It was Pante Benedict.

He arrived with several of the duke’s knights and attendants in tow. Ashley flinched and quickly hid her small hammer behind her back. As she carefully put it down, Rosie moved to close the open door, but it was already too late.

Pante’s brows knitted together as soon as he saw Isabella lying on the floor.

“Mother? What are you doing here? This is disgraceful. Please, stand up.”

He hurried over to support Isabella, as if she were unwell. He asked if she was unwell in a concerned tone of voice, but when his gaze shifted to Rosie, the warmth in his tone vanished entirely.

‘What were you doing while my mother was in this state?!’

Rosie did not answer immediately. She simply stared at him quietly, curling her injured hand into a firm fist.

“Are you not going to answer?”

He hurried over to support Isabella, as if she were unwell. He asked if she was unwell in a concerned tone of voice, but when his gaze shifted to Rosie, the warmth in his tone vanished entirely.

‘What were you doing while my mother was in this state?!’

Rosie did not answer immediately. She simply stared at him quietly, curling her injured hand into a firm fist.

‘So now she’s acting?’

At that moment, Ashley stepped forward and quickly covered Isabella’s mouth before she could speak.

“Mother suddenly collapsed, so Sister was just about to help her up.”

Ashley avoided Isabella’s furious stare and moved to Rosie’s side.

“Is that true?”

“Yes.”

Her voice wavered slightly, but Pante seemed unconcerned. Ashley was naturally timid and gentle—her nervousness didn’t strike him as suspicious at all.

Knowing full well what she had done, Isabella didn’t dare provoke anyone first.

“…….”
“…….”
“…….”

Everyone held their breath and watched one another carefully.

Pante’s suspicious gaze eventually shifted towards the open room. When he finally looked inside, he flinched and strode towards it.

“What is this? Why is the room destroyed? Who did this?”

It was the voice of a man who was ready to hunt down anyone who dared to do something unauthorised on the ducal estate.

‘What do we do, Sister?’

Ashley’s frightened eyes darted towards Rosie as she clung to her arm, scared but determined not to abandon her.

Isabella’s red eyes flashed; she thought her moment had come.

“Well, what happened is—”

Just as she aimed a glare at Rosie and opened her mouth, a low voice cut through the air like a blade.

“I gave the order. Is there a problem?”

“Your Grace!”

His arrival had gone unnoticed; everyone had been too preoccupied with the chaos.

The servants lowered their heads in unison. They stepped aside automatically to form two neat lines.

Through them strode Callios, his boots striking the floor with decisive weight. Behind him came the captain of the knights and several elite soldiers — the core force of the ducal household — moving with sharp, disciplined precision, as if they had come directly from the battlefield.

Callios was still wearing his formal military attire, having likely just returned from the palace. A deep frown creased his brow.

Callios fixed his gaze on Pante Benedict, who had brought internal guards along, and questioned him coldly.

“I’ll ask again. Did you really think it was worth involving private soldiers in all this?”

Pante exchanged a glance with Isabella before replying with formal courtesy.

“…It isn’t that there is a problem, only that we were not informed. There was a loud commotion, so I came to confirm—”

“I said I ordered it.”

In private, Callios treated Pante like an elder brother, but showed him no mercy in official matters.

He cast a quick, sidelong glance at the ruined room. It seemed as though he had grasped the situation, yet he said nothing about it, merely continuing to speak to Pante.

“In the future, I would prefer you refrain from re-examining what I have already verified.”

“Re-examining? I merely followed procedure.”

“In the ducal estate, the lord’s word is the procedure.”

It was a silent warning not to say another word.

Pante’s lips twitched, but no sound escaped. Isabella lowered her head and bit her lips hard.

Rosie glanced at the wrecked room and the bloodstained carpet.

This was only the beginning.

***

Callios took Rosie back to the couple’s bedroom, which was the largest in the house.

The moment they entered, Rosie stepped away from him.

Callios asked, his expression grave.

“That room—did you really do all that?”

“It was gloomy. I thought of turning it into a bright tea room. It seemed like the perfect place to drink tea.”

Rosie fabricated the explanation smoothly, but Callios frowned incredulously.

“You expect me to believe that?”

“If you don’t want to believe it, then don’t. It’s the truth.”

“You could have had servants do it. Why did you do it yourself? And—”

Callios suddenly took Rosie’s hand, which she had been trying to hide behind her back.

“What happened to your hand?”

“…I got hurt a little during the renovations.”

Rosie’s mother-in-law had grabbed her by the hair and she had injured herself while trying to pry her hand off with a shard. But she couldn’t say that.

Not yet, at least.

‘It’s best if Callios asks for the divorce first.’

If he had initiated it, the Church would have approved of it far more easily.

Rosie ignored the way Callios’s gaze fixed her, demanding the truth.

‘Maybe it’s better to act like a madwoman for a while.’

Eventually, Callios would tire of her and demand a divorce.

