Everyone called her an unpleasant crow-like girl. Seria, the girl with black hair and black eyes, was virtually an orphan abandoned by the world.

Her mother, a pr*stitute, had tried to use her daughter to extort money but failed and abandoned her. For her father, who was a merchant, her existence was equally an unwelcome intrusion.

“Who says I’m your father? Stop this nonsense and get lost!”

“How could I have given birth to you? You should have at least clung to my skirts and tried to charm your way in. You useless girl!”

Eventually, she was handed over to relatives, then abandoned again to acquaintances. After being passed around repeatedly, Seria ended up working as a maid at the Larson estate, where she worked diligently, hoping desperately not to be sent elsewhere.

Years passed, and when Seria came of age and shed her childish appearance, she stood out even without adornment. Her ebony-black hair gleamed with luster, and her eyes sparkled like obsidian. As she grew, she increasingly resembled her mother, who had been the most famous pr*stitute on Basti Street.

Her first entanglement with the Duke of Larson was certainly an unwelcome accident. However, falling for him afterward happened in an instant.

The Duke of Larson was a handsome man. Though innately proud like all high nobles, he was generous to everyone. This applied not only to his wife but also to mere employees.

Seria had no means to refuse the affection bestowed upon her by a man who had everything. Though she knew he was a man she dared not look up to, her desperate hunger clouded even her basic judgment.

He would tell Seria stories from his childhood and casually call her by pet names. He fed her predictable lines about how his flawless wife suffocated him and how Seria allowed him to breathe. She readily believed words she would have dismissed if they concerned someone else.

The lies were too sweet to resist. When in his arms, she wasn’t “unlucky Seria” but “lovely Ria.”

The end of this naive love was catastrophic. By the time she realized she was pregnant, her belly had already grown considerably.

Clinging to a thread of hope, she told the Duke of Larson, who responded with certainty:

“Ria, you won’t make things difficult for me. Right?”

He didn’t even get angry. There was no sign of anxiety or excitement.

“But this child… it’s yours, Your Grace.”

“I know. Our lovely Ria knows no one but me.”

Instead, he looked straight into her trembling black eyes and said:

“Have it if you want. But bearing something so useless will only make things harder for you.”

“…Your Grace.”

“Why are you acting surprised? You know what happens when you get pregnant. You’ll end up just like your mother.”

His once-gentle smile twisted.

“Poor Ria. Nothing you do can shake what I possess.”

Just as the Duke of Larson said, nothing changed.

Not wanting to bear something useless, she tried desperately to get rid of it, but the child was stubbornly resilient.

Seria eventually gave birth to a boy who looked exactly like her. Though she never spoke about the father’s identity, everyone knew he was the Duke’s illegitimate son.

Larson remained unshakable, suggesting that a mere dalliance couldn’t create even the smallest crack in its foundation.

* * *

“He definitely resembles him.”

“He seems to look more like him as he grows. Don’t you think?”

The maids whispered as they watched Kian carrying dry firewood.

He had no memories of his birth mother. He was only told that she died when he was very young. From his earliest memories, Kian already knew what people said about him.

“Look at that boy. His mother irresponsibly gave birth to such a burden… expecting others to raise him.”

“I heard she tried to get rid of him, but couldn’t. He was stubborn, you know. So she had no choice but to give birth to him. In the end, she wasted away because of it…”

“He devoured his own mother. He’s nothing but trouble, absolute trouble.”

A burden. Trouble. The monster who devoured his mother.

He knew all those pointing fingers were directed at him.

What if he had died back then? Would his mother still be alive?

Despite these futile speculations, Kian remained healthy without a single serious illness until he turned twelve.

His fists clenched, but whenever this happened, Kian recalled Matilda’s words:

“Kian. As I always say, you’re my son just like Theo is.”

“So no matter what anyone says, don’t pay attention and never let them get you down. Understand?”

Matilda would hold him close and gently stroke his head.

“Matilda is remarkable too. Even for a friend’s child, isn’t she afraid of earning disapproval?”

“Our master is a generous person. This wouldn’t be possible in any other household.”

Yes. Since Matilda would be the one most troubled because of him, he had to endure.

Matilda’s husband belonged to the knighthood, and he had heard that she had worked at Larson for a long time.

He couldn’t burden someone who was taking care of him like family while risking her position.

Kian forced a smile and quickened his pace.

* * *

“Hey, parasite.”

Truly, he was a pathetic fellow not worth engaging with. Tom, a boy two years older than Kian, would pick fights for no reason.

If pressed for a reason, there was one.

Recently, the gardener’s daughter whom Tom liked had confessed to Kian. Though he rejected her, Tom had been desperate to provoke him ever since finding out.

