Isabella’s memories continued to unfold.

One day, as a cool breeze drifted in from the garden, carrying the scent of the blooming flowers, Isabella sat quietly while her mother styled her hair.

She wore a white dress that Maria had made from a tablecloth that she had found in the attic.

“Mother.”

Isabella, her dark brown hair tied high—just like her mother’s—turned and looked up at her.

“Do you have to go too?”

She clutched tightly at the hem of her mother’s skirt.

Maria, who had tied Isabella’s hair one last time before leaving the estate, bent her knees and lowered herself to meet her daughter’s gaze.

“I have to go. Grandma and Grandpa are waiting in the countryside.”

She stroked Isabella’s hair gently, a soft smile settling on her freckled face.

“You said you were going to visit the private grounds with the young master. And ride the ferry boat, too.”

“But I don’t want to be apart from you.”

“Then come to the countryside with me. I’ll explain it to the young master.”

“…But I want to ride the boat.”

Originally, Isabella had planned to go to the countryside with Maria. However, she gave in when Logan persuaded her by promising to take her boating if she stayed, unable to bear the thought of being separated from him for a month.

Until then, she had bravely insisted that she could stay at the estate with her father. But a child’s heart can change countless times in a single day.

“It seems the young master cares for Isabella far too much to be apart from her.”

Maria said softly, comforting her daughter as she sulked. Although it pained her to leave the child, who was so desperate to accompany her, she also felt a sense of pride — pride in seeing how close Isabella had grown to the young master.

To Maria, who had faithfully served the duchess since her youth, Logan was more than just her employer’s son: he was a child she had helped to raise.

He was a child she had helped to raise.

“Sleep fifteen nights, and Mother will be back. I’ll return before you know it.”

Maria coaxed her once more.

“Mother.”

“Yes?”

“Come back quickly. You must.”

Isabella stood on tiptoe, cupping her hands around her mouth as though sharing a secret, and whispered.

Maria responded by kissing her daughter on the forehead.

When it was time for the carriage bound for the train station to depart, Maria embraced Isabella tightly one last time.

“Please take good care of the young master.”

There was no time to waste, so Maria entrusted Isabella to Henry’s care before climbing into the carriage herself.

The wheels began to turn.

Slowly, the carriage pulled away from the estate.

Isabella stood frozen to the spot, watching it grow smaller and smaller in the distance. Then she tore her hand free from her father’s grasp and ran after it.

“Mother!”

Her voice called out desperately.

“Mother!”

She ran as fast as she could, but her short legs could not keep up with the speed of the carriage.

Nevertheless, she did not stop until it had disappeared from view.

Unable to follow any further, she stood there, gasping for breath, staring at the empty road where the carriage had vanished.

The echo of her mother’s promise — “I’ll be back soon” — reverberated endlessly in her ears.

If she had known that it would be the last time she saw her mother, she would have said “I love you” more often.

Bella was pulled back into darkness.

***

The Duke of Fraser had formally filed charges against the Everett family.

Tax evasion. Illegal transfers of funds. Decades of corruption hidden beneath a polished name.

The lawyer who submitted the evidence to the authorities was none other than Vincent Everett, the family’s eldest son.

The newspapers showed no mercy.

He was a son who had turned his back on his own family to stand beside Fraser. Rumors of the duke’s supposed affair emerged. Then came the sudden announcement of a marriage. One scandal crashed into the next.

Not a single day passed in silence.

Articles targeting the Frasers and the Everetts multiplied by the hour, and society’s whispers carried them even further, distorting the truth into a spectacle.

Citing the risk of flight and the destruction of evidence, the authorities took Count Everett into emergency custody.

He had been living in the capital, not Rosedale.

He never had the chance to run.

A few days later—

— Count Everett requested a meeting with Logan Fraser.

This was the first time he had spoken since his arrest.

During police interrogations, he had remained completely silent. Even when confronted with evidence he himself had submitted, he insisted on his innocence and refused to concede. Yet, without warning, he changed his position and named the Duke of Fraser directly.

Logan did not hesitate.

He went to the detention center at once.

The corridor was dark and damp, untouched by sunlight, and filled with a metallic stench. Each step on the worn floorboards echoed in the suffocating stillness, the boards groaning beneath.

The heavy clang of iron doors unlocking announced his arrival in the visitation room.

In the center of the room stood a small table, divided by cold iron bars.

Logan took his seat.

A moment later, the opposite door creaked open.

Count Everett walked in.

“It seems the Duke of Fraser was quite curious about what I might have to say.”

The Count turned up the corner of his mouth. The finely tailored suit he had once worn had been replaced by a prisoner’s uniform. Yet he held his head high, his posture rigid — a stark contrast to his circumstances. He carried himself as though he bore no guilt at all.

“You wouldn’t move an inch from the capital when Amelia called, yet you’ve come all the way to this shabby detention center just to see me. Should I consider that an honor?”

Logan did not respond to the sneer. He regarded the Count across the table with an indifferent gaze.

“Is that all you have to say?”

The man had denied all charges, yet he had requested this meeting. Logan watched him closely as he sat down with ease.

“If you’re referring to the funds hidden in your private bank account, Vincent has already located them. They’re nowhere near enough to repay what you borrowed.”

At that, the Count let out a short, scornful laugh.

“Money? I’m past caring about money. I raised a son, only for him to betray me and rummage through the family documents. What meaning does any of it have now?”

He leaned back in his chair. The handcuffs on his wrists clinked sharply against the metal.

“Have you ever wondered why your father funded me?”

For a moment, Logan’s eyes hardened.

It was a fleeting moment, but the Count did not miss it.

Logan Fraser knew that money had changed hands.

He knew nothing more.

This amused the Count.

“Surely you don’t believe your father lent the money out of friendship?”

Logan pressed his lips into a thin line.

His father, James Fraser, had been a calculating man. To him, honor and money were both forms of power. People were nothing more than chess pieces to be maneuvered in defense of that power.

If such a man had repeatedly lent vast sums, there must have been a transaction behind it.

Either the count had given James Fraser something he wanted, or James had been paying for silence to hide a secret that could never be revealed.

“Doesn’t it make you curious? The truth your father was willing to pay so dearly to conceal.”

“Speak.”

“I can’t speak for nothing.”

A base smile crept across the count’s lips.

He had been waiting for this.

“Let me propose a bargain.”

Slowly, he leaned forward.

Through the bars, he met Logan’s eyes directly.

“Release Amelia and me. And tell Vincent to come to his senses—return to Rosedale and accept his title.”

His fingers moved lazily atop the table, as though sealing a negotiation.

“Do that, and I’ll reveal the truth that your father valued so highly that he sought out someone like me to conceal it.”