From afar, the chimes rang out seven times, announcing the hour.

“Ah… the party must be starting.”

Ophelia murmured softly.

The sun had set hours ago, and with each passing moment, the cold was numbing her senses. How long had she been standing there, brushing her numbed skin and waiting endlessly?

At last, she saw a jet-black carriage approaching in the distance.

It stopped at the gates of the Grand Duchy, and the man she had been waiting for stepped out: Chadwick.

“Chadwick.”

Ophelia forced her frozen feet to move, taking small steps toward him. His gray eyes, cool and detached, turned in her direction.

“…Ophelia?”

He looked at her, his eyebrows drawing together slightly.

“What are you doing out here?”

“…What?”

The smile she had prepared froze on her lips as it was shattered by his indifferent question.

“And what is that outfit?”

His frown deepened as his gaze swept over her.

Ophelia flinched faintly under his scrutiny.

With a quiet sigh, Chadwick pulled his pocket watch from his coat.

“You’ve been waiting here all this time?”

At his question, Ophelia answered with a faint, wavering smile.

“Yes. Today is the day you promised to go to the party with me.”

“If I said I’d be late, you should have gone ahead. Foolish.”

Chadwick’s words left Ophelia speechless. She stared blankly at him.

When he met her gaze, he slowly blinked, his voice barren and unfeeling.

“I will not be going tonight.”

The words, cast so easily, made Ophelia’s violet eyes tremble.

“What… what do you mean? Why?”

She reached out, carefully grasping his sleeve. But Chadwick shook off that fragile touch, his tone flat and cold.

“I’m busy.”

“Ah…”

The all-too-familiar words reached her ears once more. She had thought she was used to them by now. Perhaps it was because she had been expecting more tonight, but this brief response hurt even more.

Chadwick watched impassively as she withdrew her hand, before turning his back and walking away.

“Chadwick.”

Her voice was soft, barely more than a plea.

“Just for tonight… won’t you come with me?”

Her violet eyes shone with desperate longing.

Chadwick halted, then slowly turned back toward her.

“Ophelia.”

“Yes.”

She looked up at him, unable to relinquish her fragile hope.

“Don’t go.”

“…What?”

“I said you must not go either.”

Ophelia’s lips parted soundlessly, lost for words.

“It would be better for both of us if you didn’t go out looking like that. Don’t you agree?”

Chadwick’s indifferent gaze swept over Ophelia. It made her lower her head and hide the hem of her dress behind her hands. She had never felt more ashamed of her bare face and the slightly frayed edge of her gown than she did tonight.

“If you truly insist on going, then go alone. I am not so idle.”

Those cold, careless words cut her as he turned his back and walked towards the manor.

Ophelia’s wavering gaze followed his retreating figure. Dressed in a black suit, he looked even more striking than when she had first seen him.

At twenty-eight, he stood taller than he had at eighteen, his back broader, his frame more solid.

“Ah…”

A sudden, bitter wind rushed past.

The neat braid that she had painstakingly created came undone, its strands scattering wildly in the wind. Struggling to hold them down, she suddenly realized how far apart they were.

He was refined, while she was shabby.

She felt as if her days would forever be filled with this same sight. Chadwick had his back to her, and the place he had occupied in her life was now empty.

Her eyes lingered a moment longer on his fading figure before she finally turned and climbed into the carriage.

“To the Falcon Count’s estate.”

She told the coachman. At her words, he cracked the reins and the carriage lurched forward.

By the time she arrived, the party would already be in full swing. Everyone there would laugh at her appearance.

She wanted to run, to flee anywhere. But not back to the house where Chadwick was, nor anywhere else. So, she went on towards the party on foot.

The body that had frozen while waiting for him now burned and ached with shame.

⚫ ⚫ ⚫

By the time Ophelia arrived, the party had already been in full swing for over an hour.

Parties attended by the northern high nobility were very different from those held for younger aristocrats. Rare flowers and ancient magic adorned the halls, creating an air of opulence.

Ophelia’s gaze lingered on the glittering lights for a moment before she stepped towards the nobles gathered inside.

