‘Thirsty…’

Larne could barely lift her heavy eyelids. She tried to sit up, but her body felt unbearably heavy, as though it were made of waterlogged cotton. Although it felt as if she had only just woken up, she was overcome with an unnatural exhaustion. She forced her eyes open again when they threatened to close.

“Ah—The Marchioness has awakened!”

‘…Marchioness?’

At the painfully unfamiliar title, Larne blinked slowly. Only then did she truly take in her surroundings—the unfamiliar room. Worse still, the hair spilling across her chest was stark white. It was nothing like her own, which had once been pink.

Her eyelashes trembled violently in shock.

“…Ah.”

She wanted to say something, but her throat tightened, and no sound came out. Larne raised a hand and touched her neck.

“Madam, there are no visible external injuries, which is a great relief. You lost consciousness from the shock, but you did not wake for a long time, so we were deeply worried.”

Her ears rang, and she could only hear the doctor’s voice as if it were coming from far away. Something was wrong with her body. She had never been particularly healthy, but she had never struggled to breathe like this before. She gasped desperately, as though her lungs were about to burst, and clawed at her throat as pain surged through her.

Then—

The tightly shut door burst open.

The sudden crash sent a sharp jolt of pain through her head. Larne squeezed her eyes shut, then forced them open again. A man was standing close by, his face etched with disgust. When their eyes met, she recoiled from his gaze, her body shrinking back on instinct.

“What scheme are you trying this time?”

At the cutting tone, Larne frowned. His harsh voice reverberated inside her head, buzzing relentlessly.

“M-Madam needs to rest.”

“…Rest?”

“W-wa… ter…”

At the barely forced-out words, the man’s expression twisted violently.

“So that’s it. I wondered why you agreed so readily to the divorce.”

Divorce—

Although the words came from a man she had never seen before, Larne felt a sharp pain in her chest. On top of that, his icy gaze was almost unbearable. She parted her lips as if to speak, but then lowered her eyes instead.

Her hand was still clutched at her throat. Noticing this, a quick-witted maid handed her a cup of water. As Larne accepted it with trembling hands, the man let out a hollow laugh.

“…Hah. Such a tired performance.”

At his mocking tone, Larne struggled desperately to understand what kind of situation she was in. But her thoughts kept slipping away. Her head still churned with nausea, refusing to let her think clearly.

“…Who are you?”

“How long am I supposed to play along with your games? As excuses go, this is a poor one—especially on the eve of a divorce.”

Above all, the man showed her no goodwill. When he replied coldly, she pressed her lips together tightly. She wanted to understand what was happening, but he seemed to find speaking to her distasteful.

Injustice and fear.

Tears threatened to spill, but Larne forced them back.

“I’m truly sorry, but… I don’t remember you.”

Her hoarse voice trembled uncontrollably.

“You fell while dodging a falling chandelier, and that’s enough to make you lose your memory? If you’re going to toy with someone, at least do it properly.”

She tried to speak again, but all that came back was ridicule. At last, unable to endure it any longer, Larne raised her voice.

“…Why—why are you treating me like this? I really don’t know anything!”

The moment the words left her mouth, she could taste metal on her tongue. Larne clutched her throat and lifted her head, only to meet an ominous gaze that forced her to look away immediately.

Whenever she looked into those red eyes, she felt a sharp pain in her chest, as if she were a guilty soul standing before judgement.

She pressed a hand tightly against her aching chest. Her face had gone deathly pale, whiter than a blank sheet of paper. Watching her like that, the man slowly parted his lips.

“…You.”

“Do whatever you want — divorce or whatever. Just leave the room for now.”

Fearing what he might say next, Larne blurted it out. If he just wanted a divorce and was taking out his anger on her for that reason, then granting his wish should be enough.

A divorce would leave a stain on her reputation, but if this man was her husband, there was no way their marriage could ever be happy if it was forced to continue.

Besides, if she went back home, she would have a family who loved her.

‘Why on earth did I marry someone like that?’

Larne hurriedly wiped away her tears.

“Kal, bring the documents.”

“This is far too cruel! Divorce—when my lady has only just risen from her bed after a week? I beg you to reconsider!”

“Enough. We need to settle this before that woman changes her mind.”

“Your Grace! She was injured because of you—please, I implore you to think again!”

