Chapter 16

“……”

“Why does no one remember that she went away for convalescence for seven and a half years? She gave birth to this child then, and afterward I fled with him and hid.”

The man was called an ungrateful wretch. Even as the people of the mansion hurled those words, he said nothing.

The aged duke, his beard streaked white, accepted Alberto as an adopted son. But that was merely to conceal his eldest daughter’s disgrace and because the house lacked a suitable heir.

“You are to leave at once and never return.”

“Yes.”

“You will never see this child’s face again. Wag that careless tongue elsewhere and you won’t keep your life.”

“I am prepared.”

The man embraced Alberto one last time. Only then did Alberto realize the man’s body was shaking. With eyes gone red, the man turned his back. When Alberto moved to follow, it was the feeble old butler who held him by the shoulders.

After that day, Alberto never saw the man again. About a week later, word came that he was dead—he had thrown himself into the sea.

Even hearing the news, they did not hold a funeral. The man, no longer able to claim to be Alberto’s father, was now a nameless dead man. Alberto wondered what had become of the body, but asked no one.

On sleepless nights, Alberto would remember the words the man had spoken while holding him:

“Never seek your memories. It’s the last advice I can give you as your father.”

***

Creak.

The door to the darkened bedroom opened. A pair of polished shoes stepped silently across the carpet. Alberto silently looked down at the sleeping Rabiana. Her face was twisted in pain, as if tormented by a nightmare.

“Ugh… ngh.”

She whimpered and moaned in her sleep. Alberto’s eyes, watching her, were dry and expressionless. Her sweat-soaked hair clung in strands to her flushed cheeks. Just as his hand reached to brush the hair aside, it stopped.

It was because of the memory that had surfaced when Rabiana had suddenly embraced him.

‘I was so scared…’

Where had that memory of a crying little girl with a youthful voice come from? He couldn’t even remember her face, yet somehow, she overlapped with Rabiana. It wasn’t about physical resemblance—it was the way she acted in similar fear.

Still, thoughts he couldn’t ignore kept intruding.

What exactly was buried in those memories he had been told not to find?

The memories his father had so desperately warned him against. But that wasn’t why Alberto hadn’t pursued them. He simply never felt the need.

From the moment he entered this mansion as a child, he had taken heir lessons to prove himself among people who denied his very existence. He ate cold meals under watchful eyes and often held his breath like a stray mutt just to get through the day.

Sometimes it had been heartbreaking. He often thought life had been easier back at the hut with that man. Still, he’d never truly considered retrieving those lost memories.

Yet now, it felt like something important had been left behind in that past he pushed away.

“I-I’m sorry…”

Rabiana suddenly grabbed the sleeve of his coat. Her grip was desperate, despite the fact that he had no intention of leaving.

Something about it weighed on Alberto’s chest. He finally opened his mouth, barely.

“…For what.”

“For leaving you alone…”

“…”

“I’ll… take you… all the way…”

Even though it was just a dream, Alberto’s heart sank like a stone.

What sort of dream is she wandering through now? What memories lie inside her?

Curiosity stirs. For the first time, he wants to know about her. He knows it isn’t simple goodwill or idle interest.

It’s purely because he knows nothing about this woman.

If he keeps her close, he’ll be able to see what kind of person she is—and whether she has any connection to his own memories.

Alberto stood beside Rabiana as she wrestled with her nightmare, until the strengthless hand finally released his sleeve on its own.

***

Rabiana opened her eyes. The sensation of darkness pressing against her sight was familiar. In the past, she couldn’t accept it; she’d thrown things and wept in a fit. Now, after years of it, she accepted it calmly.

Ten years. Ten years since she last saw the world. Ten years living blind.

“Haah…”

She let out a long breath. After burning with fever, her body felt drained, unable to move. Her parched throat stung and cracked just from breathing, and her body felt as heavy as water-soaked cotton. Still, she forced herself upright.

What time was it?

She couldn’t tell if it was night or day. But the darkness before her eyes and the deathly silence suggested night.

Rabiana reached out. She didn’t want to disturb anyone’s rest just because she was thirsty.

Her groping hand found a pitcher on the bedside table. Feeling the smooth ceramic, she turned fully in that direction. Someone must have placed a pitcher and cup there.

As she searched for the handle to pour water—

“My Lady.”

The sudden voice startled her so much she nearly bit her tongue. It hadn’t come from the door; it had come abruptly from directly across from her.

“Y-Your Grace?”

“Yes.”

“Since… when have you been here?”

Without answering, Alberto took the pitcher and poured water. Rabiana accepted the cup he placed in her hands. The drink soothed her throat at once.

“Thank you.”

Alberto silently glanced at his wristwatch.

“I’ll have a meal brought up.”

“Um… is it night right now?”

“Yes.”

“Oh… then I’m fine. I’m not really that hun—” Growl.

The awkward sound came from Rabiana herself. Her body’s candid betrayal heated her face.

A silence followed.

Alberto, who had remained quiet, let out a faint chuckle. Rabiana flinched as though pricked by something and quickly waved her hands.

“I-I can wait. Really, I don’t want to trouble anyone because of me. I mean it.”

“Have you been waiting all this time?”

“I usually eat at the set times. But it’s so late now… and even if they’re staff, I don’t want to bother anyone.”

They were completely different people, but Alberto could understand her feelings. When he’d suddenly arrived at the Roen estate, he too had walked on eggshells among people who disliked him.

He was the illegitimate child of the eldest daughter, brought into the house by his grandfather. Neither the duke nor his aunts welcomed him.

‘This child is our sister’s? You believe that stable-hand is the father? Even if he is, it’s not like she wanted that child!’

Alberto’s birth mother had passed away from illness before he arrived at the estate.

With no one left to tell the truth, it was impossible to verify whether he was truly her child. The Duke of Roen had accepted him, but he also believed his daughters’ accusations. No way my daughter had a relationship with a lowly stable-hand.

He accepted Alberto simply because he’d heard the rumors of his daughter’s affair—and because the family needed an heir. He chose to believe in the bloodline.

But the gazes from the people of the Roen household were thick with doubt. The scrutiny and mistrust were unbearable burdens for a ten-year-old Alberto.

When Alberto entered the dining hall for a meal, his second aunt would stop eating and leave the table. His third aunt often complained to the head chef that Alberto was eating too much, insisting he be served portions no larger than bird feed. His grandfather would click his tongue every time he saw Alberto shrinking in on himself, overwhelmed with tension.

As this pattern repeated, Alberto couldn’t help but grow dispirited.

He often skipped meals. But when hunger became unbearable, he would sneak into the kitchen like a stray cat and steal ingredients. Eventually, the head chef caught him nibbling on food, but instead of scolding him, he taught Alberto how to cook. That’s why, despite being raised as a noble, Alberto knew his way around the kitchen.

Seeing Rabiana suppressing her hunger while watching others made her seem uncannily like his younger self.

“Wait here.”

“Ah, I’m really fin—”

“I’ll do it. So just wait.”

Flustered, Rabiana missed her chance to stop him.

When Alberto returned, he was holding a simple plate of pasta. He placed a fork into Rabiana’s hand.

She was stunned. It was hard to believe that Alberto had cooked it, and she wasn’t sure if she was really allowed to eat it. Sitting across from her, Alberto raised an eyebrow.

“Do I need to feed you?”

“No. No, I can eat, I— ow…”

She claimed she could eat on her own, but the moment she gripped the fork, her torn palm stung, forcing her to drop it.

Alberto checked her hand. Blood had seeped through the bandages—her wound had reopened.

“You really do put me through a lot.”