It was her fiancé, Duke Sihon Blair, a man she had believed she would never meet outside of formal occasions.

‘Why is he here?’

That was the first thought to cross Lydia’s mind when their eyes met.

Understandably so, as there had never been any warmth between them and neither of them would have sought the other out unannounced.

After all, their engagement had not been born of affection, but had been decreed by the Imperial Court, a forced union.

Neither of them had ever longed to see the other.

From the way Sihon had ignored the servants and entered without permission, it was clear that whatever had brought him there today, it wasn’t kindness.

If he had arrived unexpectedly, it was probably bad news.

Yet Lydia couldn’t imagine what it could be.

She had only recently made her debut in society and hadn’t had the opportunity to say or do anything to cause gossip.

There were no rumors or scandals —nothing.

She tried to steady her heart by reminding herself that she had nothing to be ashamed of. But the unease still wouldn’t fade.

As Sihon’s footsteps drew closer, Lydia found herself shrinking back.

Her emerald eyes quivered faintly, and she clenched her hands tightly behind her back, out of his view, while curling her shoulders inward.

Sihon’s gaze flickered with puzzlement as he noticed the faint tremor in her expression and the anxiousness she had tried so hard to hide. Realizing that his own face was set too coldly, he forced his features to relax.

This slight change in his demeanour seemed to give Lydia’s two attendants permission to move again. They stepped forward hesitantly and pretended to adjust her attire, but in truth they were trying to conceal the bruise on her cheek.

But their attempt was swiftly halted.

“Stop right there.”

“Pardon?”

“I said don’t interfere. Why are you lingering? Did you think I was speaking for my own amusement?”

“No, my lord! Of course not! Please call if you need anything!”

The duke’s sharp, cutting voice made the maids flinch. They retreated at once, nearly tripping over themselves in their hurry to leave.

The door shut firmly behind them.

Silence fell over the room.

Now, only Lydia and Sihon remained.

From his refusal of even a cup of tea, it was clear that he didn’t intend to stay long.

He would state his business and leave. He was a cold, precise and detached man.

Contrary to her expectations, however, Sihon did not speak right away.

Instead, he looked around the room of the Marquis’s daughter and then back at her, his amethyst eyes scanning every corner as though searching for something.

Perhaps it was simply curiosity; after all, it was his first time in his fiancée’s chambers.

But Lydia couldn’t shake the strange tension creeping up her spine.

Was it just her imagination, or was he looking for something?

The longer the silence stretched on, the tighter her chest became.

Still, she didn’t dare break it first, instinct told her that one careless word could be a trap.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Sihon spoke up.

“Why does your face look like that?”

“Pardon?”

The unexpected question made Lydia let out a faint, involuntary laugh.

Sihon’s neatly drawn brows furrowed slightly.

Not only was it rude, it was also an unguarded, ill-timed reaction that broke the careful decorum between them.

Realizing her mistake, Lydia quickly composed her expression and gave a careless reply.

“Ah, I’m sorry. My thoughts wandered for a moment. It’s nothing serious, I just fell.”

He probably wouldn’t have asked out of concern, though.

It was probably just a perfunctory question that even a stranger might ask when they see a visible mark on someone’s face.

Now that she had brushed it off with a vague answer, her indifferent fiancé would surely drop the subject.

After all, who would dare harm the daughter of a marquess? He would assume it was nothing, perhaps she had spoken back to her parents and been lightly disciplined.

It was a trivial household matter, not something for an outsider to interfere in.

In his eyes, she was just a foolish, privileged noble girl.

But his response defied her expectations.

“And how exactly does one fall hard enough to bruise and swell a cheek and split a lip? Does Lady Arwen have a special talent for rolling around on the floor?”

“…!”

Caught off guard, Lydia’s eyes widened in shock.

She had never imagined that Sihon would get involved in something like this, let alone with such persistence.

There was even a hint of tenacity in his tone.

She hadn’t prepared any explanation beyond the obvious lie because she hadn’t thought she would need to.

What was she supposed to say now?

Her mind went blank as she desperately scrambled for an answer.

In the end, she chose to respond with a question of her own.

“And if it was from being hit, what then?”

‘What would you do about it?’

She didn’t say the last part out loud, but her meaning was clear enough.

Perhaps the dignified Duke of Blair would take offence at such defiance from his fiancée, who was three years his junior.

‘How dare you test me,’ he might think.

Perhaps she was testing him.

At first, her response seemed to be nothing more than a desperate attempt to evade his question.

But there was something bitterly honest behind it.

The idea that victims are always blameless is an ideal, not a reality.

People were quick to assume that anyone who’d been hurt must have deserved it somehow.