“What, too noble a Larson to acknowledge my words?”

When Kian consistently ignored him, the provocations grew more intense.

Words he would never dare say to a real Larson.

It was absurd, but engaging would only complicate Matilda’s position.

“I heard some woman came by? Saying she gave birth to the Duke’s son and demanding proper compensation.”

Tom sneered with obvious delight.

“Hey, parasite. Have you greeted your maternal grandmother?”

Maternal grandmother? This was the first he’d heard of it. Kian bit his lower lip firmly.

“The men say she was a famous pr*stitute on Basti Street. Your mother was equally famous at Larson, wasn’t she? I wondered why a boy had such a pretty face like a girl. It’s in your blood, isn’t it?”

“……”

“Acting all high and mighty with pr*stitute’s blood in you.”

A scornful laugh scattered before his face.

That’s when Kian raised his eyes.

Tom thought he was dealing with an idiot who couldn’t talk back no matter how much he was beaten down.

But there was a sharp, murderous intent in those black eyes.

When their gazes met, Tom instinctively flinched and stepped back.

“Say that again.”

“What?”

“I said, say that again.”

“And what would someone like you do if I did?”

Before he finished speaking, Kian struck Tom’s cheek with all his might.

That quickly escalated into a physical fight.

“Did you call Kian a parasite again? You b*stard. Today’s your funeral.”

Theodore, who had been approaching from a distance, joined in, making the boys’ fight even more intense.

* * *

“Eva, don’t make such a fuss over mere children fighting. I’ll speak to the physician about Tom, so take him to have his wounds examined.”

The Duchess of Larson, Eleanor von Larson, was listening to the complaints of her personal maid Eva.

Perhaps because her only son had been thoroughly beaten, her face showed complete distress.

Eva was a cherished maid brought from her maiden home, so the Duchess was particularly generous with her.

“But, my lady, I’m more worried about you than Tom.”

She pleaded earnestly.

“You took him in out of kindness, but that ungrateful boy repays your grace with enmity.”

Eleanor von Larson’s life had been spotless from the beginning.

Designated as the future mistress of Larson from a very young age, she was the most brilliant jewel in society despite having the most perfect fiancé.

She bore an heir as soon as her husband inherited his title, and her son Joshua took after her intelligence. Her husband, the Duke of Larson, while not particularly affectionate toward her, was kind and mannerly.

It was common in loveless political marriages for spouses to keep separate lovers. However, becoming society gossip because of it was unacceptable.

And her husband, the Duke of Larson, was certainly a clean man in that regard.

It was somewhat unexpected when she learned he had been involved with a maid, but she thought it far better than causing scandals with noble ladies or courtesans.

Eleanor remained composed even about the illegitimate child. After all, the woman wasn’t even his official mistress. She was merely a toy the Duke had played with and discarded, posing no threat whatsoever.

The woman had no significant connections. Eleanor believed that a child born to a mere maid would rarely surface above the water.

If she lost her composure over this and behaved improperly before the servants, that would become an even bigger source of gossip.

So she showed mercy to the foolish maid. When the maid died and her friend Matilda offered to take in and raise the child, she allowed it.

There was no need to care for him specially, nor any reason to treat him harshly. He was a maid’s child, so he should grow up as a servant befitting his status. That’s what she thought.

Nothing would change anyway. The master of Larson was her husband, and eventually her son Joshua would succeed him.

There were no other options. The impurity that had slipped in was merely an unexpected speck of dust, incapable of shaking her solid Larson foundation.

Therefore, rather than stirring up muddy waters to fish out this impurity, she chose to let it settle quietly.

The problem began after a woman claiming to be the boy’s maternal grandmother demanded money, made a scene, and was driven away.

“To think that such a fly would be attracted to Larson because of one unwanted child. How vulgar.”

The maid clicked her tongue. The maid, thought to be an orphan without family, had a mother who turned out to be not just any woman, but a back-alley pr*stitute.

At that time, gossip papers were in an uproar over the illegitimate child scandal of the Harrington earldom. Times had completely changed since she had shown mercy.

Even words spoken by lowly people would plaster cheap gossip papers if they were sensational enough.

A pr*stitute, of all things. Now she had the audacity to come looking for her bloodline.

“What sin could a young child have committed?”

As the Duchess of Larson tried to maintain her composure, her maid Eva, who had been hesitating for a while, made a bombshell statement with apparent resolve.

“That’s not all, my lady. That cunning boy has been going around saying with his own mouth that he too is a Larson.”

That’s when it started.

When the parasite that had been living off Larson began to irritate her.