Chapter 1.7

All the strength she had been clinging to drained from her body.  

The world spun.  

The sky flipped upside down.  

“Ah….”  

For a brief moment, she lost consciousness.  

However, Liz didn’t end up sprawled disgracefully in the middle of the aisle.  

Instead, she found herself in Valentine’s arms.  

“What… is this…?”  

Liz’s lips moved faintly.  

The chattering crowd fell silent as if doused with cold water.  

Only Valentine’s low voice reached Liz’s ears.  

“Compose yourself, Isabel.”  

Valentine had smoothly walked to the middle of the aisle, as if it were all part of the plan.  

“I’m sorry, haah, I’m so sorry….”  

Liz stammered, her face pale as a sheet. Valentine whispered softly.  

“You can close your eyes for a moment. Just breathe.”  

Liz obeyed and closed her eyes.  

With each breath she took, a faint floral fragrance mixed with his intoxicating scent.  

Gradually, her tension began to ease.  

“Then, just… let me stay like this for a moment.”  

Liz’s chest heaved deeply.  

All the while, Valentine’s arm remained firmly wrapped around her waist.  

“There is nothing Winchester cannot accomplish.”  

And so it was.  

After Valentine’s arrival, no one dared to question why the bride had stopped walking or when the ceremony would resume.  

He truly seemed capable of achieving anything—even fooling everyone into believing Liz Garrett was Isabel Myra.  

“Haah… I’m truly sorry.”  

Having calmed herself, Liz took a deep breath and opened her eyes.  

“There’s not much left now… I’ll do my best until the very end.”  

Liz whispered softly but clearly. At her words, Valentine’s expression subtly hardened.  

“The end, you say.”  

Valentine repeated quietly.  

“Is that truly what you want?”  

“Pardon?”  

The unexpected question caused Liz’s mind to momentarily freeze.  

What Liz Garrett truly desired—that question struck her heart like a hammer.  

“I….”  

But Liz quickly came back to her senses.  

Furniture doesn’t have a voice, and thus Liz had lived without ever asserting her desires.  

With a faint smile, Liz replied.  

“Does it matter what furniture wishes for? The end has already been decided.”  

Those faint words were the closest thing Liz could muster to rebellion.  

“The end has already been decided, you say.”  

Valentine let out a soft chuckle.  

“I told you, didn’t I? The decisions are made by Winchester.”  

“What… do you mean by that?”  

Liz’s expression faltered, unable to grasp the meaning behind his words.  

“Have I ever said anything about the end?”  

Valentine smirked and changed the subject.  

“Your makeup hasn’t changed much. Why is that?”  

“Oh, well….”  

Valentine was right. Liz had only made slight adjustments to the awkward parts of her earlier makeup.  

“I am Isabel Myra, after all. So….”  

“Ah, so you copied Isabel Myra’s makeup?”  

He raised an eyebrow as he scrutinized Liz’s appearance.  

“Yes. I was worried someone might notice….”  

“To think you still don’t understand what I’ve said. How disappointing.”  

Valentine smirked as if amused, though a hint of irritation crept into his expression.  

“I have no intention of deceiving anyone into thinking you’re Isabel Myra.”  

“W-what? Then….”  

“Whoever stands here is Isabel Myra.”  

His words were heavy, as if trampling on Liz’s very existence.  

It didn’t matter who was here; anyone could be Isabel Myra.  

But before Liz could process her hurt feelings, Valentine continued.  

“And it’s not this silly makeup that makes you Isabel.”  

Valentine lifted Liz’s veil.  

Her face was revealed to everyone.  

“Your Grace!”  

Liz’s eyes widened in shock. She let out a small cry, but it was drowned out by the murmurs of the crowd.  

“Her face is completely different!”  

Soft brown hair. Frightened green eyes. A small, sharp nose and trembling lips.  

No matter how much makeup had been applied, her face was unmistakably different from Isabel’s.  

“I told you! She’s not Isabel!”  

“Could she be a stand-in? No way!”  

“Wait, I think I’ve seen her somewhere before….”  

“What’s going on here?”  

The once-quiet crowd erupted into chaos.  

Liz’s face turned pale, then white, then red.  

“Y-you can’t do this, Your Grace. Why on earth….”  

She couldn’t comprehend his actions.  

Liz Garrett was merely a stand-in for Isabel.  

A disposable, insignificant employee.  

So why had he exposed her identity in front of everyone?  

Tears welled up in Liz’s eyes.  

Before her stood Valentine Winchester.  

The man who had asked Liz Garrett what she truly desired for the first time in her life.  

What on earth did he want?  

Ignoring Liz’s tear-streaked face, Valentine smiled in satisfaction and spoke.  

“What makes you Isabel is Winchester.”  

In the next moment, everything seemed to slow.  

Valentine’s face filled Liz’s vision.  

His neatly combed golden hair, his flawless, beautiful eyes.  

His sculpted nose brushed against hers.  

And then, his lips—unseen.  

“……?”  

The hall fell completely silent.  

The music stopped. The conductor dropped his baton.  

The crowd held their breath. In that moment, hundreds of eyes focused on one thing:  

The two lips pressed together.  

