The day after Kallius awoke from his coma and informed Delia of his decision to divorce her—

he left the Hildebrandt estate at the break of dawn, taking only his aide with him.

When Delia learned of it belatedly, she rushed downstairs without even changing out of her nightclothes.

Breathing unevenly, she looked around in haste.

But Kallius was nowhere to be seen.

For a long while, Delia stared at the place he had departed from.

Only then did she fully understand.

The Kallius who had lost his memory regarded her as nothing more than a troublesome burden.

Shocked beyond words, Delia shut herself in her bedchamber for days. With no word from her husband, she waited in silence, her expression steeped in gloom.

Holding the portrait she had brought from the dressing room, she murmured in a trembling voice,

“What am I to do?”

Her vision felt dark and uncertain. At this rate, it was only a matter of time before she and the memory-lost Kallius would part ways.

Whenever she recalled how he had been wounded in her stead, a dull ache throbbed in her chest. That was not something a man could do without loving her.

For the sake of the Kallius who might one day regain his memories, she had to prevent the divorce at all costs.

Perhaps… that was the very best she could do.

Just as she sank deeper into her troubled thoughts—

Knock, knock.

A sound echoed at the door.

Before Delia could respond, the closed door swung wide open.

Startled from where she had been lying as still as the dead, Delia pushed herself upright.

“What are you doing at this hour?”

“……Kallius?”

She thought she must be dreaming.

The way his hair was brushed back, the dark-gray coat tailored perfectly to his frame—it was the very same attire he had worn on the day of the accident.

Staring blankly at him, Delia abruptly rose from her seat.

She walked toward Kallius, who stood without so much as a flicker of movement, and carefully examined him from head to toe.

After confirming there were no visible wounds on his body, she let out a breath of relief.

Kallius, who had watched her from beginning to end, frowned.

“I cannot tell whether I have taken a wife—or brought home a sluggard.”

It felt as though her entire body had frozen solid.

The same biting, frigid tone as before made Delia’s shoulders flinch. Ignoring her reaction, Kallius stepped further into the bedchamber.

“Where have you been all this time?”

“I went briefly to the imperial administration office. I had to visit in person to prepare the necessary documents.”

“Pardon?”

Kallius seated himself in the chair set in the corner of the room. Delia followed and took the seat opposite him, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

“Review this first.”

“This is……?”

Kallius placed the document envelope he had been holding in his left hand onto the table.

After a brief hesitation, Delia accepted it with trembling fingers.

The thin string securing the envelope slipped loose.

What revealed itself was a divorce agreement, densely filled with inked lines of text.

Under the applicant’s name were the words Kallius Hildebrandt, stamped alongside the official seal of his house.

“If you so desire, I can grant you a small villa in the provinces.”

“Did you truly… draft this yourself?”

“Do you believe there exists anyone in this world who would dare impersonate the House of Hildebrandt?”

There was a sharp edge to Kallius’s tone.

Knowing that better than anyone, Delia lowered her trembling gaze and examined the signature once more.

The slight outward flick at the end of each stroke—there was no mistaking it. That handwriting belonged to Kallius alone.

Tracing the portion bearing her husband’s script for a long while, Delia finally spoke in an uncertain voice.

“Please… explain your reasons in more detail.”

She lowered her head deeply. The way her fingers clenched the hem of her dress made her look painfully fragile.

“What more is there to explain?”

But Kallius was different.

Each time Delia parted her lips to speak, he let out a quiet sigh, as though nothing in this mattered to him at all. The stark contrast between them made it feel as though a heavy stone had lodged itself in her chest.

Swallowing past the dryness in her throat, Delia forced down the sorrow rising within her. Even so, she found the faintest comfort in the fact that he was at least listening.

“I understand that you have lost your memories. But that does not mean the love we shared simply disappears in an instant.”

“That is merely your memory. Not mine.”

Leaning back against the chair, Kallius rested his chin upon his hand. As his fingers tapped idly at his temple, he appeared utterly bored.

It was only their second meeting since he had lost his memories.

Yet the look in his eyes—as though he were already weary of her existence—drew a bitter smile from Delia.

“Then allow me to ask just one thing. Is it because I am from the Blake family?”

