Daphne placed fresh strawberries on top of the cream-covered cake sheet, using her best aesthetic sense. The strawberries picked fresh that morning looked refreshingly vibrant under the lights.

“I think this one’s a success.”

“Yes, it looks like it! Would you like to try some?”

Just then, the head chef brought over a small single-serving cake made with the same batter. 

After topping it with fresh strawberries similar to what Daphne had done, he brought a fork and held it out to her.

“I guarantee it’ll taste even better because you made it yourself, my lady!”

“…Well, I wonder about that.”

Skeptical, Daphne narrowed her brow slightly.

However, the moment she took a forkful and tasted it, her expression brightened instantly.

The taste was eye-opening. Of course, that was natural since the estate’s head chef had helped.

“How is it?”

When the head chef asked in an expectant voice, Daphne nodded.

“It’s delicious.”

More than delicious. It was excellent.

“I’m sure His Grace will be shocked and delighted too!”

As it happened, today—Astaire’s birthday—was a national holiday celebrating the empire’s founding.

Astaire wouldn’t have much work either, so he’d come home earlier than usual.

The head chef hummed a tune as he went to prepare the dinner the ducal couple would share together.

* * *

“My lady.”

As she was reading a book while drinking tea out of boredom, the head butler came in and spoke to her.

“What is it?”

“His Grace will be arriving soon.”

Daphne already knew that.

“Since it’s his birthday today, and you’ve prepared something, why don’t you wait for His Grace together at the main gate?”

“…All right.”

Truthfully, she wasn’t particularly inclined. This wasn’t something she was doing because she wanted to.

It was only because Astaire had done things for her. Thinking of it as repaying a debt made her feel somewhat better.

“Isn’t the wind cold? Please wear this.”

Daphne thanked the head butler as he draped a shawl over her shoulders.

The two of them stood alone at the main gate, quietly waiting for Astaire.

An indescribable silence hung in the air.

The sunset light embraced the horizon and slowly flowed down. The evening sky was dyed red like burning flames.

Far away, as the sun slowly descended beyond the mountains, scattering its last light.

“My lady.”

The head butler called to her in a low voice.

Suddenly, Daphne felt somehow that he was speaking not as a head butler, but as someone who had lived longer than her.

“Mm?”

“I know.”

“Know what?”

“That His Grace loves you more than anyone else.”

Daphne was so startled she gripped her dress hem, then quickly released it. Her well-arranged clothes wrinkled, but she had no time to care.

“Soon the day will come when your feelings are reciprocated, my lady.”

The head butler looked at Daphne with gentle eyes as he spoke.

‘The head butler knew all along. That I’ve had an unrequited love for Astaire for so long.’

Looking at his eyes, she could feel it without him having to say it.

“…I don’t even hope for such a day anymore.”

Daphne impulsively blurted out her true feelings, then immediately regretted it.

Since she’d decided to leave Astaire and this house, she would eventually have to distance herself from the head butler too. She shouldn’t have said unnecessary things and grown more attached to him.

“I believe, my lady. In how great an emotion love is.”

The head butler spoke with an endlessly serious face.

Though wrinkles lined his eyes, the pupils embedded within them were as vivid and clear as in his youth.

Could that really be true?

She was skeptical.

She was curious what grounds the head butler had to be so certain the Duke loved her.

But Daphne never asked in the end.

In case she got hurt.

Astaire had been right after all.

Love makes people foolish.

That it’s a harmful emotion.

Now becoming like him, Daphne resolved not to love anymore.

That was practically the last gift Astaire had left her.

“My lady, I know.”

The head butler asserted in an utterly serious voice.

“His Grace certainly loves you. Though he doesn’t seem to have realized that emotion yet.”

He hasn’t realized it?

Is that possible?

How could someone not know their own feelings, especially such a great emotion as love?

Her mind was in chaos.

After that man—that typhoon—swept through, what was left of her heart were only ruins.

But now.

He’s coming back to her?

Impossible.

Daphne clenched her fists tight.

She would never forgive him.

That man who hurt her—never, not even if she died, would she love him again.

“Ah, he seems to be arriving soon.”

Fortunately, the uncomfortable conversation with the head butler didn’t last long.

A cold wind began scratching across her cheeks. Daphne gripped her shawl tightly and stared straight ahead silently.

The firmly closed black iron gate opened, and the Seyfried ducal family’s black carriage came rushing toward them.

The black horses gradually slowed at the coachman’s whip.

Daphne suddenly felt an indescribable ominous feeling.

Why?

It must be the cold weather, an illusion.

Thinking that, she gripped her shawl a bit tighter.

Slowly, the door of the carriage Astaire rode in opened.

Astaire didn’t emerge from the carriage alone.

