The girl’s lips, sparkling under natural light, parted into a cheerful expression.

A vitality he’d never possessed himself.

A carefree appearance.

Perhaps that’s why Astaire couldn’t take his eyes off Daphne.

He didn’t even register who Daphne was talking to.

Only the image of the endlessly happy young girl remained in his memory.

If he hadn’t been there, would that girl have experienced such pleasant times?

The answer was clearly no.

Regardless of results, the thought that investing in that girl had been a good decision—for some reason—made a smile curve his lips.

Another uncharacteristic emotional change.

Normally, he only evaluated investment results through numbers on paper.

Astaire quietly watched Daphne from a distance, then returned to the carriage without anyone knowing he’d been there, concealing his presence.

“Ah, you’re back already?”

“Let’s go.”

The coachman was flustered, not expecting him back so quickly, but Astaire casually sat in the carriage and ordered him to depart.

That day, even while looking over documents at the trading company, stray thoughts kept surfacing.

The source of those stray thoughts was that girl, Daphne.

“Daphne.”

The man quietly called the girl’s name in his private office.

He liked the sound of it—his mouth opening, then his front teeth lightly touching his lower lip as he pronounced it.

Though he didn’t know why.

This feeling was new.

The scene of the girl reading under the sunlight, then having a fresh conversation with someone, still hadn’t faded.

A sudden thought occurred to him.

The ridiculous idea that he wished he could be the one sitting across from Daphne.

And that night. When he returned to the estate after work, sleep wouldn’t come no matter how late it got.

Around that time, Astaire was suffering from severe insomnia.

Insomnia that wouldn’t disappear no matter how much medicine he took.

He had much to do. Pressures bore down on him from all sides. Many were desperate to clip his wings somehow, or if they couldn’t act directly, at least hoped for his downfall.

Every day, the man had to smile and dine with such people, raising glasses with them.

That was his life.

Still, Astaire had never once questioned his life.

There must be a reason he was born this way.

And he was aware of it himself.

Rights came with many obligations. Before fate decreed by God, a mere human could do nothing no matter how much they struggled.

Perhaps that’s why.

That girl, Daphne, kept weighing on his mind.

So that night, he took out a canvas he’d stored away for a long time and sketched.

Gripping graphite in one hand until his hand turned black, he meticulously transferred the afterimage in his mind onto the white canvas.

“Kugh…!”

The man’s hand trembled violently, and he ended up dropping the brush he was holding.

The floor, spotlessly clean moments ago, was instantly ruined with green paint.

That painting.

Never received its colors.

The next day, Daphne slept all day. Understandably so. Over the past few days, unbearably difficult things had poured down on her.

As soon as Astaire got off work, he asked the head butler about Daphne’s condition first.

“The Duchess?”

“She’s sleeping.”

“Then it’s better to leave her be.”

He wanted to rush upstairs immediately and check on Daphne’s condition.

It was strange.

At some point, the doll he’d just kept in a glass case kept weighing on his mind.

It didn’t mean he loved that doll.

Just that she concerned him.

“That makes sense.”

Astaire muttered quietly.

If he looked away for even a moment, his fragile wife would run off somewhere and come back injured.

So he couldn’t help but worry.

That was all, he thought.

“Did she eat well today?”

“Actually, she barely managed a few spoonfuls.”

When the head butler hesitated before speaking, Astaire stopped mid-motion while handing him his tailored coat and turned around.

Astaire narrowed his eyes and raised his voice.

“What exactly do the maids in this estate do during working hours? And the personal physician? Does he do nothing despite receiving so much money every time?”

“W-we tried our best, but even when she tried to eat, she vomited everything up.”

“Ha.”

Astaire roughly swept back his brilliant blond hair and sighed.

So it came to this after all.

Tonight too, he didn’t think he’d sleep comfortably while thinking of Daphne.

“I’m going up to the Duchess’s room immediately.”

Saying that, Astaire entered Daphne’s room without even knocking.

She wouldn’t hear him knock anyway.

And when he went inside.

“Daphne?”

Four maids surrounded Daphne on both sides, not knowing what to do and floundering.

“Her fever won’t come down at all, Your Grace.”

The head maid among them reported to Astaire, trembling.

Sparks flew in his eyes.

“D*mn it, what’s the estate physician doing at a time like this?”

“He just left. He did administer an IV with fever-reducing medicine, but…”

“Mm, mmm.”

That’s when it happened.

Daphne’s eyelids fluttered, and the blue eyes Astaire had so wanted to see revealed themselves.

“Daphne!”

Astaire immediately pushed past the maids and rushed to Daphne.

The moment he grasped her hand, he was shocked.

A fireball itself—burning hot enough to scald.

Was it okay for her fever to be this high?

Could she be dying…

No.