“My apologies for being late, Count Falcon, Countess.”

Upon hearing her voice, the evening’s hosts turned their heads in her direction. The Falcon family were second only to the Weibrick Grand Ducal House in prestige, and were deeply steeped in aristocratic pride.

“Oh my! If it isn’t the Saintess! Come and join us!”

The Countess smiled and gestured towards the empty seat beside her. Only one place had been left vacant, waiting for her alone.

Ophelia’s violet eyes lowered at the sight, faintly. No one had expected him to come. It was shameful that she alone had foolishly harbored hope.

“It seems His Grace the Grand Duke will not be joining us tonight either.”

The words reached her before she even took her seat. Her lips parted, but before she could respond, the Countess’s laugh cut in smoothly.

“My Lady Tiason! Is it not normal for His Grace to be busy? There’s hardly any need to ask.”

At this, a quiet, mocking laughter spread around the table.

Amid that subtle derision, Ophelia had no choice but to remain silent. She was an impurity in the noble society of the Empire. That was her place.

As always, she kept her mouth shut and endured.

“Ah, now that I think of it—wasn’t it Lady Hedell who recently conceived?”

‘A child.’

At that word, Ophelia’s silver lashes trembled and she raised her gaze. All eyes turned to the young viscountess, whose freckled cheeks flushed and who smiled bashfully.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“My, less than half a year since the wedding, and already such joyful news. Lord Hedell must be delighted.”

“Delighted indeed. For truly, it is only once a couple conceives a child that they are made complete.”

Viscount Hedell smiled warmly at his wife. Seeing the affection between them, Ophelia smiled faintly and offered her congratulations in a gentle voice.

“Congratulations, my lady.”

“Thank you, Saintess.”

The Viscountess blushed and lowered her head shyly. It was a pleasant moment — until the Countess gently placed her teacup down and looked directly at Ophelia.

“But tell me, Saintess, do you have any news of your own to share?”

When she asked her question, dozens of predatory eyes turned towards Ophelia, gleaming like a pack of wolves scenting prey.

She forced a smile, clenching her fingers tight around her gown.

“Not yet.”

“My, not yet? But it has already been five years since your marriage.”

“Of course, if you were a devoted couple who still wanted to enjoy the early years of your marriage, that would be a different matter…”

Soft, stifled laughter rippled across the room.

It had been common knowledge since that day that Chadwick avoided staying anywhere Ophelia was. She had endured countless jeers about not bearing him a child for four years.

But no matter how many times she heard them, the words always cut deep. Once again, her heart shattered under the weight of scorn.

“Perhaps you should try a little harder.”

“Who knows? If you did, perhaps even His Grace might spare you some time from his busy schedule.”

Disguised as advice, the words were nothing but blatant cruelty. Their sharp gazes stripped her bare, the shame searing through her to her very core.

The hem of her worn gown twisted and crumpled beneath her fragile fingers.

“Why not soften yourself a little more? A man, after all, is shaped by the woman beside him.”

Count Falcon’s eyes prowled over her body with shameless intent.

“…Excuse me.”

Unable to endure those looks for another moment, Ophelia stood up and left the hall.

Stepping out of the smoke-filled, perfumed and malodorous party, she was greeted by the sharp bite of midwinter air on her nose.

“Chadwick…”

The air carried a faint trace of him: cold and sharp, yet irresistibly alluring. It was a fragrance that stirred her heart every time she smelled it. He had always had that scent. Even on blood-soaked battlefields, when he drew near, it felt as though the chill of winter brushed her nose.

Suddenly, she thought her tears might spill, and Ophelia sank to the ground. She longed to collapse into someone’s arms and weep until she had no more tears, but she knew there was no one left to hold her.

The cruelest truth was that she had no one but herself to blame. She had been the one to destroy what they once had. Perhaps that was why, even in the depths of despair, her tears refused to fall.

“…Let’s go back.”

She was already late for the party. If she left without an excuse, it would bring shame upon his name.

The cold wind had battered her until her body ached, yet she still turned back towards the hall filled with ridicule.

As she returned, she bitterly thought that the party felt even colder than the storm outside.