Rosie looked at him, unsure what he meant, until she understood. He was talking about tonight. He was referring to the threat he’d made earlier, when he told her to “be ready”.

“I was a little angry then… Were you very scared?”

Rosie simply stared at him over her teacup. He had always had a fierce, intimidating expression. Now, she no longer felt fear, perhaps she had simply lost it.

Whatever he read in her steady gaze made him sigh as he pressed his fingertips to his forehead.

“Anyway, I didn’t mean it. I won’t force you if you don’t want it, so say it clearly. Do you dislike it or not?”

He said it as though he were being magnanimous.

Rosie let out a soft, incredulous laugh.

At that, Callios’s eyes grew cold, and Rosie felt as though she were sitting on needles.

His voice dropped even lower.

“Why do you always look at me like that?”

“Like what?”

He didn’t answer, only jerked his chin toward the table.

“That. You don’t even realize how wasteful you’re being.”

He pointed at the piece of bread whose crust she had cut off and left untouched.

Rosie’s eyes narrowed. She knew that Callios had grown up in the slums and suffered brutal poverty before being adopted by the ducal house.

But what did that have to do with the ‘unpleasant look’ he claimed she had given him? What did discarding a crust have to do with any of this?

Rosie sighed and deliberately set down the small knife.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Your Grace.”

“Then stop calling me that.”

“What’s wrong with calling a duke ‘Your Grace’?”

Callios also set down the sharp knife he had been holding with a cold, decisive clack. His gaze was icy as he spoke.

“Anyone who hears you would think we’re strangers.”

‘We will be strangers soon enough.’

But Rosie swallowed her words, restraining herself with great difficulty.

Hiding her true thoughts, she quietly continued eating her bread.

Callios watched her with dissatisfaction.

“Be honest. What’s the real reason you’re trying to avoid me?”

“I need to prepare for tomorrow’s birthday banquet. I need to rest early. But if I spend the night with you, every time…”

Her voice faltered. At the word Your Grace, his brow twitched again, and he gestured for her to continue.

“Every time?”

“Every time…”

It wasn’t a topic she wanted to discuss. Heat prickled up Rosie’s face—humiliating, embarrassing.

Did she really have to say this just to get out of tonight?

“It goes on too long.”

She lifted a white embroidered handkerchief with elegant fingers, covering her trembling lips and flushed cheeks.

“So it’s exhausting. And it makes it difficult to prepare for the banquet the next day.”

Callios looked at her in surprise, as if he had never considered such a possibility.

“If that’s all, then we can just finish quickly.”

…Finish quickly?

It was ridiculous.

No matter how much she begged, he never stopped early. Whenever he returned from the ducal residence or after long periods away, he was always rough, as if trying to make up for lost time. Most nights, she would faint and sleep through dawn.

Rosie looked at him in open disbelief.

Callios, cutting through the remaining steak, answered calmly.

“I don’t know if I can, but I’ll try.”

‘Look at that.’

Rosie’s light brown eyebrows twitched.

“Either way, I’m not feeling well. I’ll rest alone tonight.”

She spoke plainly and rose from her seat when his deep, low voice stopped her.

“Rosy.”

Her name, spoken by him, sounded like it carried the scent of blood.

Under Callios’s hand, the meat sliced cleanly—smooth, silent—followed by a slow trickle of red juice.

“Stop making excuses. Tell me the truth.”

His expression tightened, as if restraining anger.

“I’ve wanted to ask for a while, did someone else appear while I was away on campaign?”

Ah! So that was it. No wonder he kept mentioning duty and insisted on sharing a bed.

Rosie almost laughed from sheer disbelief.

When she finally answered, her voice was quiet and cold.

“It’s not even worth answering.”

“Or do you just hate spending the night with me that much?”

The tea in front of her had already cooled completely.

Rosie met his eyes directly and spoke slowly.

“Yes. I hate it.”

“…What?”

“No—it’s dreadful.”

Callios hadn’t expected her to go that far. His brows tightened painfully. A small spark ignited in the depths of his black eyes.

“Say that again. What did you just say?”

She would once have been terrified.

But Rosie had nothing left to fear. She was finished with tiptoeing around him.

