As the sun dipped toward the west, the cloudless sky slowly deepened into shades of violet.

Without warning, a wave of guilt and sorrow for the child she had lost stirred within Rose. She gently placed her hand over her abdomen—once filled with the quiet promise of life.

Even without her memories, the grief of losing her child remained painfully clear.

Rose wondered if he felt the same anguish she did, but she could not bring herself to ask.

Silence lingered between them until the carriage reached Blancheau.

As they entered the city, the scenery shifted once more. Before she knew it, Rose found herself captivated by the breathtaking view—so beautiful it drew a quiet gasp from her lips.

For a moment, she let go of all her worries and rested her cheek against the window.

Unaware that the man before her was quietly observing her every move.

***

It was a shocking sight.

Those who saw the woman descending from the carriage under the duke’s escort could not hide their astonishment.

The servants of the ducal estate blinked in disbelief, yet quickly lowered their heads, maintaining silence as they read the atmosphere.

The duke, nearly carrying the limping woman in his arms, disappeared completely into the entrance hall.

Only then did the aide, Felix, step forward toward the butler and the head maid.

“Make sure the servants keep their mouths shut. Handle the situation as instructed.”

“Yes, understood.”

“There are no exceptions. Anyone who speaks will not live to see another day. Make that clear.”

At Felix’s warning, the two bowed deeply in silent compliance.

“And this is Miss Hamilton’s attending physician. Butler, please see him to his room.”

Vincent, who had been watching from behind, lowered his head awkwardly.

The butler, Patrick, greeted him with proper courtesy and gestured for him to follow inside.

After offering a brief bow, Felix turned and left.

Soon, the head maid cast a stern gaze over the servants.

“You all heard him. The moment this matter leaks beyond the walls of this estate, every single one of you will be as good as dead. Remember that well.”

At the sharp warning, the terrified servants lowered their heads, scarcely daring to breathe.

At a gesture from the head maid, they scattered at once, as if by prior agreement, resuming the tasks they had momentarily halted.

***

Rose had already been unable to hide her awe at the grand exterior of the mansion—but the moment she stepped inside and took in the intricate, refined architecture, she stood frozen, her mouth falling open in stunned amazement.

There was not a single detail untouched by a master’s hand.

From the frescoes adorning the ceiling, to the portraits hanging along the walls, to the sculptures lining the corridors—every piece radiated unmistakable value, even to someone unfamiliar with art.

Raphael led Rose to a bedroom on the second floor of the main residence, at the far end of the right corridor where his study was located.

“Wow…”

She had been unable to hide her tension when she first saw the mansion’s towering spires from afar, yet now her brown eyes shimmered with a mixture of curiosity and unease.

After helping her sit on the bed, Raphael removed his coat and gloves and walked toward the fireplace. The embers had already caught, and the crackling fire cast a gentle warmth throughout the room.

“Is this really my room?”

It was an innocent question.

Raphael, pushing a few more logs into the fire, answered simply,

“Yes.”

“It’s all so luxurious… it feels too much for me.”

Raphael, who had been quietly watching the flames, turned his head.

It was not the reaction he had expected.

“Why?”

“Because the moment I arrived, I realized… I’m not someone who’s welcome here.”

Sliding one hand into his pocket, Raphael turned fully to face her.

He had thought she might avoid his gaze—but instead, Rose continued calmly, her expression unexpectedly composed.

“Losing my memory doesn’t mean I’ve become a fool.”

“……”

“Did my past self… live content as your mistress, Your Grace?”

Clasping her hands together neatly on her lap, Rose bit down on her lower lip.

The moment she stepped out of the carriage, the servants’ sharp gazes had struck her like arrows.

Eyes that recoiled as if they had seen a ghost.

Looks filled with contempt, disdain—and quiet, unmistakable disgust.

In that moment, she understood.

The vague, unexplainable fear she had felt—perhaps it had been instinct, quietly warning her of this very reality.

Lowering her gaze to the carpet embroidered with climbing roses, Rose sensed the duke drawing closer instead of offering an answer.