Or worse, they offered pity that felt like judgement, looking upon the ‘unfortunate’ as though their suffering were a personal flaw.

Either way, for someone in Lydia’s position, what had already happened was no longer a wound.

It was a stain — something to be hidden, not healed.

All the injustices that Lydia had suffered at the hands of the Marquis’s household flashed through her mind: Lady Stella Kensington slapping her the day before and leaving her without proper care, for example.

But why should she confide in a fiancé who had never shown her any affection or concern and who might use this information against her?

Lydia wanted to know where Sihon stood.

If he intended to help, he should do so properly.

If not, then he should stop asking questions altogether.

Half-hearted interference would only make things worse for the victim — for her.

As always, Lydia assumed that Sihon would step back from a troublesome affair.

His strange persistence earlier had been baffling, but perhaps it was just a passing whim.

Yet his next words proved her wrong.

“Of course, the victim should be protected and kept away from the perpetrator. Even if some time has passed, there are still ways to act if the witness is the victim’s fiancé. This applies even if the *ssault took place within the Marquis’s household. In cases like that, it’s rather convenient to have a nominal engagement to rely on. Of course, that only works if the victim cooperates fully.”

In other words, if Lydia wanted to leave House Amaranth, he could help her.

He was offering to protect her. Even if it meant provoking a conflict with her own family.

The Amaranths and the Blairs already had a strained relationship, and further antagonizing them would achieve nothing.

Helping Lydia would not benefit Sihon at all.

If he had had feelings for her, perhaps she would have understood his sudden intervention. But he didn’t.

Lydia couldn’t comprehend the change in his attitude.

He didn’t explain or try to persuade her. He simply made her an offer and pressured her to make a decision.

“If you’re going to take my hand, say it clearly: who hurt you?”

It was clear now that he was offering her help.

Not out of warmth or compassion, but help nonetheless.

Yet Lydia knew better than to believe in kindness without cost.

There was no such thing as goodwill freely given.

What if his supposed benevolence came with hidden terms, conditions that she might not be able to bear later on?

She was in no position to be picky about the offer she had been given. Nevertheless, she couldn’t bring herself to trust him immediately.

After all, ‘fiancé’ was just a title. In truth, Duke Sihon Blair was nothing more than a stranger to her, bound to her only by politics.

Hesitating, Lydia finally asked cautiously,

“Is there… something you want from me, my lord?”

Sihon’s lips curved faintly.

“And what exactly could you give me?”

For the first time that day, a spark of interest lit his cold violet eyes, a glint that almost resembled amusement.

As he tilted his head ever so slightly, she couldn’t tell whether he was curious or harboring something far more dangerous.

It wasn’t the smug satisfaction of a man who had successfully caught his prey; rather, it was the quiet surprise of someone who had been lucky.

This unsettled Lydia more than anything. She had spoken with the intention of being pragmatic, offering a deal if necessary. If his help came with reasonable conditions, she was prepared to accept them.

But his reaction wasn’t at all what she’d expected.

“That’s…”

She began uncertainly.

Sihon Blair was one of the wealthiest men in the Ilios Empire.

The Blair duchy owned vast estates, mines, castles, manors and priceless art collections, as well as liquid assets worth hundreds of millions of gold.

Rumor even claimed that the family possessed mythical relics: a sandglass that could turn back time; a cloak that could conceal one’s form; and the feather of a phoenix, which was said to restore youth when pressed to the skin.

Needless to say, such tales were absurd, embellished gossip at best.

Meanwhile, Lydia had nothing.

Although she appeared to be a marchioness’s daughter, every dress she wore and every piece of jewelry she owned belonged to House Amaranth.

If even one necklace went missing, they would accuse her of theft without hesitation.

‘I have nothing to give.’

At least when it came to wealth, that was Lydia’s conclusion.

So what else could she possibly offer him? Something non-material yet intriguing?

She turned the question over and over in her mind, but before she could come up with an answer, Sihon broke the silence.

“Forget it. I never expected anything to begin with.'”

His voice was low and quiet, tinged faintly with exasperation. But Lydia barely noticed.

“You mean… you offered to help even though you didn’t expect anything in return?”

“Yes.”

The word was simple. Direct.

And it felt almost unreal.

Lydia couldn’t bring herself to believe that he would offer help without expecting something in return.

He spoke calmly and seemed almost indifferent; there was no hint of persuasion or earnestness in his tone.

If she refused, he would simply withdraw his offer without a care in the world. Either way, he had nothing to lose.

Only now did Lydia understand that he truly meant to help her, with no deception or hidden motive.

Her mind grasped that much.

But her heart couldn’t quite believe it.