‘This can’t be happening.’  

Liz couldn’t even close her eyes. Her mind went blank.  

To kiss Valentine Winchester.  

And in front of so many people, without any warning.  

Her heart pounded so violently it felt like it would burst out of her chest.  

But she couldn’t push him away.  

Like a hunted animal, Liz stood frozen.  

Tears trickled down her cheeks, slipping between their lips.  

At that moment, Valentine flinched ever so slightly.

“…Hah.”  

Valentine’s lips brushed lightly against Liz’s before pulling away.  

Liz stared at him with dazed eyes.  

The bright red lipstick she had applied was now smudged on Valentine’s lips.  

Valentine licked his lips lightly to remove the stain, his brows furrowing slightly.  

Unlike Liz, he remained impeccably composed and perfect.  

Except for one thing.  

A single strand of his neatly combed golden hair had fallen loose, reminiscent of the first time she had met him.  

Valentine calmly turned his head and gestured silently to the master of ceremonies.  

‘Wrap it up.’  

Valentine mouthed the command.  

The master of ceremonies, who had been standing agape, hurriedly began his announcement.  

“Now, I declare that Lord Valentine and Lady Isabel are united under the name of Winchester.”  

Clap, clap. Clap-clap.  

Scattered applause echoed hesitantly, likely to dispel the lingering awkwardness.  

Valentine turned his head toward the source of the applause and smiled graciously.  

That smile prompted an explosion of applause that echoed like thunder.  

“Bravo!”  

“Congratulations on your marriage!”  

The cheers now rang louder than at any other wedding.  

Music resumed, and shouts of blessing and whistles filled the hall.  

No one cast suspicious glances at Liz anymore.  

Only then did Liz realize—Valentine Winchester’s kiss could transform anyone present into Isabel.  

“Smile. Isabel Winchester.”  

Valentine whispered softly into Liz’s ear.  

But his words were not a lover’s tender murmur. They were a cold, merciless command.  

It felt as though her heart, which had leapt out of her chest, had been thrown to the ground and crushed.  

“Ah, haha, ha….”  

Liz forced a smile through her tears.  

With every smile, her breath quickened, twisting her lungs painfully.  

It was her first breath as Isabel Winchester.  

***

The seemingly endless ceremony finally concluded.  

The newlywed couple, now the Winchesters, retreated to their respective dressing rooms to prepare for the reception.  

Valentine changed into a tailcoat, replacing his neck ribbon with a cravat.  

He gazed indifferently at the servant tying the crimson cravat around his neck.  

“Master, would you like to change your coat as well?”  

“Do as you please.”  

He answered indifferently, his thoughts drifting to Liz Garrett.  

By now, Liz must also be changing her attire. Perhaps she had abandoned that ridiculous makeup.  

When he discovered why she had applied such unsuitable makeup, he hadn’t even felt anger—just disbelief.  

To think she believed a veil and makeup could save her.  

Those were not what she should rely on. What she needed to cling to now was Winchester itself.  

When he saw the trembling maid and Count Myra glaring at her, Valentine’s anger reached its peak.  

‘How dare they.’  

The maid had forgotten Winchester’s name, and Myra had forgotten Winchester’s generosity.  

Were it not for the Winchester matron, Valentine Winchester could have halted this wedding at any moment.  

It would have caused some inconvenience and required enduring minor losses.  

But ultimately, the only reason this wedding proceeded was Valentine’s own leniency.  

Choosing the maid over Manon was a warning to Myra—a clear message that Winchester always makes the decisions.  

“That’s certainly… the reason.”  

He murmured slowly, as if reaffirming that there was no other motive.  

“Your Grace?”  

The servant glanced at Valentine’s expression.  

Valentine gestured with his chin, and the servant quietly resumed his work.  

Valentine’s lips curled into a satisfied smile.  

Unlike Myra, who failed to heed the warning and disregarded Winchester’s chosen Liz Garrett, the servant’s behavior was exemplary.  

But look at the results.  

At the moment Winchester kissed her, every guest showered that insignificant maid with applause.  

Recalling that brief kiss, Valentine unconsciously swallowed dryly. His prominent Adam’s apple bobbed.  

He lowered his gaze and retraced the moment.  

Removing her veil, wiping away the lipstick….  

Yes, the lips.  

When their lips touched, the first sensation was discomfort.  

The taste of women’s lipstick was far worse than he had imagined.  

There was even an unpleasant salty aftertaste.  

Would it have been better without those elements?  

He absentmindedly rubbed his lips.  

Heat rose to his fingertips.  

Startled by the mysterious warmth, Valentine withdrew his hand.  

His white gloves were now stained with a faint pink hue.  

What was the source of this heat?  

He briefly recalled Liz’s lips, which matched the color staining his gloves, before shaking his head.  

Instead, he rationally reflected on the words that had emerged from her lips.  

And he arrived at one conclusion.  

‘Anger.’  

It was anger at her audacity to mention “the end” without his permission.  

Everything begins according to Winchester’s will, and only Winchester’s satisfaction marks the end.  

Thus, it was not yet over.