Annely could not take her eyes off the uniform.

The military attire popularized by Tedor had been prevalent in high society for a long time — so much so that almost every male noble had tried it on at least once. Back then, Annely used to paint while imagining Carlos wearing that uniform.

However, she had never imagined that four years later she would see him wearing it in reality and that this would finally inspire her to finish the painting.

Watching Annely stare without looking away, Carlos swallowed the sneer rising in his throat. Simply seeing the uniform seemed to be enough to remind her of its original wearer.

“Aren’t you going to start?”

At the sharp tone, Annely snapped back to herself.

Carlos was seated by the window, sunlight pouring over him. Perhaps because he was dressed in full uniform, the languid air he usually carried was gone.

Annely let out a slow breath.

“…Don’t move. Just stay still.”

Carlos straightened his posture and fixed his gaze on Annely. Her eyes moved back and forth between the canvas and him as she carefully laid down the initial sketch.

The original under drawing, created four years earlier, had almost disappeared; as it had been based on memory, the features were blurred and indistinct. Slowly, Annely etched darker lines over it, one deliberate stroke at a time.

After four years, it felt deeply unfamiliar — strange — to be painting again.

She poured her confusion into her fingertips and let it flow into the drawing.

Carlos watched her in silence as she focused on her work.

In truth, asking her to finish the painting with him as the subject had been an impulsive decision. If he had not said anything, he might have destroyed the painting on the spot. If that had happened, Annely’s reaction would have been very different — her anger would have been sharper, and her longing for Tedor would have intensified.

Carlos could endure Annely’s anger. What he could not allow was for Tedor to take deeper root in her heart.

He wanted to replace Tedor with himself.

If he could not do so in reality, then he would do it on the canvas.

Moreover, asking her to paint had its advantages.

Since she had to face him directly, Carlos was free to observe Annely as much as he wanted. Perhaps she had taken the time to compose herself while he changed into the uniform — her hair, which had been disheveled earlier, was now tied back.

Each time she leaned forward slightly, a few loose strands of hair slipped gently over her shoulder. Warm sunlight bathed them both, bringing her to life like a masterpiece.

He felt a desire to preserve that sight forever.

He wanted to capture Annely gazing at him and immortalize the image on canvas.

As she had to draw his face, Annely’s eyes remained fixed on his features. Her quiet, almost ticklish attention traced every contour with care, and each time she did so, Carlos felt his palms grow damp and his gaze become unsteady.

“…When did you paint that picture?”

Annely, who had been clearing her thoughts and focusing on the drawing, fell silent for a moment before answering.

“A long time ago.”

“Before our marriage?”

Annely didn’t respond. Carlos took her silence as his answer.

“It’s been a while.”

He had already suspected as much.

Although he lacked an eye for art, Carlos had a keen sense of detail. He knew that the canvases in the room next to Annely’s were in the same state of preservation as the paintings and portraits he had seen elsewhere. They had clearly been painted around the same time.

“Did you ever paint after marrying me?”

Only then did he recall having a studio built for Annely after hearing Knox’s report. Painting was one of the few hobbies Annely had. Yet, as far as he could remember, she had rarely visited the studio and had never spoken about painting.

“No.”

Carlos, who had been anxiously awaiting her answer, finally felt a wave of relief wash over him.

The thought of her continuing to paint Tedor’s portrait after they were married made him angry.

Annely hoped that Carlos would stop asking questions. True to her wish, he remained sitting perfectly upright, his lips the only part of him moving.

Just as his thin lips seemed about to move again, Annely abruptly stood up.

“Let’s stop here. My hand hurts—I can’t go on.”

“Your hand hurts?”

Carlos rose at once and, without even sparing the painting a glance, caught hold of Annely’s hand. As if to prove she wasn’t lying, red marks remained exactly where she had been gripping the pen. Carlos’s brow furrowed.

“I’ll call the physician right now—”

“He comes at this time every day. I’ll draw for one hour each day, and once the sketch is finished, you won’t need to come anymore.”

Annely pulled her hand free as she spoke.

