“My child, it’s all in the past. It’s nothing more than a distant memory now.”

Desperate to cover up the shameful truth, Jeffrey clasped his daughter’s hand and insisted it was nothing.

“I lived honestly. I did everything I could so you wouldn’t feel the absence of your mother while she was ill. It’s true. I really did my best in my own way.”

Winter stared blankly at her father’s wrinkled hands.

The studio, which had once been a place where they could talk quietly together, now felt unbearably suffocating.

Fighting back the emotions welling up inside her, she slowly pulled her arm back from the table.

Slipping her hand from his grasp, she pressed her lips tightly together.

She did not want to hear another word today.

“Father, please stop.”

“Winter. I only…”

“Please. I’m begging you. I can’t hear any of it right now.”

Winter shook her head firmly.

Confronted with his daughter’s clear rejection, Jeffrey slowly lowered his hand.

A heavy silence fell between them, broken only by their uneven, strained breathing.

Jeffrey opened his mouth several times, searching for something — anything — to say.

But standing before Winter, who could not even bring herself to look at him, he knew that he no longer had the right to stay.

At this point, no explanation could excuse what he had done.

No justification could undo the past.

Leaving was the only thing he could do.

As he pushed back his chair and stood up, his subdued voice sounded distant, weighed down by regret and resignation.

“Go home and get some rest. I’ll stay at an inn near the station, so…”

Jeffrey’s footsteps gradually faded as he left the studio.

Without turning to watch him go, Winter slumped forward and buried her face in her arms on the table.

The truth that she had desperately tried to deny and avoid came crashing down on her all at once.

She had no idea where to begin rebuilding the shattered trust within herself.

She remained there alone for a long time before finally making her way home late that night.

After a sleepless night spent tossing and turning, she arrived at the studio the next morning to find an envelope addressed to her.

It didn’t take much effort to guess who had slipped it through the door before dawn.

As expected, it was a short letter from her father, who had already left Vartz behind.

[Winter, I’m going back to Ceres.

Congratulations on your first exhibition. I hope it concludes without any trouble. I know that no matter what I say right now, it will sound like nothing more than an excuse to you.

I am deeply ashamed.]

Winter stood there motionless with her head lowered for a long time.

Her father had hurriedly returned to Ceres.

It was as though he wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and the uncomfortable truth.

***

[The 200th Anniversary of the Royal Academy of Arts: Artists’ Night]

Winter looked up at the enormous banner hanging above the entrance to the Grand Ballroom.

The banquet celebrating the Royal Academy of Arts’ 200^(th) anniversary was magnificent beyond words.

A majestic melody drifted through the hall, its soaring notes echoing between the towering marble columns.

Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, casting a dazzling glow across the room.

Long tables were set up across the ballroom, laid with sparkling wine glasses and polished silverware.

At first glance, it seemed like a celebration dedicated to artists.

But the true guests of honor were someone else entirely.

Tonight’s gathering was not just an event for painters and sculptors, but also a grand reception for the king, who was due to deliver the commemorative address, and the distinguished guests personally invited by the royal palace.

Keeping to herself, Winter made her way towards a quiet corner, far from the elegantly dressed nobles and socialites.

The pale blue skirt of her gown blended into the crowd of artists gathered throughout the hall.

“Where in the world is the Director?”

“Why are you looking for the Director?”

“We were ordered to attend without exception. At the very least, I should make sure they see my face.”

As Winter quietly checked the time, fragments of hushed conversation drifted through the crowd around her.

Eight-thirty.

There was still time before the King’s commemorative speech was due to begin.

For painters, events attended by influential nobles were important opportunities. After all, the aristocracy made up the majority of their patrons.

But Winter could not focus on any of it.

Ever since she had seen Eden Mayer’s name on the list of distinguished guests, her heart had been racing.

Since they had met at the ducal estate, she had had no idea how she was supposed to face him.

What expression should she wear?

What should she say?

The ballroom was so vast that she could not even see where he was.

Drawing her shoulders in slightly, Winter chose to remain hidden among the crowd.

On a day like this, the last thing she wanted was to attract attention.

Then, all at once, the atmosphere among the guests gathered in small groups shifted.

The king had arrived.

“His Majesty the King is entering.”

As news of King Edward’s arrival spread, the orchestra gradually fell silent.

The guests bowed their heads in respect. When they looked up again, the ballroom was filled with a soft melody once more.

Winter stood quietly behind a marble column, following the crowd’s gaze.

This was the first time she had ever seen the king, even from afar.

The elderly monarch, his hair now completely silver, stood with his back to her as he greeted the distinguished guests one by one.

Then, without warning, a familiar face caught her eye: Brilliant golden hair.

Striking features that stood out even in a crowded room.

And those deep blue eyes—so captivating that anyone who met them felt as though they might lose themselves within them.

Winter froze.

She couldn’t even blink.

