The gaze that had once lingered on him, the clear smile that had graced her lips, the tender whispers, the hands that had drawn him close. He had believed in all of it. Yet in the end, she was the daughter of that great and noble house.

It was a truth that could never change. So why had he deceived himself into thinking she would be any different? Why had he been so foolish as to believe she was free from Felix Ideana’s sins?

Shed bit down on his bloodied lips, chewing bitterly on a hollow laugh.

Looking back, it was absurd. What noble would ever abandon their house to stand with the deaths of mere slaves?

Just as he had taken up his blade to avenge his fallen brothers and strike down Felix Ideana, so too could Luise grow merciless, covering her father’s crimes.

The guards lifted him, chains biting into his limbs, and hurled him into a large wooden crate.

Thud—pain ripped through his body as he struck the hard interior.

“Luise…!”

He tried to rise in defiance, but one man forced his head down and shoved a gag between his teeth.

Slowly, the lid of the crate closed above him. Through the narrowing gap, Luise’s blurred figure receded into the distance.

🌺⟡───⟡🌺 🌺⟡───⟡🌺

Even then, he had felt that same raw surge of emotion toward her. The heat that flared in his chest—he had named it anger.

But was it only anger? Could that one word truly encompass it all?

Shed looked down at the wreck of the bed.

He had thought that once his desire had been satisfied, all his feelings would fade.

Instead, however, his desire to possess her had only intensified.

Like a madman, he almost thought it better that he had crossed the line. Engagement, status, circumstance, the past… all those shackles that had bound his steps no longer mattered.

The water was already spilled; there was no turning back.

All Shed Lester had to do was claim Liana.

He clenched his fist.

Then—

“I’m coming in.”

With that blunt declaration, the door swung open.

Turning his head, he saw a woman standing at the threshold, her blue hair tumbling down.

Giselle froze where she stood, eyes widening at the sight of Shed, bare-chested and disheveled.

For a moment his gaze faltered—but soon steadied again.

He felt sorry for Giselle. Yet, in a way, it almost seemed better this way.

There was nothing left for him to excuse.

The bed, still heavy with the traces of their union. The musk-laden air that clung to every corner of the room. Nothing could be hidden—everything lay bare.

Giselle’s golden eyes swept coldly across the chamber. Then—

Smack!

Her white hand struck his left cheek.

“This is for me.”

Smack!

Her palm struck his right cheek.

“This is for our house.”

Smack!

“This is for that woman.”

Smack!

“And this is to knock some sense into you.”

Her furious golden gaze bore up at him.

Shed kept his lips sealed, receiving each blow without protest. No excuses, no defense—only the silent acceptance of a man saying, hit me as much as you want.

Giselle let out a hollow laugh.

“Of course. Plenty of men can’t resist their l*st, rolling in beds like dogs. Affairs, scandals, infidelities—without them, society wouldn’t turn.”

Her voice was dry as her eyes shifted away from the signs of passion that lingered in the room.

“There are wh*res shaking their hips in taverns, filth everywhere you look. So you having some sordid little fling with a maid—fine, I can understand it.”

Between her crimson lips, he could see how she strained to choke back her rage.

Giselle’s life had not been one of seeing only clean and pure things. She had long since learned the truth about society: that vile men flourished there; that the main topic of conversation at every gathering was gossip about secret meetings, mistresses at country estates and fevered nights together.

So no—Shed’s behavior was not unique. But still—

“But at the very least, you shouldn’t get caught… isn’t that right?”

She ground her teeth into her lower lip, struggling to control her anger. She had never expected to fall in love. Their engagement had been arranged without love. A bond based on responsibility, duty, and trust would have to suffice.

But even a contractual bond had its limits.

“Were you planning to parade this filth before everyone?”

This was a guest chamber located close to the banquet hall. Anyone could have stepped inside for a moment’s rest.

Did he not care about the scandal it might cause by sneaking away from the feast for such reckless indulgence?

This disregard infuriated her even more.

“Don’t you dare attach this kind of disgrace to my name…!”

Her fury shook the room.

But her eyes had already strayed downward to the floor.

There, shattered, lay the torso.

The white sculpture of a n*ked woman, broken into jagged fragments.

He lowered his lashes and stared at the ruined piece for a moment.

Then, slowly, he raised his eyes to meet Giselle’s.

“…We’ll end the engagement.”

His voice was stripped of emotion.

Upon hearing this, the proud saint’s face turned a deep shade of red. Giselle had never expected much from her apathetic fiancé. Yet she had at least hoped that he would apologise. Or perhaps offer some feeble excuse. Neither would have been acceptable, but if he had shown even the slightest courtesy, she might have believed that he was capable of it.

But this—his first words, a broken engagement?

“You think that’s the first thing you should say?”

