“Haa…”

Ophelia let out a fevered breath, curling in on herself.

Since the night of the party, she had been plagued by fever, day after day. Her body burned as though scorched by fire, only to grow cold again as though she had been plunged into icy water — repeatedly and without respite.

“So cold…”

Her parched lips parted, emitting a sorrowful m*an. A fragile breath carried the sound into the silence. In the empty room, wisps of pale vapor rose and vanished into nothingness.

On the first day of her illness, when she was too weak to answer the door, the maids simply turned away. That was the end of it.

Now, in the unforgiving northern winter, the hearth lay cold and lifeless, reduced to ashes. Bitter draughts slithered in through the cracks in the door, striking her with a merciless chill.

“I… need to take medicine…”

Her hot breath slipped past her lips again.

She had used her divine power to save countless lives, yet she could not save herself or the person she loved. What use was such a gift? Could there be a more useless power than this?

A hollow, self-mocking smile touched Ophelia’s face as she steadied her blurring vision and forced herself up from the bed.

Leaning against the wall, she slowly made her way out of the room. She had just reached the stairs when the hushed whispers of the maids drifted up from below.

“Hey, did you hear the rumor?”

“What rumor?”

One maid glanced around warily before continuing in a lowered tone.

“It’s about the master. They say he stopped by Madam Lery’s shop two days ago.”

The brown-haired maid’s eyes lit up at this.

Who was Madam Lery? None other than the renowned dressmaker whose reputation had reached the capital.

Whenever the party season arrived, orders for her gowns would flood in from across the Empire. For many women, wearing one of her creations even once in their lifetime was the ultimate dream.

“Hm? But why would the master suddenly go there?”

The brown-haired maid tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. Another maid smirked before answering.

“How can you be so dense? Obviously, the master has a new woman.”

“What? But the mistress is still here.”

In the Empire, it was considered a grave taboo for a married man to have a mistress or lover. The Imperial family upheld the values of restraint, discipline and dignity, and imposed strict standards on everyone.

And yet — was the Grand Duke of Weibrick, the noblest of the nobles, involved in an affair? The brown-haired maid’s eyes widened in disbelief.

The red-haired maid watching her gave a scornful laugh.

“The mistress? Look at the state of their marriage. If it weren’t for the alliance forged with the Temple, they would have split long ago.”

“But still…”

“Still? He was injured so badly while trying to save her, and yet the so-called Saintess couldn’t even heal him. And even after five years, she still hasn’t given him a child. In fact, it’s remarkable that he hasn’t turned to another woman sooner.”

“Well… that’s true.”

The hesitant maid soon nodded in agreement. Delighted that her opinion was being accepted, the red-haired maid prattled on eagerly.

“They say he bought all of Madam Lery’s seasonal dresses. Just imagine how much he must like her!”

“Heavens, that must have cost a fortune.”

A single gown from Madame Lery cost as much as a townhouse in the capital. Even if Ophelia sold all the dresses in her wardrobe, the proceeds would barely cover the cost of one of Madame Lery’s handkerchiefs.

“And after all, His Grace hasn’t shared a bed with the mistress since that day.”

“Exactly! Can you believe it? For all we know, he might be planning to separate from her altogether.”

Perhaps they were right.

As she listened to the maids chattering away, Ophelia allowed a faint, hollow smile to touch her lips. The image of Chadwick’s cold, retreating back came to her mind once more. The pain that had plagued her for the past few days struck her chest again, merciless and unrelenting.

Her already unsteady legs finally gave way. She crumpled against the stairway, struggling to draw shallow breaths. The maids’ laughter wound itself around her ears, merging with the jeers she had endured at the party until they all became one cruel cacophony.

It was then that she realized the sickness had taken root not in her body, but in her heart.

“Medicine… it won’t be needed…”

“No, it would be useless.”

She placed a trembling hand over her aching chest. Thud, thud. With each heartbeat, a stabbing pain radiated through her entire body.

“Chadwick.”

Only he had the power to end her suffering. Yet even if she waited a lifetime, she knew he would never come.

Her violet eyes lingered on the grand house’s front door—shut tight, cold, and unyielding—its silence as empty and forlorn as her heart.

‘I’ll just go back to my room.’

She could not allow anyone to see her in such a pitiful state. What little pride remained urged her to rise.

“Ah…”

Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain in her head. Her vision spun violently. As she tried to climb the stairs, she tripped and collapsed.

A strange sensation of weightlessness engulfed her body. For a moment, she almost found it peaceful — until strong arms caught her.

