Ever since losing her memory, Rose had been plagued by nightmares every night.

Whenever she jolted awake, her whole body drenched in cold sweat, the black shadow that had been chasing her would vanish in an instant—leaving behind only a vicious migraine to torment her.

Most of the time, the nightmare faded like a veil of fog, and by the time she opened her eyes, she could remember nothing at all.

It had already been two weeks since she came to stay at the ducal estate.

During that time, Rose learned through Louisa that Raphael was far busier than she had imagined, overwhelmed with work from morning until night.

After dining with him on the first evening she arrived, there had not been another chance for them to share a meal.

She truly was trapped inside this splendid cage.

“Everyone seems especially busy today. Is something going on?”

That morning, as Vincent examined the splint he had newly replaced, Rose gazed absentmindedly out the window and murmured the question under her breath.

Since Vincent had told her it would take at least another month or two before the splint could be removed, Rose often sat by the window, looking out at the scenery and letting the breeze ease her loneliness.

“The madam is coming today.”

“…The madam?”

“Master’s mother. Duchess Amezella de Frederick. It’s been a long time since her last visit, so everyone is probably on edge.”

Louisa, who was tidying the books Rose had left half-read, answered as though it were nothing of importance.

Resting her arms on the window frame and propping her chin on her hand, Rose looked down at the evergreen trees that remained lush and green even in the heart of winter.

“I see…”

Her voice trailed off, and her eyes grew still, as though sinking into thought.

Approaching with a book in hand, Louisa said,

“You’ll be safe as long as you stay here. She is extremely strict. If she finds out the duke gave one of the bedrooms in the main residence to his mistress, she will likely be furious.”

Rose accepted the book Louisa held out to her and looked at it for a moment before nodding.

Louisa was not someone who softened her words.

Because of that, Rose had gradually come to understand exactly what her place in the ducal estate was—and even how the servants truly regarded her.

Her gaze lingered quietly on the title printed across the cover.

[The End of the Rose]

It was a gothic novel—hardly the kind one would expect to find in a duke’s study. Not only in Blancheau, but across all of Rotten, it had become widely popular. Louisa had gone out of her way to obtain it for Rose, knowing she had grown bored.

Two lovers, unable to overcome the barrier of status, parted ways—only to meet again three years later, as if by fate.

But in the time between, another man had come to stand at the woman’s side.

Unable to let go of his lingering feelings, the male lead resorts to any means necessary to win her back—yet in the end, their story concludes in tragedy.

“Louisa.”

“Yes, Miss Hamilton.”

“What does it feel like… to love someone who doesn’t love you back?”

At Rose’s sudden question, Louisa showed no visible change in expression.

Gently running her fingers over the book’s cover, Rose let out a quiet sigh.

“It must feel foolish and miserable… like waiting for rain that will never fall, or longing for a spring that will never come.”

“Master is often away on business. He rarely stays in Blancheau.”

“I know. I don’t really have any complaints about that.”

Rose paused, her voice softening.

“It’s just… this bedroom, this grand castle… it doesn’t feel like a place I belong.”

Louisa remained silent.

Rose set the book down on the round tea table and slowly rose to her feet, swaying slightly.

“I think I’ll get some rest. I didn’t sleep well—I’m a bit tired.”

When Louisa moved to support her, Rose gently stopped her and made her way to the bed on her own, lying down.

Closing her eyes, she tried to force herself into sleep.

Sensing that Louisa had not yet left the room and was instead approaching her, Rose waved a hand dismissively.

“Don’t worry. I’ll lie here like I’m dead.”

“That’s not it…”

Hearing the faint tremor in Louisa’s voice, Rose opened her eyes.

As she turned her gaze from the ceiling to the side, she saw Louisa standing near the door, her back turned, bowing her head toward someone.

Rose’s pupils widened.

Neither of them had heard the door open.

Raphael, standing at the entrance, slowly approached.

At a slight gesture of his chin, Louisa immediately understood and hurried out of the room, leaving them alone.

It seemed he had just returned from outside, still dressed in his formal attire.

As he drew closer, a cool yet sweet fragrance drifted toward her.

Just as Rose began to rise from the bed, Raphael sat down beside her and stopped her with an outstretched hand.

“It seems you missed me quite a bit, Rose.”

At the gentle curve of his lips, Rose bit down on her lower lip.

