Chapter 32

A wife who cannot fulfill her purpose is useless. Being cast out for infertility was absurdly unjust, yet for Rabiana it was reality. And facing that harsh reality, the man who wanted a child more than anyone shielded her. Even though he felt no love. Even though he did not love Rabiana.

“My Lady, you are not infertile.”

“…Not infertile?”

“When you fainted, I summoned the physician and heard your condition from him.”

‘…I believe we need to have a serious conversation. About the Madam’s condition.’

After she had fainted following her night with Alberto, the house physician had come to examine her. That day he had scolded Alberto for his excess and explained how frail Rabiana’s body was.

‘The Madam’s constitution is extremely weak and filled with cold. She must be kept warm so her blood can circulate properly. Her energy scatters and her pulse is faint, so conceiving will be difficult.’

‘Are you saying she cannot bear children?’

‘No. Merely that it will be hard; she can certainly conceive. Less experienced doctors may misdiagnose her, so if you hear such claims, simply ignore them.’

The Roen family physician had served the house for generations. He often went abroad for research and traveled to treat patients, earning a reputation as a great healer.

Trust in a doctor who would not bow to power or money was only natural. Alberto believed him completely.

Hearing all this, Rabiana felt the strength drain from her body. It was strange to learn her diagnosis had been made without her knowledge, yet—unlike moments before—she did not feel displeased.

Was it because it had happened while she was unconscious? Or because she trusted Alberto would not harm her?

Whatever the reason, Rabiana felt her heart grow lighter. Better this than lingering here uselessly in the estate.

Of course, when she had first heard she was infertile, Rabiana had been overtaken by an indescribable feeling.

Choosing not to have children and being unable to have them were vastly different things.

Even if she did give birth, she would never be able to hold the child in her arms—she would be cast out all the same.

So when Alberto shielded her, she realized it hadn’t been “fine” after all.

“Still, thank you.”

Even if he’d known her condition beforehand, he had taken her side.

What he likely didn’t know—was that in the moment he stood by her, a spark had ignited deep within her chest.

A warm flame surged through her, engulfing her completely.

‘It’s the first time someone has taken my side. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.’

For the first time, Rabiana had a new thought.

That this memory—etched so vividly in her heart—might one day make even her sorrowful circumstances feel a little less bitter.

That thanks to this small kindness he’d shown her, maybe—just maybe—this marriage could someday be remembered as something beautiful.

Alberto had become a light in her otherwise pitch-dark life, illuminating a path she had once thought hopeless.

And with that, the chaos inside her began to settle.

She wanted, somehow, to repay Alberto for stepping forward on her behalf.

But that repayment wouldn’t be clinging to this household.

Her heart felt lighter.

Even the last lingering attachment within her seemed to lift away.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

***

A heavy silence hung over the drawing room.

The moment Alberto descended the stairs—crash!

A wine glass shattered against the wall, exploding into glittering shards.

Slivers of glass scattered in all directions.

On the sofa, Bianca sat with wild eyes, spitting out a curse between clenched teeth.

“You goddamned bastard!”

“Aunt.”

“You humiliated me?”

She couldn’t tolerate it.

Her already detestable nephew had dared to defend that blind girl in front of the household staff—publicly disgracing her.

The brat she loathed only ever did things to deepen her hatred.

Even the way he called her now—cold and distant—only twisted her gut tighter.

With trembling hands, she reached for the wine bottle.

It was already her fourth.

She was well past drunk.

And yet Bianca didn’t care.

She poured the liquor down her throat like poison into a wound.

Alberto had no intention of stopping her pitiful self-destruction.

He wasn’t worried. She could ruin her life however she pleased.

If she drank herself into illness, that would be her own doing—her burden to carry.

“Wouldn’t now be a good time to stop your tantrum?”

His voice was flat, but there was warning in it.

If she wanted to lose control, she could—but not in his house.

A sharp gust of wind swept in through the open window.

Bianca, who had left it open to sober herself with the cold air, looked more pathetic than ever.

Alberto knew well why she clung to the Roen estate: it was an escape from a family that no longer wanted her.