A cold, familiar scent brushed past her nose. The scent of winter.

“…Chadwick?”

When she lifted her head, she saw the shadow of Chadwick’s eyes. His hair, which was usually so neatly swept back, was slightly untidy for once. Stray black strands had fallen across his straight forehead, and Ophelia found herself entranced as she stared at them.

Softly, she called his name.

“Chadwick.”

At her voice, Chadwick’s brows drew together, and he spoke.

“What on earth are you doing here?”

Ophelia flinched and stammered her reply, taken aback by the chill in his tone.

“I… I was going to fetch some medicine.”

“That is the sort of task you should leave to the maids.”

There was a hint of irritation in his voice.

Ophelia closed her eyes and her face fell, as she murmured faintly.

“I’m sorry…”

Chadwick looked down at her trembling form, then without another word, swept her into his arms.

“Wha—put me down! I’m heavy…”

The sudden weightlessness made Ophelia draw in a sharp breath. But his long, strong arms only held her more firmly.

“Be still. Do not make this more troublesome than it already is.”

At his words, her resistance faltered. She lowered her head in silence.

“Ah…”

Her downcast gaze caught on something at his feet—a pale scarlet box lying on the floor.

“What is that…”

The soft color, so unlike Chadwick, caused her to part her lips slightly before pressing them shut again.

The maids’ voices echoed in her mind.

—”They say His Grace bought out Madam Lery’s entire seasonal collection of dresses…”

‘Does he truly… have another woman?’

Her chest ached sharply with the thought.

“There’s no need to worry.”

Sensing her gaze, Chadwick cut her off with a voice as cold as steel, denying her the chance to speak. The regret came too late, and the pain she had tried so hard to suppress returned, throbbing insistently.

Adjusting his hold on her, Chadwick carried Ophelia up the stairs with long, unhurried strides. With each step, his faint, familiar scent drifted towards her, brushing against her nose.

Even in her sorrow, her heart betrayed her, fluttering at that fragrance, and she felt wretched because of it.

“…You can put me down. I’m not so ill that I can’t walk.”

“Must I repeat myself twice?”

In a cold voice, he pulled her closer.

Her feverish cheek brushed against his neck. The winter chill clung to him and seeped into her skin. Without meaning to, Ophelia buried her face in his neck.

“…”

Her soft, warm breath brushed his neck and he hesitated for a moment before continuing on his way.

Ophelia’s chamber was at the far end of the corridor, directly opposite his study. It had once been a beautiful room with windows that opened onto a view of the gardens. But in winter, only bare, withered branches stretched against the pale light.

Supporting her with one arm, Chadwick pushed the door open.

The hinges groaned with a chilling creak as a blast of cold air poured into the corridor.

“…What is this…?”

His low, cutting voice drifted over her.

Ophelia lifted her head from his shoulder. His gray eyes swept over the room with a frigid light.

“Ah, that….”

Her face flamed crimson as she surveyed the chaos of her bedroom.

Ophelia squirmed and fumbled weakly, trying to free herself from Chadwick’s grip.

He tightened his grip ever so slightly, preventing her from pulling away. His voice was flat and almost lifeless.

“We’ll go to my room.”

With those words, he firmly closed the door behind him. After staring at it for a moment, he turned and carried her towards his own chamber.

Thud, thud.

Ophelia’s heartbeat echoed through her entire body. How long had it been since she had last gone to his room? She could not even remember.

“…It’s fine.”

It did not matter if he was only holding her out of reluctant duty. For Ophelia, being carried by him towards his room felt as sweet and precious as rain falling on a barren desert.

She wished this moment would last forever, or at least for a little while.

But her fragile hope was betrayed. Chadwick’s pace was swifter than usual, and his noble composure was sharpened with an urgency she could not name.

Before she could grasp it, they were in his room. He gently placed her on the bed; the white sheets billowed beneath her before sinking back into stillness.

“Rest.”

With that single word, he turned without hesitation.

Ophelia reached out and caught the edge of his sleeve faintly as he moved away.

“…Chadwick.”

At her voice, he paused, looking down at the hand clinging to his cuff before speaking.

“Do you have something to say?”

The lamplight fell upon his profile, casting deep shadows beneath his strong brow. His cold, grey eyes, weary and distant, bored into her until she felt herself crumbling.

Drawing in a breath, Ophelia raised her quivering voice.

“…Won’t you stay with me?”

Her words quivered faintly.