Astaire shook his head violently.

That couldn’t be.

Daphne couldn’t die like this.

Weren’t there still many tangled threads between them for her to die?

“Don’t die, Daphne.”

Astaire whispered quietly into Daphne’s ear.

Suddenly, focus returned to Daphne’s hazy eyes, fixing on Astaire.

Astaire looked down at her and spoke clearly.

“If you die, I will.”

“…”

“Follow you to hell and drag you back.”

It was an obsession bordering on madness.

Since when?

Since when had this woman driven him this crazy?

The more he tried to grasp her, the more she slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. Astaire didn’t like that fact.

This woman was most stable by his side. Could be happiest there.

Why couldn’t she accept that fact?

It was frustrating for him.

“Y-Your Grace. The estate physician has returned.”

The head butler’s voice came from behind.

Only then did Astaire pull away from Daphne. Somehow his legs felt heavy, his steps wouldn’t come easily. Deep down, he was actually afraid. Though he didn’t want to admit it.

What if this moment was the last time he’d see Daphne alive?

Astaire gazed down at the estate physician standing before him, unable to meet his eyes.

Even he, once an imperial physician, couldn’t raise his head carelessly before the Duke and was floundering.

The Duke spoke to the physician in an utterly courteous voice.

“I’m counting on you.”

The physician was so surprised he jerked his head up.

“I trust that my wife will overcome this crisis well.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Good. I’ll leave it to you.”

There was nothing more he could do now.

Astaire left Daphne’s room.

* * *

Knock knock.

As he sat at his office desk all night with his chin propped up, someone’s knock sounded.

“Come in.”

“It’s me, Your Grace.”

As expected, the only person who would visit him at this late hour was the head butler.

“Yes. What is it?”

“It’s nothing serious…”

The head butler couldn’t easily open his mouth, but Astaire waited patiently.

“Your Grace, are you all right?”

“What?”

Astaire doubted his ears.

He couldn’t believe the head butler was worrying about him.

“Are you worrying about me right now?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Astaire grew curious about the head butler’s intentions.

He raised his eyebrows significantly, demanding an explanation.

“Just… I’m worried about you, Your Grace.”

From the head butler’s voice, he could tell he wanted to convey that this wasn’t a matter of who was worrying about whom.

Astaire remained silent.

“You haven’t been sleeping properly lately. More than anything…”

For some reason, he strongly felt this wasn’t just nagging about his disrupted daily routine.

The head butler’s lips moved several times.

Was this really something to hesitate over this much?

“What is it? Answer me, head butler.”

Astaire finally pressed him.

“I hope you’ll hear this not as your head butler, but as the rambling of an old man who’s watched you since you were a young lord.”

The head butler began quietly.

“I know too. Because I was once a man who loved someone passionately.”

“…What are you saying?”

“The one who loves more is always the one who suffers more, yearns more, and worries more.”

Astaire narrowed his eyes.

The head butler’s words were becoming increasingly difficult to understand.

“Explain properly, head butler.”

“I’m saying I dare to understand Your Grace’s heart right now.”

“Did you just say you understand?”

“Yes.”

For a mere head butler to say he understood the Duke’s heart.

It was absurd.

But somehow, Astaire wanted to hear more.

“When that woman is sick, it feels like my heart is being torn out.”

The head butler continued, placing his hand over his left chest.

“When that woman smiles happily, she keeps weighing on my mind.”

Suddenly, Astaire remembered the past.

He thought of his pathetic self, who’d tried to transfer an image onto canvas just because that girl, Daphne, smiling had stuck in his mind.

All pointless actions in the end.

“I want to do anything for that woman.”

That was obvious.

Daphne was the Duchess.

And before being the Duchess, she was a girl under his sponsorship.

Naturally, the Seyfried ducal family aimed for the best in everything.

Wanting to give her the finest of everything was, in a way, natural.

“That’s natural. Isn’t it?”

Astaire asked back, genuinely not understanding.

The head butler smiled gently and said: “It’s not natural.”

“…”

“Just like love isn’t natural for everyone.”

The head butler’s words were becoming increasingly difficult to understand.

“That’s why love is such a great emotion, isn’t it?”

Astaire was growing uncomfortable.

He narrowed his eyes and said: “You keep going on about love, love. What does that have to do with me?”

He genuinely didn’t understand.

Why the head butler had suddenly come to him and was telling these unhelpful life stories.

“Your Grace.”

The head butler called the Duke quietly.

“Young lord.”

A voice that gently soothed him, like he’d returned to childhood.

A time he wouldn’t want to return to even if allowed. Astaire didn’t particularly like his immature and inadequate childhood.

He glared at the head butler with narrowed eyes for making him recall that time.

And finally, the head butler said:

“Your Grace is in love right now.”