Instead, he held another woman’s hand and stepped down from the carriage together with her.

Reina Melanian.

That woman again.

Was this what it felt like for the sky to fall?

No, Daphne felt like the ground she stood on with both feet was crumbling.

She still hadn’t forgotten.

The fact that Astaire had another woman he loved.

“I know. That His Grace loves you more than anyone else.”

Know what?

Daphne quietly mocked those words.

The head butler standing beside her also looked considerably flustered.

He moved his lips to say something while looking at the Duchess, but soon closed his mouth quietly without speaking.

“It’s been a while, Duchess Seyfried.”

Slowly, and leisurely.

Reina Melanian walked quickly toward them.

“…It’s been a while.”

Somehow emphasis went into the words “been a while.”

Come to think of it, quite a bit of time had passed.

‘She probably knows I left the estate.’

Astaire might have already told her. They were already an exceptionally close pair.

More than herself, the Duchess.

A bitter smile came naturally.

Though the two weren’t arm-in-arm in front of Daphne, they were still close enough that anyone could misunderstand.

“It’s cold, so let’s not all stay here—let’s go inside.”

Even though the estate’s masters were clearly Daphne and Astaire, Reina spoke in a cheerful voice like she’d come to her own home.

The head butler, who’d been fidgeting, finally opened his mouth, unable to bear it any longer.

“Y-Your Grace. Dinner has been prepared—”

“I’m busy with a backlog of work, so let’s postpone the meal for later.”

Astaire cut off the head butler’s words and answered in his usual cold voice. The head butler looked quite flustered, then finally bowed his head deeply.

“Yes, understood.”

Today was Duke Seyfried’s birthday, and everyone in the estate, including the head chef, had worked hard to prepare his birthday dinner.

They’d prepared the finest wine that was even presented to the imperial family, and veal steak aged for days through a complex process.

With one word from Astaire, all their efforts had come to nothing.

Daphne recalled the faces of the people who’d been happy like children while helping her prepare the cake for him.

Astaire surely knew too.

That many people had waited for him to return to the estate today.

Yet without any notice, he’d brought Reina.

This was an insult to her.

What was even more miserable was the fact that Astaire had casually gone upstairs with Reina, seemingly to deliberately ignore that sincerity.

“M-my lady…”

The head butler looked at Daphne, not knowing what to do.

Having just said he was certain Astaire loved Daphne, he couldn’t look the Duchess in the face properly.

“It’s fine.”

Still, Daphne calmly consoled the flustered head butler.

She hadn’t believed those words in the first place anyway.

* * *

“P-please don’t misunderstand. Surely something came up for the two of them to be alone together.”

Though he’d done nothing wrong, the head butler recited rapidly like making excuses.

Daphne mocked the cold reality.

Why must innocent people always be the ones flustered?

The ones at fault are always shameless.

She was sick of this natural but utterly realistic principle.

“If you’re really uncomfortable, it might be good to check for yourself.”

“…”

“There happens to be a pile of letters that arrived for His Grace—perhaps you could go upstairs and deliver them directly, my lady.”

It didn’t seem like a good idea, but strangely those words didn’t come out.

For some reason, she felt an impulse to open that firmly closed box of truth once more.

A dangerous impulse.

Daphne walked into the mire with her own feet.

Thump, thump, thump.

Strangely, the closer she got to Astaire’s study at the end of the corridor where the two were, the more her heart pounded.

With each step forward, her heart felt ready to burst.

Why was this happening?

If she didn’t have expectations in the first place, there’d be nothing to disappoint her.

Was she still holding some hope for him?

She felt somewhat pathetic.

And…

She hated Astaire.

Hated him enough to want to kill him.

Finally, she stood before the antique wooden door.

Daphne reached out to knock on the door, then withdrew her hand.

Perhaps…

She quietly pressed her ear to the door.

Like when she’d overheard their conversation before.

“Astaire. So what will you do from now on?”

“…What do you mean?”

“The Duchess… of Seyfried.”

“She…”

Even now, thinking of that time made her fingertips freeze cold.

Daphne still remembered clearly what Astaire had said after that.

“…I’ll have to sort it out. Someday.”

Something to be sorted out someday.

To Astaire, she was only that much.

Use her while she’s moderately useful, occasionally satisfy his l*st too.

A useful doll.

Daphne looked at her hand that had been about to knock.

Astaire Seyfried’s marionette.

That’s what she was.

About to knock on the door, Daphne just placed her hand on the doorknob instead.

Click.

The luxurious estate’s door opened soundlessly.

What scene would unfold behind this door?

Whatever it might be.

Was she really prepared to accept it?

…Somehow, Daphne couldn’t say yes.