Pitiful, yes—but she was reaping what she had sown.

“How long do you plan to keep testing my patience?”

“You… You killed my father, didn’t you?”

Two years ago, the Duke of Roen had died in an accident.

On the way to a villa, his carriage had slipped off a cliff.

The terrain had been treacherous, and a blizzard had struck. Investigators said it was just misfortune.

But Bianca had never believed it.

She staged a one-woman protest—declaring that bastard born of a lowly groom had murdered her father.

“If he hadn’t accepted you… If he hadn’t listened to your wretched father… our family would still be whole!

If only—if only it weren’t for you!”

Clack!

The wine bottle hit the table hard as Bianca covered her face and began to sob.

Alberto let out a quiet sigh.

He descended the stairs and knelt in front of her.

“Aunt.”

“You can’t be my sister’s son. My sister would never have lowered herself to him.

Why… Why should I accept a child she never wanted?

Even if you are her son… accepting you would be betraying her.

I won’t do it. I won’t betray her like that.”

Her words were messy, disjointed.

Alberto waited, letting her rant.

Then, when she finally paused, he clicked his tongue.

“If I had killed him…”

Her crying halted instantly.

It was a cold, quiet night.

Even the birds had gone to sleep.

Every sound seemed sharper in the stillness.

Bianca stared down at him, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.

Alberto met her gaze squarely.

“What would it change?”

“…What?”

“Would it ease your guilt, Aunt?”

On the day the former Duke of Roen died, Bianca had fought with him.

It had been a trivial matter—something so small she couldn’t even recall the details now. But that day, in a burst of childish rage, she had screamed:

“I wish you were dead!”

And just like that, he had died.

The shock had been so great, Bianca fainted during the funeral.

Alberto had tolerated Bianca all these years for one reason: she was the sister of a mother he had never known.

Even her hatred and contempt didn’t wound him. He could understand them.

After all, there was no one left alive to tell the truth.

Perhaps he was the seed of sin, just as Bianca claimed.

Bearing the anger, contempt, and hatred of others—this was his way of atonement.

Even if he hadn’t committed any sin himself.

Even if no one could say for certain whether there had ever been a sin at all.

If his mere existence brought pain to others, then that was enough.

“I killed him.”

Bianca stopped breathing.

Her eyes welled with tears, and a sharp hiccup escaped her throat.

Then suddenly she let out a wail and scrambled away from him, collapsing against the edge of the sofa, her whole body trembling.

“Guess I should’ve made some noise,” Alberto said coldly. “You give someone a dukedom and they think it gives them the right to micromanage everything…”

Of course, it wasn’t true.

That day, Alberto had been nowhere near the north.

He had been summoned to the imperial palace and had a rock-solid alibi.

But he said it anyway.

Because that pitiful, hateful woman in front of him… needed that answer.

“So, Aunt.”

“Go home. While you still have sons to return to. Do you know how exhausting it is cleaning up after your precious home? My patience is worn thin, and now—”

Crash!

This time, the shattering sound didn’t come from the parlor.

Alberto’s eyes flicked upward.

He stood slowly and leaned halfway out the window.

The window to Rabiana’s bedroom was open.

The curtains were fluttering in the wind, and through the parting fabric, he saw brown hair disappearing into the darkness.

“…Ah.”

She’d heard everything.

Alberto remembered the way she smiled and thanked him earlier.

She had been so touched that he stood up for her, just once. So easy to please, wasn’t she?

But that was simply proof of how starved she’d been for kindness.

And now, something in his chest twisted.

It felt like it was his fault—for throwing her into that misery.

For making her believe in something that wasn’t real.

Alberto wouldn’t have cared if Bianca turned the entire Roen estate upside down—had it not been for Rabiana. Yet that pale face lingered in his mind the whole time he worked, haunting him.

Because of Rabiana, he found himself doing things utterly unlike him, and he concluded—with some annoyance—that it was becoming a nuisance.

“H-H-H, d-don’t come near me!”

He looked down coolly at Bianca, who trembled like an aspen leaf. In any case, he still had to finish frightening her.

“I told you before—leave while you can still walk on your own two feet.”