When no answer came, his head tilted slightly.

With his hair neatly brushed back, his striking features appeared even more defined, almost sculpted.

“I heard from Vincent. Your recovery is faster than expected. At this rate, you’ll be able to remove the splint soon.”

His half-lidded gaze, lowered slightly, carried a more decadent air than usual.

As Rose stared up at him blankly, her heart gave a heavy, echoing beat.

“……”

“Why so quiet, Rose? Are you upset that I came too late?”

“No.”

“Hm. From the look on your face, you seem quite upset.”

“That’s not—”

Her protest died on her lips.

His head dipped, and in an instant, he claimed her mouth.

Raphael pressed his thumb against her lower jaw, forcing it open when she refused to part her lips, and pushed his tongue into the confined warmth.

A faintly bitter-sweet scent filled her mouth.

It felt familiar—had she once seen him smoking a cigar?

The thought flickered through her mind, but she couldn’t pursue it any further.

His tongue traced along her teeth, slipping into every corner before entwining with hers, growing bolder.

Struggling to breathe, Rose reached up, clutching tightly at his collar.

The fine fabric did not wrinkle easily under her weak grip.

Raphael loosened the tie constricting his throat, then, following her unguarded reactions, began to undo the ribbon of her corset.

“…Ah!”

Startled by his unrestrained touch, Rose’s eyes flew open as she grabbed his hand.

As the corset that had tightly bound her chest and waist loosened, her face flushed as red as her hair.

“Y-Your Grace!”

The moment Raphael pulled away from her lips, her urgent cry halted his next movement.

“I heard… that the madam will be visiting today.”

The words spilled out before she could steady her breath.

In an instant, the charged air surrounding them vanished.

As Raphael straightened, Rose pushed herself up despite her disheveled state, meeting his gaze.

A faint crease formed between his brows.

“So?”

he asked.

The tone was unexpectedly cold.

Rose forced an awkward smile, trying to smooth things over.

“You should be preparing to receive your mother.”

“Ah.”

A short sigh escaped him as he tilted his head slightly.

The loosened collar of his shirt revealed the subtle movement of his throat, and the sight alone made Rose’s body stiffen with tension.

She didn’t want him to notice how unsettled she felt.

When she first arrived at the estate, she had cautiously asked whether she had any family. The duke had only told her that she came from a convent.

Now, with no memory to rely on, the vague realization that he was the only person she could depend on sometimes drove her to the edge.

‘If I told him I’m afraid of being hurt… what kind of expression would he make?’

‘What if everything he calls love is nothing more than deception?’

She knew these thoughts were pointless—nothing more than a bad habit of tormenting herself—yet she couldn’t fully trust him.

Losing her memory was far more terrifying and miserable than she had imagined.

“So you don’t trust me.”

As if reading her thoughts, he murmured quietly.

Rose lowered her gaze, her long lashes trembling like the wings of a butterfly.

He watched her silently for a moment, his expression unreadable, before reaching out to gently cup her cheek and lift her gaze.

“I love you.”

The sweet whisper brushing against her ear felt almost like a devil’s blessing.

When she looked up, his silver-gray eyes seemed as though they might swallow her whole.

“I love you, Rose.”

His hand moved softly, tucking her hair behind her ear, his touch unexpectedly tender. With that same gentle smile that seemed to ensnare others, he stroked her long red hair.

A quiet thrill stirred within Raphael at the slight tremor in her gaze.

“Say it again for me.”

“No… that’s enough.”

Her cheeks flushed red as she lightly brushed his hand away and turned her head.

There was something about him that could not be resisted.

If it was the power of a devil, then Rose was already beyond the point of return.

An unseen force pulled her toward him.

The more she tried to escape out of fear, the more brilliantly it drew her in—blinding, overwhelming.

Raphael was dangerous.

That was an undeniable truth.

Like Rosalie, the heroine of The End of the Rose, Rose might already have fallen deeply into Windsorberg’s fatal charm—even knowing it would lead to a collision, even knowing it would end in her destruction.

Rosalie, undone by a series of small choices, had ultimately met her ruin—while Windsorberg had lost nothing.

He had been mad enough to kill, if it meant possessing her.

And in a bedroom buried beneath hundreds of roses, Windsorberg had whispered eternal love into Rosalie’s ear—even after her breath had long since faded.