As the room erupted into chaos once more, Larne pressed a hand to her throbbing head. She wanted to tell them to be quiet—but suddenly, her vision swam.

“Madam!”

Her body tilted, and the cup she had been holding slipped from her grasp and shattered loudly on the floor.

***

Two full hours had passed by the time Larne finally regained consciousness.

The man who had shouted at her was nowhere to be seen. In fact, she was relieved — she doubted she could have kept her cool if she had seen him again.

As she slowly pushed herself upright, a maid hurried to summon the physician. Although she had been asleep, her body still felt unbearably heavy, and the dull, throbbing ache in her head had not gone away. The physician instructed the maid to prepare a light meal.

“So… it’s the year 768 by the Imperial Calendar now?”

Larne lifted the bowl of soup set before her. She had no appetite, but at the physician’s urging, she forced herself to swallow a few spoonfuls.

“Yes, my lady. It has almost been a year since you married His Grace Leandro.”

‘I’m twenty-one…?’

Even more shocking was the realization that her memories ended in 764 — four years ago. The only thing she could remember was preparing for her debutante ball. The fact that she had been married for almost a year came as a shock.

Not only that, but she was also bound in a political marriage.

For Larne, who had always harbored a quiet longing for a love match, this was impossible to comprehend.

‘Of all people… with a man like that.’

While not all political marriages were unhappy, this man was particularly irritable. He was cold, overbearing and sharp with someone who had only just recovered from illness. He didn’t believe her claim of memory loss for a moment.

So why was her relationship with her supposed husband so deeply strained?

Larne tried to picture the man who had stood by her bedside, then stopped. An unexplained pain surged through her chest once more.

“Is there truly nothing else you remember?”

There was nothing.

“Nothing at all.”

Larne rose carefully from the bed. Her weakened legs wobbled, nearly giving out beneath her.

‘…Something’s wrong with my body.’

Steadying herself with great difficulty, Larne raised her eyes to the full-length mirror on the wall. She was struck speechless.

The pink hair and violet eyes that had come to symbolize House Atrice had disappeared without a trace. In their place were stark white hair, contrasting painfully with her pallid skin, and ash-grey eyes devoid of color. It was as though all warmth had been drained from her.

She felt like an entirely different person, yet her features were undeniably her own.

“M-My lady! You mustn’t move like this. Your body is extremely weakened right now. If you need anything at all, please tell me.”

The physician rushed forward and caught Larne as she stumbled, gently guiding her back onto the bed. The fact that her body ached so intensely after such minimal movement was deeply unsettling, and her altered appearance only served to heighten that unease.

Her drastically changed surroundings, the unfamiliar faces, and even her own reflection all served to emphasize one painful truth: time had passed her by.

Born with a frail constitution, her body had always been especially vulnerable to stress. A headache began to throb behind her eyes. As Larne fought to take steady breaths, she felt the pity in the looks directed at her intensify.

She wanted to escape this place filled with strangers who clearly despised her as quickly as possible.

“C-call my husband.”

At her words, the physician recoiled in alarm.

“No! You are in a condition that requires absolute rest, my lady!”

“That’s right! You collapsed just moments ago after speaking with His Grace!”

The equally aghast butler hurried over to stop her.

Seeing the genuine concern on their faces, Larne bit her lip. Once she had calmed down, she suggested another solution.

“…Then Kal. It was Kal, right?”

“It’s Kalburst, my lady. Please feel free to call me Kal.”

“Tell my husband to prepare the divorce papers. I—I want to go home. I want to see my family.”

Looking at Larne’s utterly exhausted face, Kalburst opened his mouth. He had so much he wanted to say, but none of it felt right to say aloud.

So much had happened in the four years she could not remember.

Her parents, the Duke and Duchess of Atrice, were gone. Deron, the new Duke of Atrice, had publicly declared that he would sever all ties with the Larne Cartel.

None of it aligned with the world she still remembered.

But how could he tell someone who had only just awoken such truths? Especially when news of the Marchioness’ collapse had already spread throughout high society and she had not received a single message from her family.

If he told her everything, she would surely collapse once more.

Ultimately, Kalburst could not bring himself to give her a proper answer.

“You can do that, right? My… husband…”

‘Husband.’

The unfamiliar word lingered on her lips.

“He seems to want a divorce too.”

At Larne’s desperate plea, Kalburst shut his eyes tightly.

“…Yes. I will pass that message along.”