Her eyes remained fixed on him.

Then, from somewhere nearby, a wave of hushed whispers began to spread through the crowd.

“Isn’t that the woman from the article standing next to the Duke of Mayer?”

“Ah! That’s Violet Lindal, isn’t it?”

“Do you think the two of them will be getting married soon?”

“I heard His Majesty personally arranged the match. They may have already set a wedding date.”

“Shh! Lower your voice.”

Only after hearing the hushed conversation did Winter notice the woman standing beside Eden.

‘Ah…’

Winter swallowed the heavy sigh threatening to escape her lips.

The woman standing beside Eden was breathtakingly beautiful.

She was dressed in a deep burgundy gown, and her dark hair created a striking contrast that made her beauty even more captivating.

Then, in that fleeting moment, Violet turned and smiled brightly at the Duke of Mayer.

The sight struck Winter like a blade to the heart.

A sharp, twisting pain spread through her chest, leaving her struggling to breathe.

Although they were under the same roof, the distance between her and Eden felt insurmountable.

It was an abyss as undeniable and unforgiving as reality itself.

Frozen to the spot, Winter could neither move forward nor look away.

Even drawing a steady breath felt difficult.

The only reason she found herself moving closer to Eden was that the Director of the Royal Academy had suddenly ushered the painters forward with him.

“These are the academy’s emerging artists. They are also the painters holding their first exhibition this year.”

The Director’s introduction was brief.

He likely assumed neither the Duke nor the Count’s daughter would want to listen to the names of more than twenty artists one by one.

“They’re the talents who will shape the future of Vartz’s art world. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Though somewhat generalized, the Duke’s response was flawless.

Violet’s greeting that followed was equally polished and concise.

“I’m planning to visit the exhibition myself. Congratulations, everyone.”

For an artist preparing for their first exhibition, this kind of encouragement meant a great deal.

As words of gratitude were voiced around her, Winter finally lifted her head.

At that exact moment, her eyes met Eden’s.

For a moment, it felt as though he had been looking at her all along.

Winter forgot to look away.

She simply stared at him.

His expression revealed nothing.

There was no way of knowing what he was thinking or what emotions lay hidden behind his deep blue eyes.

There were countless things she wanted to ask him.

She had so many questions that she wanted answering.

But the Duke of Mayer was not someone she could approach casually at a formal gathering like this.

The invisible wall between them felt immense and impossible to cross.

Meanwhile, the director, clearly thrilled by the opportunity, hurriedly gestured towards the other end of the hall.

“There is a painting I’d very much like to show Your Grace and Lady Lindal. It’s a piece I prepared especially for this occasion.”

At the Director’s persistent urging, Eden’s gaze slipped away from hers, quickly drawing everyone’s attention elsewhere.

And that was it.

The moment ended there.

All Winter could do was watch as Eden turned and walked away.

The nervous tension that had left her palms damp with sweat suddenly felt foolish.

Their encounter had been nothing more than a brief, formal exchange between two people at the same event.

Winter remained rooted to the spot, even as the crowd gradually dispersed.

No…

The truth was that she couldn’t move.

Not even a single step.

She felt as though any movement, however slight, would cause the tears she had been holding back to spill out.

“Winter, you always manage to surprise me.”

“Whenever we’re together like this, time seems to pass far too quickly. Don’t you think?”

The voice of the man she loved echoed through her memories.

Their time together could not have been a fantasy she had imagined alone.

She remembered the warmth of his large hand casually wrapping around hers, even when her fingers were stained with paint.

She remembered the lingering heat of their first kiss.

His gentle voice, which softened into a whisper whenever they were alone.

She could not believe that any of those moments had been lies.

Then, without warning, a memory from early summer resurfaced.

Before dawn, while the distant song of insects drifted through the darkness, Winter woke in the shelter of strong arms.

Though the morning was still young, Eden had already been awake.

With quiet tenderness, he reached over and brushed the strands of hair scattered across her pillow away from her face.

“When did you wake up?”

“A little while ago. Go back to sleep.”

His whispered reply was far too clear for someone who had just supposedly woken up.

When she leaned back against him, he wrapped his long arm around her shoulders.

Pulling her close to his chest, he slowly stroked her back.

With her eyes still closed, Winter murmured.

“I should go to the studio early today.”

“I’ll wake you up in time.”

There was a hint of laughter in his voice.

Then he leaned down and kissed her gently on the forehead.

Just before sleep claimed her once more, she could hear the steady sound of Eden’s heartbeat beside her ear.

It was memories like these that still made her heart flutter whenever she thought of them.

But then…

When had Eden started thinking about the end?

Had it been after he learned the truth about her father?

Most likely.

If so, she had never noticed the change.

Not once.

She couldn’t even begin to guess when it had started.

Whatever had changed in his heart, it had happened so quietly that she was completely unaware of it until everything fell apart.