aiden spoke.

“Your lips.”

“……”

A bead of sweat clung to her brow as she obediently leaned in. Their lips touched—just a soft press—and before she could pull away, he resumed his movements.

***

“I… want to wash.”

Sveta’s voice seeped into the damp air of the darkened bedroom. It was soft, like tiny ripples, leaving a ticklish sensation behind.

“……”

Aiden lay on his side, propping his head on one hand as though merely observing.

She rose onto her knees. Faint dawn light illuminated her back from behind.

His gaze, fixed on her, drifted slowly from her thighs down to her gaunt knees.

“Stay like that.”

“No…”

He caught her slender wrist and pulled. All her effort in rising proved useless as she was laid back down atop Aiden’s body.

Wrapping both arms around her narrow waist, he exhaled slowly. With the rise and fall of his chest, her small body moved along with him.

The faint scent of sweat mixing with her natural fragrance was enough to drive him mad.

“Ah, please…”

“Why.”

Sveta pressed her flushed cheek against his neck and continued in a small voice.

“I’m tired. And it’s already dawn. This is… too blatant, and we’ve done this so many times already…”

“You dislike so many things.”

Each time her lips parted in speechless protest, her soft breath tickled his neck.

“If it’s not me you dislike, then accept it.”

“How…?”

He flipped Sveta over.

“Like this.”

He made her kneel, then slowly ran his tongue up the length of her exposed back. Like rain-soaked grass, she arched her waist with fl*id grace.

“Ah, Your Grace…”

In the bedroom filled only with whites and grays, she alone shone with living color.

His mistress devoured every surrounding hue—and even his patience—with greedy appetite.

And so Aiden found he no longer knew how to escape her.

From that day on, the duke and his mistress remained in the bedroom for another full week.

The ointment given by the physician ran out, and the maids came and went several times a day to change the sheets.

Cradled in his arms, she would steal glances at the maids, then reach for his lapel to draw his attention again.

And Aiden would lie back over her once more.

Days stained with pleasure passed slowly.

***

The realization came abruptly.

It was more than twenty-five days after he had secluded himself in the bedroom with Sveta that Aiden first began to question her identity.

It was also the day he decided to end their long repose.

For the past several days, they had joined bodies each night and fallen asleep beneath the pale light of dawn. During the day, they remained within drawn curtains, sheltered in shadow—because she was shy of the brightness.

As though reflecting the time that had passed, the heat of early summer had begun to fill the chamber.

Unlike usual, the curtains were drawn fully aside, and dazzling midsummer sunlight filtered in. A sharp beam of light fell across Sveta’s flushed cheek as she slept.

“Mmm…”

Her orange hair lay in disarray, and she scrunched her nose faintly as though the strands tickled.

Watching her silently, Aiden gently brushed the hair aside.

As he idly smoothed her sunset-colored strands, he suddenly stilled.

Near her scalp, he noticed newly grown hair.

‘Did she… dye it?’

He lowered his head to look more closely at the black roots growing in.

His breath spilled over her forehead, and Sveta stirred faintly.

“…Mm. It tickles.”

“Be still.”

“……”

“Stay still.”

He whispered in a low, sunken voice. Sveta wrinkled her cheek again and murmured in reply.

“It tickles, Beth…”

“……”

It was barely a whisper, like a faint breeze on a sultry summer night—but Aiden heard it clearly.

“Just now… you said Beth…”

Was this woman the sort who referred to herself in the third person?

That small question tugged loose the many others that had long lain buried at the bottom of his awareness.

Aiden drew her slender arm out from beneath the blanket. Though faded, the pale skin still bore unmistakable knife marks.

His fingers traced the arm crowded with scars, now thin as hairline cracks, and his gaze soon shifted to the bony ankle protruding from under the covers.

At first glance, it appeared ordinary. But it was twisted at a subtly unnatural angle.

It would not be wrong to call it a trace of *buse.

Had Ivan not said so? That it looked as though someone had made it that way on purpose.

For someone said to be the princess of Zloytan, her body was far too wretched.

“Ha…”

A single portrait labeled Beth Gould. Her own claim that she was Beth Gould.

Once he set those aside, the facts that had long felt faintly discordant began to lock into place.

Fragments of memory, buried at the very bottom of his consciousness, burst upward all at once like bubbles rising and popping.

“My scars are like this. Aren’t you curious what your father’s face looks like?”

“…I am curious.”

The bitter expression she had worn when speaking of being curious about Jace Gould’s wounds—along with the faint trace of exhilaration hidden within it.

The resigned face she had shown when she said she wanted to be happy for just one year.

Even the way she had skillfully done the laundry.

Why had he only now seen it?

Everything had been so painfully clear.

With a hollow sigh, Aiden dragged a hand over his lips. Tilting his head back, he repeatedly brushed back the hair curling around his fingers.

The truth laid bare was undeniable.

“Beth Gould…”

No.

Then who are you, exactly?