Black enamel shoes entered the edge of her vision.

As her long lashes fluttered slowly and she lifted her head, Raphael bent toward her, raising her chin with the tip of his finger.

The moment their lips met, a warm breath slipped through the parting of hers.

Startled by the soft, encroaching sensation, Rose shrank back slightly.

His large hand cradled the back of her head. Even without force, her body gradually leaned back.

As Raphael bent one knee onto the bed, his presence pressed closer, his weight faintly settling against her.

Looking down at her with gentle eyes, he brushed aside the strands of hair that tickled her forehead and cheek.

“The past doesn’t matter anymore, Rose.”

As though caught in a dream, Rose felt the tension that had gripped her body begin to melt away under the quiet reassurance in his voice.

One by one, Raphael pressed soft kisses to her trembling eyelids, the tip of her nose chilled from the cold, and her cheeks slowly blooming with warmth.

At each touch, Rose flinched, her body reacting instinctively—drawing a quiet, restrained smile from him as he finally lifted his head.

His silver-gray gaze lingered on her, slowly tracing the flush spreading along her neck and collarbone.

“You only need to focus on recovering as quickly as possible.”

“……”

“Because holding back from you… is a form of t*rture.”

As if to ease his lingering restraint, Raphael placed a light kiss on her forehead before rising.

The bed shifted as his weight lifted.

Rose stared blankly at the hollow patterns carved into the ceiling, then slowly pushed herself up, straightening her disheveled clothes as his footsteps faded away.

With his coat draped over one arm and gloves in hand, Raphael paused at the door.

“Join me for dinner. I’ll send someone to attend to you shortly—tell them if you need anything.”

“…Yes, Your Grace.”

Rose answered, her voice unintentionally formal, her gaze lowered to his feet.

At the unfamiliar address, his brow twitched slightly—but considering her confusion, Raphael said nothing and left the room.

The door closed.

And once again, a heavy silence settled over the space.

As if retracing what had just happened, Rose carefully touched her lips, still damp, before covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

Struggling to bear even the fact that she had lost her memory—the man who claimed to be her lover was not someone she could fully trust or lean on.

The lavish bedroom, the antique wallpaper, the polished wooden furnishings, and the ornate chandelier—none of it brought her comfort.

The bedroom—fit for a young lady of a distinguished noble family—felt, somehow, like a gilded cage that confined her.

‘What will happen now?’

‘Will my memories ever return?’

She knew nothing.

And if, someday, the duke were to marry and bring home a duchess…?

Had she truly loved him, before she lost her memory?

But then—if that sudden kiss had not repulsed her…then perhaps that wasn’t the case.

Her thoughts, tangled and unorganized, swelled like a snowball, churning restlessly through her mind.

Just then, a knock echoed against the brown oak door.

Startled, Rose turned her gaze toward it.

“Miss Hamilton, I’ve come to assist you.”

A youthful voice slipped through the narrow gap of the door.

Hurriedly, Rose gave her permission to enter.

Moments later, the door opened, and a girl with a face as young as her voice stepped inside. With both hands neatly placed over her abdomen, she bowed her head.

She had brown hair and teal-colored eyes.

Introducing herself as Louisa, she immediately offered to help Rose change her clothes.

As Rose carefully stepped down from the bed, limping slightly, Louisa supported her with surprising strength and swift, efficient movements.

“Master has instructed me to do my utmost to help you adjust to this place, Miss Hamilton.”

“Thank you.”

“I apologize, but it is not proper for you to use formal speech with me. Please speak more casually.”

“…Okay, Louisa.”

At Rose’s awkward reply, the stiffness that had been fixed on Louisa’s lips seemed to soften, if only slightly.

Still, she carried an air that was not easily approached.

Remaining close at Rose’s side, she spoke without pause—clearly and precisely—explaining the rules and etiquette that must be observed within the ducal estate.

Having already been informed of Rose’s memory loss, Louisa bore the responsibility of teaching her everything, from the smallest detail to the most essential.

Thanks to Louisa, Rose was, for a brief moment, able to step back from the many complicated troubles surrounding her.