The newspapers, already restless with fresh headlines every day, now erupted with the revelation of James Fraser’s affair.

The man who had died in a fire over a decade ago had, in truth, carried on an illicit relationship with Laura Everett.

Though he had long been dead, the articles poured out as if they had been waiting for this moment, each bearing provocative titles. The fact that James Fraser was the biological father of Logan Fraser—currently at the center of public attention—and that his affair had been with Mrs. Everett, now bound by engagement elsewhere, drew intense interest from the public.

William did not let the opportunity slip. Through the mouths of acquaintances, he asserted that he was the true victim. He claimed he had never been indebted to James Fraser; rather, the money exchanged had been rightful payment—hush money to silence him.

He further insisted that the current accusations were nothing more than a scheme by Logan Fraser, whose unstable business ventures had driven him to fabricate charges in order to reclaim money.

Yet William’s expectation that James’s scandal would create a seismic shift proved mistaken. His claims, unsupported by solid evidence, convinced no one.

***

Vincent strode down the corridor, a crumpled newspaper clenched tightly in his hand. Each heavy footstep carried the anger he had not yet released.

The malicious article aimed at the Fraser family had been written based on information supplied by none other than his own father. Even while imprisoned, William continued to smear the Fraser name—making unilateral statements without the slightest regard for the wife who had stood beside him for half her life.

As if he would do anything to survive.

“D*mn it! After all the money I’ve funneled into their pockets, they can’t even manage this one favor?”

A rough voice leaked through the iron bars. His father’s voice.

“Release me! I said release me! Since when has the Empire treated nobles like this?”

His furious shouts scattered uselessly into the air, reaching no one. Torn letters lay strewn across the floor at his feet.

Vincent stopped before the cell.

Until now, he had refused every request to visit his father. Yet today, he had come of his own accord—not to the visiting room, but directly to the solitary cell where William was confined.

With hardened eyes, Vincent watched his father rage within the narrow space.

“Oh—you’ve come, Vincent!”

The expression on William’s flushed face shifted the moment he saw his son. The fury that had twisted his features gave way to relief.

“I’m glad you came. I’ll explain everything. Let’s settle this through reason.”

Blood ties did not vanish so easily. Though Vincent had, in his eyes, betrayed the family and sided with the Frasers, the fact that he had come here now must mean he had finally come to his senses.

William dragged a chair to the front of the bars and sat down. He regarded this as his chance to persuade his son—who was clearly laboring under grave misunderstandings—through conversation.

“The fire at the Fraser manor. Was it you, Father?”

Vincent’s voice was cold. He had not come to forgive his father. He had come to confirm the truth.

When word reached him that Jack Hunter, in exchange for a reduced sentence, had testified about the count’s crimes—information he claimed to have learned through Amelia—Vincent had refused to believe it. He had dismissed it as a fabrication, a desperate lie from a man trying to lessen his punishment.

As expected, Jack Hunter’s statement had sounded outrageous. That the Count of Everett had set fire to the Fraser estate and abducted Bella.

His own family—victims of the Fraser manor fire—could not possibly have been involved. That much, at least, he had thought he knew.

“How could you possibly—”

But William’s words trailed off. His face betrayed him—the face of a man whose hidden secret had just been exposed.

Vincent looked at his father, unable to hide his own shock. Even until the moment he stood here, even while asking the question with seeming certainty, he had prayed the answer would be no.

Though he had chosen to dig for the truth, he had not wanted to see how far his father had fallen.

Yet without another word, Vincent understood. Every possibility he had feared was true.

The man who had shattered Logan Fraser’s life was his own father. And to conceal that truth, the entire family had attempted to erase a child’s existence.

Vincent slowly opened the eyes he had clenched shut. Guilt surged from deep within his chest, disrupting his breath. The burden he had to bear was far heavier than he had first imagined. It would not end with merely exposing his father’s crime.

“The crime of killing a noble…”

His voice faltered, and he fell silent. The punishment for slaying a noble did not fall upon one man alone. If this truth came to light, not only his father—but he himself—would be forced to shoulder the weight of it.

Even so, Vincent did not waver. He had chosen to unearth his father’s sins, prepared to accept the consequences of his family’s wrongdoing.

“I will not stop.”

His voice was steady. It was he who had to bring an end to the legacy of his father’s unforgivable crime.

“Have you lost your mind? Do you realize we’ll all die if you do this? This isn’t the time to side with them!”

William shot to his feet as Vincent turned away without hesitation. The shackles clanged loudly against the iron bars. No one would extend a hand to the disgraced Count of Everett, whose crimes were grave and whose guilt was clear—not even his own son, Vincent Everett.

“Think of your mother! And what about Amelia?”

Vincent did not slow at the shouts behind him.

“That is for the judge and the jury to decide.”

It was the last conversation he ever had with his father.

***

That day, urgent news reached Logan. The Count of Everett had attempted to take his own life in detention. The commotion had begun with nothing more than a pen issued to prisoners for convenience. Deprived even of that object afterward, the count now lay motionless, as though he had lost all will to live.

“He cannot die yet.”

Even if the count hovered at death’s door, Logan would ensure he remained alive. The man had not yet confessed everything, and until Logan uncovered the full truth, he had no intention of ending this fight.

‘Isabella… saved me.’

The moment Vincent told him Isabella was alive, every scattered fragment in Logan’s mind locked into place. The desperate cry he had faintly heard that night had not been an illusion.

The one who had saved him from the flames—

Was Isabella.

The instant that name returned to him, an unbearable surge of emotion swept through his chest.

Bella had unconsciously insisted she was Isabella all along. The resemblance so striking it could deceive the eye, the words that stirred memories of the past—Isabella had always existed within Bella, whose memories had been erased.

He despised himself for realizing it only now. And yet, more than anything, he wanted to see her.

The thought that he might have lost her again—if only by a little—quickened his steps.

Logan strode swiftly down the hospital corridor. He did not notice the greetings of medical staff nor the glances of passersby.

Beyond that door waited the girl he had longed for.

He opened it and entered.

Even after leaving the manor and being transferred to the hospital, Isabella had survived several critical crises. The attending physician had cautiously suggested withdrawing treatment, but Logan had refused to sign any document.

He remained at Bella’s bedside. He watched her breathe. He held her hand, feeling the warmth that still lingered in her skin.

She was still this warm.

She would not leave him.

“I’ll be waiting, Isabella.”

Seated in the chair beside her bed, Logan spoke quietly. Before she opened her eyes again, he would bring everything to an end.

So that when she faced the world once more, no one would ever use her or wound her again.

He would bear all of it himself.