“If you already know the answer, why ask?”

Just as she had expected.

A few days earlier, when Kallius had regained consciousness, he had said,

“It is utterly unbelievable. To think that I would have pursued marriage with nothing more than a daughter of the Blake family.”

From that moment, Delia had already guessed as much.

Among high-ranking nobles, loveless marriages were commonplace. And yet, for him to insist upon divorce—

—it meant he despised the Blake family to that extent.

“I had no involvement in that matter.”

“And do you believe that erases what your parents did?”

Color drained from Delia’s face in an instant.

Under the gaze he directed at her—as though she were an enemy—she slowly rose from her seat and approached him, taking hold of his hand.

“Kallius, please calm yourself.”

“When I was young, my mother once collapsed. Many nobles came to pay their respects.”

His voice was low and steady, but the bitterness beneath it was unmistakable.

“The former marquess and his wife arrived late. I heard them whispering among themselves.”

Kallius shook off Delia’s hand.

Then he spoke, the words steeped in resentment.

“They said there was no need to feel guilt. That, as members of the noble faction, they had merely done what was required of them.”

The focus in Delia’s eyes wavered.

She knew all too well who the ‘former marquess and his wife’ were.

The House of Hildebrandt had, for generations, stood at the head of the imperial faction—those loyal to the Emperor.

In contrast, the House of Blake led the noble faction that sought to restrain imperial power.

At the time, Delia had been no more than a four-year-old child.

She had never imagined that her parents had brought harm upon the former Duchess of Hildebrandt.

Only after her marriage did she learn the truth from the former Duchess herself. The revelation had plunged Delia into shock, and she had spent days agonizing over it.

Her face swollen from weeping, Delia had gone to Kallius’s study.

‘My dear, I am truly sorry. If you wish it, I will step down from the position of Duchess.’

‘What? What are you saying?’

‘I did not know that my parents had harmed your mother. Someone like me has no right to stand as your wife.’

Kallius had looked at Delia—drowned in guilt—with visible sorrow.

In the end, he set aside his documents and walked over to her.

When Delia declared she would accept any punishment for her family’s sins, Kallius let out a pained sigh.

‘There will never be a day when I part from my wife.’

‘But I am no different from the daughter of your enemy. I have no right to stand as your wife.’

Delia had truly not understood.

If he had known such a truth, why had he proposed to her? Why had he said nothing throughout her life at the Hildebrandt estate?

Kallius had quietly pulled the tearful Delia into his arms.

As he stroked her silver hair, he declared with firm resolve—

‘That is not your sin.’

Delia had lifted her head blankly.

Reflected in her eyes was Kallius’s gentle smile.

‘So do not feel guilty. Just remain as you are now. That is enough.’

Delia had stared at him, forgetting even to cry.

To ask her to remain just as she was—it was, in a way, no different from a confession.

Her cheeks had flushed as she pressed her lips together. Watching her avert her gaze in flustered uncertainty, Kallius had smiled faintly.

…Yes, that had been the case.

So how had they ended up like this?

She could not shake the feeling that what was bound to burst had finally done so.

As the daughter of his enemy, Delia had no right to reproach Kallius, who had lost his memories.

And yet, neither could she bear the searing wound in her heart as though it were nothing.

In the end, hiding the expression that threatened to crumble, Delia slowly rose from her seat.

“I will pretend I have not seen these documents.”

Kallius let out a derisive laugh. Irritation was written plainly across his face.

The unfamiliar way he regarded her made Delia’s stomach churn. Barely steadying her wavering vision, she pressed a hand over her mouth.

With one blow after another, her body no longer felt like her own. Drawing ragged breaths, she spoke in a trembling voice.

“Let us… speak of this later.”

Even if he no longer loved her, she did not wish to show him her weakness.

As Delia turned to leave the bedchamber, Kallius spoke in a lukewarm tone.

“Do as you please. It will not change my mind.”

“……I will take my leave.”

Humiliation piled upon humiliation, and her chest throbbed with pain.

And yet, her heart toward Kallius remained unchanged.

That truth stung more than anything.

Unable to bear it, Delia hurried from the room—

unaware that behind her, her husband’s eyes flickered strangely.