The only thing permitted to him was to beg for forgiveness, to abase himself in guilt. Yet he had the audacity to speak of annulment, looking almost relieved.

“You wouldn’t want to marry someone like me anyway.”

With a faint trace of self-mockery, Shed picked up the shirt that lay crumpled on the floor. The gesture was unbearably perfunctory.

“Was that your plan all along? To drag her into this just so you’d have reason to break with me?”

Her voice was flat as her eyes followed him pulling the shirt over his shoulders.

Shed glanced at her, then turned away again with a look that almost seemed an admission.

“And if you do annul the engagement—what then? Will you marry her? Make her Lady of House Lester?”

Her accusation stilled him into silence. The truth was… he had never pictured the future in such detail. Marriage? It would surely become a burden. Were they even bound closely enough to consider such a thing—he and she?

He tried to imagine the look on Liana’s face if he were to propose. Would she turn pale and bolt from him? Or would she break down in tears again, glaring at him with eyes sharpened by fury?

On the floor, the shattered torso of a woman seemed to sneer at him, its broken fragments scattered like blades waiting to pierce his skin.

But one truth remained certain: he had shared a bed with Liana.

“It’s my fault, and I’ll take responsibility.”

“And how do you mean to do that? Seat her beside you as your wife? Fine. Say you manage it. Do you think anyone else would let her be?”

“…”

His silence made it sound as though he would.

At his reckless thought, Giselle’s lips twisted into a bitter smile.

“Still ignorant because she’s a slave? This is the nobility we’re talking about—this society runs on reputation and name. That wretch will be trampled underfoot and ruined before long!”

“That’s not for you to worry about.”

Shed turned his head, dismissing her warning outright.

Of all people, he knew better than anyone how vast the gulf was between a duke and a maid. He had once experienced the difference between a count’s daughter and a slave first-hand.

It was a height one could never dream of reaching. A depth from which no hand could lift her.

And yet, he still intended to inscribe Liana’s name beside his own.

Whatever the gossip sheets might print, it did not matter. Reputation, honor—he had never cared for such things. Only if the arrows of slander struck too deeply at Liana would he act, and then he would simply break the wrists of those who loosed them.

Giselle let out a hollow laugh, as though the absurdity of it all had reached its peak.

“Do you feel even a shred of regret toward me? Or are you so enthralled by that woman you can’t even spare a thought for your fiancée?”

Shed looked at her quietly.

“…I never thought you took me seriously.”

His tone was flat, almost bewildered—he truly hadn’t known. Wasn’t theirs only a contractual bond?

At that, her pale face flushed hot red.

“Our engagement is not some trivial matter! How could you not take it seriously?”

“Of course. I’ve never once thought of it lightly. Not once. It’s just that…”

She appeared. The one I thought dead.

Shed stopped, inhaled deeply, and said at last:

“…I am sorry.”

There was no need for a long excuse. Giselle had been an excellent partner—too good, almost wasted on him. No one could replace her as a fiancée.

But there was no other way.

Giselle’s body trembled. Because his apology was genuine. Because there was no crack, no false note in it.

She had thought she did not love him. Yet hearing herself cast aside first, she realized how foul and humiliating it felt. The fury, the ache in her chest—did she truly care for this man after all?

“Do you even realize how pathetic you are?”

“…”

“I hope you die in the heretic hunt.”

With those words, her voice seething with rage, Giselle stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

🌺⟡───⟡🌺 🌺⟡───⟡🌺

Liana stood before the cracked mirror in the maids’ quarters, facing her reflection.

She had changed into fresh clothes, and her appearance was neater than usual — almost obsessively so. Yet no matter how hard she tugged at her collar, she could not hide the red marks on her neck.

So, she wrapped a white neck scarf tightly around her throat and tucked it beneath her blouse. Only then did the bruises and flushed marks disappear from view.

All traces were erased — except for those etched in her expression.

For those, the mirror could not lie.

The marks carved into memory could not be erased.

‘Love.’

That night, the fierce, overwhelming emotion burning in his eyes—she wanted to believe it was love.

But that beautiful word was nothing more than a selfish delusion.

“It was his rut.”

Not love—only instinct, stripped of emotion. And before it, she had been utterly powerless.

She closed her eyes tightly, then raised her lids again.

‘…It’s fine. Tomorrow I’ll be gone.’

The woman in the mirror nodded back at her.

Just then—

“So, you were here?”

A voice, thick with malice, cut through the air.

In the mirror, Liana saw the doorway behind her. Standing there was the maid, Janet.

Her eyes, sharp and wary like those of a beast on the plains, studied Liana intently.

“I was just about to leave.”

Liana smoothed her hair back into order before turning to face her.

Janet’s gaze swept her up and down.

“You—last night, during the banquet… where did you go? What were you doing?”