But even as this thought crossed her mind, Rosie let out a quiet sigh.

No — he wouldn’t.

He was a man who had guarded his honor with unshakable stubbornness his entire life. He was a b*stard-born child who had risen to become the head of a ducal house; yet he had never abandoned his fiancée, remaining steadfastly loyal and exercising unwavering restraint.

He was a man who broke through every suspicion and objection with relentless responsibility. That was the foundation of Callios Benedict, the current duke.

Could someone like that cast aside his impeccable honor and choose divorce?

Divorce would be an enormous stain.

Just then, Callios tugged her hand sharply towards him.

“What were you thinking about to sigh like that?”

“…Nothing.”

“Your hand. I asked what happened to it.”

“…….”

“Are you not going to answer?”

If only he would drop it!

Rosie didn’t want the things she’d endured in this household to ever become known outside these walls. They were her last shred of pride and her private suffering. The thought of people whispering about it terrified her.

As for Callios, it would be better if he never found out.

Part of her feared the shock he would experience. But another part of her feared the opposite: that he wouldn’t care. That he might say something like: ‘You endured it for so long. You could have endured a bit more.’

When Rosie still refused to answer, Callios’s eyes dropped to her injured palm.

“That bandage you always use. It doesn’t look good, go treat it before it gets worse.”

“I’ll take care of my injuries myself.”

Rosie pulled her hand firmly out of his grasp.

Callios’s voice sharpened.

“I don’t know what you’ve been up to lately, but stop giving Mother or my brother things to use against you.”

“…Things to use against me? And what exactly would those be?”

Rosie paused, then let out a hollow, knowing laugh.

“You mean I should keep my mouth shut no matter what happens, right?”

“…That’s not what I meant. I’m saying it wears you down—”

“You’re right. If I keep quiet, everything here stays peaceful. Quiet. Like nothing ever happened.”

The ducal estate remained silent and unchanged — a false peace bought at the cost of someone else’s silence.

Rosie clenched her injured hand into a fist. Blood welled up and dripped onto the carpet, creating a soft tapping sound.

“That’s what you truly want, isn’t it, Your Grace?”

Yes. Better not tell him anything. Her chest throbbed with a deep, stabbing ache.

“…….”

After a long silence, Callios finally dragged a rough hand through his hair. He leaned back against the spotless window frame with his arms crossed.

“Is it really so wrong to want things quiet?”

“…….”

“Wasn’t silence the easier path?”

Rosie let out a cold, cutting laugh.

“Easier for who?”

Callios faltered.

Silence stretched between them, long enough for Rosie to understand exactly what he meant.

‘For the entire household, no doubt.’

Once again, his words tore her chest to pieces.

Rosie looked at him, the question pounding in her heart.

‘Do you even know what happens in this estate?’
‘Do you know what goes on in the places your hands and ears never reach?’

Callios did not know.

He was unaware that his younger sister, Ashley, had become embroiled in a terrible incident and taken her own life, or that she had been dying. He had truly known nothing.

Was that supposed to make everything OK just because he didn’t know?

The blood on Rosie’s palm had begun to clot, but her eyes only grew darker as she looked at him. She yanked her hand out of his grasp.

“Why are you being stubborn about the wrong things? You just need to ask who did it.”

“I did.”

“…Are you implying you hurt yourself?”

His face hardened instantly. Rosie looked away.

“I just… cut myself by accident while picking up a shard.”

Callios studied her profile in silence.

“You don’t look like you intend to explain further, so I’ll believe you for now. Treat it properly first.”

He sounded as if he didn’t believe a word of it.

Nevertheless, after giving her a suspicious glance, he finally addressed the reason for his visit.

“Anyway, I came back early today because His Majesty asked me to go see something.”

“…His Majesty?”

“Yes. He said it was something you absolutely had to see.”

Callios’s gaze dropped once more to her bandaged hand. Rosie calmly covered her palm with a cloth.

“What is it?”

“At the Citra Theater, apparently.”

“The Citra Theater….”

Sabrina sang there during her clandestine meetings with Ashley’s lover, Viscount Russel. It was a theatre mostly frequented by nobles, and occasionally even royalty.

“We can talk about the rest on the way.”

***

Shortly afterwards, Rosie’s hand was carefully wrapped in the special bandages she had designed.

As they were preparing to leave the ducal estate, they encountered Isabella once again. When she saw Rosie, Isabella quickly averted her gaze. Even when Rosie greeted her, she mumbled something indistinct in return, barely acknowledging her.

‘She looked at me as though I were crazy.’

Isabella was now openly avoiding her.

Even the servants’ attitudes had changed subtly. One of them had even approached Rosie first to offer her a salve.

“Something from my hometown, my lady. It works very well.”

‘Well… good is good, I suppose.’

As she was about to board the carriage, Callios extended his hand to escort her and, glancing at the bandages wrapped around her palm, quietly spoke.