“And you don’t need to wear the uniform.”

In truth, he had never needed to wear it. The uniform in the underdrawing had already been modelled on Tedor — the man who popularized it — and that part of the sketch had been completed years ago. Although the painting had been left untouched for years, the studio had been well maintained, so the work itself had not been damaged.

There was no need to alter the uniform.

This meant there was no reason for Carlos to wear it.

As the warmth slipped from his grasp, Carlos slowly lowered his hand.

“If you’re going to do it anyway, wouldn’t it help with immersion to wear the same clothes as in the painting?”

Carlos knew as well that there was no need for him to wear it. Still, he wanted to erase completely—the true subject of this painting that lingered in Annely’s mind.

“If there’s no need to wear it, then there’s no reason not to.”

Without waiting for Annely to reply, he smiled and turned away.

The moment he turned his back on her, the smile vanished, leaving his expression cold and impenetrable. In an attempt to suppress the emotions boiling low in his abdomen, Carlos left the room at once.

When the door closed behind him, the tension drained from Annely’s body and she slumped into her chair.

Because she had pressed too hard while drawing, her hand trembled with fine, uncontrollable shakes. She looked down at her hand, then slowly lifted her gaze to the canvas.

The features that had once been so faint as to be unrecognizable were now clear – so clear that anyone could see it was Carlos. As it was her first time painting in four years, she had been unable to draw boldly, instead layering line upon line.

Even so, the likeness was unmistakable.

As she stared at it, Annely realized that the lines she had just added were not so different from the sketch she had drawn long ago.

Her past self had remembered Carlos’s face with perfect clarity after seeing it only once, capturing it without deviation.

This alone revealed the feelings she had harbored back then.

And how little those feelings had changed.

Annely closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the canvas. Slowly and carefully, she traced its contours with her hand. Her fingertips tingled and her heart raced.

***

Carlos stubbornly kept his word.

The next day, and the day after that, he arrived wearing the uniform once more. Annely chose to ignore it.

The only small mercy was that, aside from the hour he spent sitting for the painting, he no longer turned up unannounced.

Her period ended sooner than expected, but the dull ache in her lower back lingered. Annely paused midway through her work. As she hadn’t brought a cushion with her that day, the pain worsened whenever she sat down for too long.

She turned her gaze away from Carlos and lowered her hand to rest it.

Just as she was about to resume working, she realized that the figure in front of her had disappeared — and, at that very moment, a cushion appeared beneath her back.

“Are you still uncomfortable?”

Carlos adjusted the cushion here and there, unconcerned by how Annely’s body had stiffened, making it easier for her to sit. Annely felt his voice settle by her ear like air and shook her head.

“It’s over. It’s nothing.”

Up close, Annely’s face looked paler than it had from a distance. Carlos frowned.

If she was uncomfortable, she could say so. If she didn’t want to speak, she could send someone else instead. The fact that Annely was enduring her discomfort in silence, with her lips pressed tightly shut, was getting on his nerves.

He knew her period had ended — he slept in the same bed as her every night after she fell asleep — yet she still seemed to be in pain.

“That’s enough. We’ll stop here today.”

Without sparing the canvas a glance, Carlos took the pen from Annely’s hand.

Although the cushion supporting her back made her more comfortable, the unease in her chest remained. Before Carlos could move away, Annely spoke quickly.

“You don’t have to come anymore.”

She knew he had stopped walking, but Annely deliberately looked away, picked up the pen he had set down, and refined the sketch with greater precision.

The sketch was now perfect.

Every detail had been filled in without omission. All that remained was the rest of the work on top of it.

“I can finish the rest without you, so I won’t take up your time.”

Carlos was busy. Coming every day at a fixed hour to sit for one hour was the same as cutting into his sleep.

Over the past few days, as she studied Carlos’s face for an hour each day, Annely had noticed how haggard he was becoming. Anyone could see he wasn’t getting enough rest—and she couldn’t bring herself to ignore that fact.

Realizing this about herself, Annely no longer wanted to see him.