“Oh, heavens… how could such a thing happen…?”

Upon hearing what had happened in the capital, the Dowager Countess of Everett travelled there immediately.

The moment she stepped off the train, she swayed as though she might collapse. Had her maid not been there to steady her, she would have fallen to the ground.

She was elderly and had been bedridden for days after learning that the Count and his family had been imprisoned on criminal charges. She had suffered from heart disease for a long time.

Murder. Arson. Even the hiring of an assassin.

The downfall of a venerable house that had stood for generations was tragedy enough. But to learn that her own son and granddaughter were responsible for such crimes was a crushing blow.

She could not bring herself to believe the brutal accusations printed in the newspapers. She repeatedly asked for the articles to be read aloud, as if hearing them repeatedly might somehow alter their meaning. Yet no matter how many times she listened, she could not accept what she heard.

“Where is Vincent now?”

“He has taken a leave of absence from Fraser Enterprises and is currently living at home. Your Grace must be tired after the long train journey. It would be best to return to the manor and rest first.”

“No, take me to Vincent.”

Despite the maid’s anxious glance at her pale face, the Dowager Countess would not be persuaded. The physician had strictly ordered complete rest, yet she had forced herself to travel. There was something unyielding in her eyes: a firm resolve to uncover the secrets her son and daughter-in-law had hidden from her all this time.

With trembling, age-worn hands, she clutched at the maid supporting her. Merely recalling the butler’s report made her heart throb painfully.

Her son, who had once seemed incapable of harming even an insect, had taken a human life.

That alone was devastating. But what unsettled her even more was the true identity of the young maid they had once sent away to Netherwell.

She had been especially timid and reserved.

In the Dowager Countess’s memory, she was quiet but diligent, and plain yet free of greed. Having been abandoned by her parents at such a young age that she did not know her exact age or birth name, the Dowager Countess had never shown her particular affection. However, she had at least tried to fulfil her duty as mistress of the household.

And now she had discovered that her own son was responsible for the child losing her parents.

As if that were not enough, her jealous granddaughter had tried to hire a criminal to kill the girl.

A sudden wave of dizziness overtook her and she closed her eyes.

William had destroyed more than just the family’s name. He had shattered the very convictions she had upheld all her life — the last remnants of honor that she believed a noble must never abandon.

She had never felt any affection for those who bore the name Fraser. And yet, even she could no longer sleep at night, weighed down by the guilt of what William Everett had done.

It was not just a noble house that had fallen.

An entire family had been mercilessly ruined.

Suppressing the sharp pounding in her head, the Dowager Countess stepped into the carriage. The chaotic streets of the capital passed before her eyes, but she did not truly see them.

Her mind was fixed on only one thing: What she must do now.

***

Logan travelled back and forth between the hotel and the manor several times a day for work.

The only difference was that he now added a visit to the hospital to his schedule once his daily duties were complete.

“Your Grace, when shall we proceed with the construction inspection—”

Jeremy caught him just as he was about to step into the car after finishing his final meeting of the day.

“Send a representative. And make sure the report accounts for every single stone. No omissions.”

After giving his usual measured reply, Logan closed the car door.

Construction of the hotel had already begun at the newly selected site, and he was expected to conduct the inspections in person. Yet he refused to leave the capital.

He could not shake the fear that something might happen to Bella while he was away.

When he arrived at the hospital, he went straight to her room. Ever since she had decided to continue her treatment there, visiting the hospital had become part of his daily routine.

He took a seat beside her bed, drew a slow, steady breath, and looked down at her.

Time had moved on. The world outside remained busy, restless and alive. But Isabella’s time had stopped on the day of the accident.

Her face was serene, as though she were in a deep sleep. There was no trace of pain on it. If he whispered her name softly enough, it felt as though she might open her eyes at any moment.

She resembled a princess from a fairy tale, waiting to be awakened.

“I’m here, Isabella.”

Logan greeted her softly. Her chest rose and fell in slow rhythm, her eyes closed as if she might wake at any second and smile at him.

But not once had she answered his call.

“Isabella Wins was always stubborn. Everyone knew that.”

He murmured it like a private confession, bitterness woven faintly into his voice.

“If this condition continues for too long, you must be prepared for the possibility that she may never wake.”

The words of the attending physician echoed relentlessly in Logan’s mind.

Her physical injuries had healed completely. If she still did not wake up, it was most likely due to a psychological cause. She might seem stable for now, but a prolonged coma can result in brain damage. Even if she regained consciousness, there was a chance that she would lose her memories, or that her cognitive functions might never fully recover.

Logan had forced himself to confront the possibility of brain death.

And yet, he could not let go of hope.

For one reason alone: Isabella was still breathing on her own.

Although she did not respond to any external stimuli, the faint rise and fall of her chest and the warmth of her skin were proof that she was still alive.

She could not swallow even a spoonful of food and had to be carefully fed; her body had to be turned every hour as she lay motionless.

He believed.

One day, she would open her eyes.

One day, she would wake as though nothing had happened and return to him.

‘But when?’

Over time, even that fragile belief began to crumble.

Isabella did not wake up the next day, nor the day after that. Although the day passed without incident, the physician’s warning lingered in his mind: what if the day came when Bella could no longer breathe unaided?

The mere thought made his chest tighten painfully.

Logan tugged at the tie around his neck and unbuttoned his shirt collar. Yet the suffocating pressure would not ease. Unable to bear it, he stepped out of the hospital room and walked swiftly out of the building.

When he reached a quiet corner, away from the flow of people passing by, he slipped his hand into his pocket without thinking. His fingers trembled as he took out a cigarette case and tapped it against his palm.

Nothing fell out.

All he held was an empty box.

“D*mn it.”

It was only then that he realized he had stopped reaching for cigarettes.

This had begun when Isabella arrived in the capital.

He had never made a conscious decision to quit. However, the more time he spent with her, the less he smoked, unwilling to let the scent of smoke cling to him and drift towards her.

The cigarettes he had once reached for every day had quietly vanished from his life.

He hadn’t even noticed when he stopped buying them.

Logan looked down at the empty packet for a long moment before crushing it in his fist. He tossed the crumpled paper into a bin in the corner of the building and returned to Isabella’s room.

He took her hand, just as he had before leaving.

Her skin was neither cold nor feverish, just faintly warm. That gentle warmth seeped into his palm, grounding him in the fragile proof that she was still there.

“I won’t give up on you.”

His fingers tightened around hers, as if afraid the warmth might slip away.

“It’s all right if you forget everything.”

It was all right.

Even if Isabella forgot her own name again. Even if she did not recognize who he was.

“I’ll teach you your name again. How to read. How to make wreaths. One by one, just like when you first came to the manor.”

Because he remembered.

He could teach her everything she had forgotten—from the smallest detail to the greatest.

If only she would return to him.

“So please… come back.”

Logan’s voice trembled with pleading. He lifted her hand to his forehead and bowed his head as though in prayer, calling her name with desperate longing.

“Isabella.”

“……”

But no answer came.