She picked up the cold tea and drank it all at once, then put the cup down loudly on purpose.

“To be honest, hoping for something that will never happen is dreadful. This torment of false hope is awful. That’s why I refused. Do you really need another reason?”

‘Even if I did have a child, you wouldn’t like it anyway.’

He had recoiled the moment he heard of her pregnancy. The prospect of having an heir had never excited him. The thought of being burdened always irritated him.

He had never liked children anyway.

To carry an unwanted child and feel her whole body stiffening and rotting away from the inside… It was cruel even to recall it. And yet she still wished for him to appear just once more before she died.

Until the very end, she kept asking herself: What did Callios ever see in me? He was a man with a strong sense of responsibility.

Once, a long time ago, she had mistaken his sense of responsibility and all his restraints for affection. But the repeated hurt, the cutting words and the suffocating cycles… She had grown sick of it all.

Only when she was finally freed from him forever did she understand.

He had never loved her. Ultimately, the only person Callios loved was himself. He loved the idea of being honorable, mistaking his own rigid sense of duty for virtue.

Naturally, he wouldn’t tolerate hearing such things from a wife he considered loyal. Disgrace did not sit well with him.

His dark brows tightened in displeasure.

“False hope?”

“I mean the heir.”

Whatever thought crossed his mind, Callios’s expression slowly hardened.

Swallowing the heat rising in her throat, Rosie spoke carefully.

“I’ll give you one piece of advice, Your Grace.”

“……”

“An heir will never be born between us. So you might as well take someone else.”

Callios’s expression became utterly absurd. His eyes flickered with disbelief, as if he were hearing something truly deranged.

“You’re telling me to take another woman?”

“Isn’t that better than tormenting someone who simply can’t?”

“Rosie Benedict.”

That marked the end of the conversation.

“I’m feeling unwell. I’ll go first.”

Feigning calm, she rose from her seat.

She had never once left the table before he had finished eating in her life.

“Wait.”

Gracefully turning back, Rosie met Callios’s sharp, cutting gaze.

With an expressionless face, she spoke quietly.

“Happy birthday in advance.”

Callios’s perfectly sculpted face twisted.

***

The next day, amid the bustling crowd, Rosie was overwhelmed with greeting people. Voices congratulating her filled the hall from every direction.

“Are you all right, Madam? Let me wipe your sweat.”

Jenny followed anxiously behind her, repeatedly dabbing her forehead with a handkerchief.

“Thank you. Let’s rest a moment.”

Rosie sat down briefly to rest her aching legs.

Looking around the banquet hall, she saw that, as she had expected, the most noticeable figure was her husband, Callios Benedict.

This was not because he was the host or birthday celebrant, but because he had an extraordinary presence.

His broad shoulders and powerful physique were straining against a deep blue tailcoat that had been tailored to fit his muscular frame. An overwhelming pressure radiated from him, born of countless battlefields.

His face was flawless and perfectly sculpted, as if carved by a renowned master. She had once almost fainted with excitement when their engagement was first announced.

She even felt relieved that her fiancé was Callios and not Pante.

‘What a foolish mistake.’

Rosie wiped the smile off her face quickly and lifted her gown slightly as she greeted people with practiced politeness. Then she took her seat beside Callios quietly, her expression blank.

Since she entered the hall, he had been staring at her persistently and unyieldingly.

‘It must be because of what happened yesterday.’

Rosie could guess the reason well enough, yet she continued greeting people with calm politeness.

“Thank you for coming. Are you enjoying yourselves?”

The hall was filled with laughter and cheerful chatter, except around Callios, where the atmosphere was tense. He had never enjoyed social gatherings, but he seemed even more irritated and bored than usual today.

Anyone seeing him would think he was at an enemy’s banquet rather than his own birthday celebration.

‘And he returned to the duchy only two days ago after a long journey. He must be tired.’

He had subdued a border kingdom by force, negotiated an alliance, and upon arriving home, had been swamped with work.

Rosie’s gaze drifted to the sword fastened at his hip.

‘As expected.’

Except when meeting the Emperor, Callios never took that sword off once. It was a legendary blade, forged from a dragon’s heart by a master craftsman and given as a precious gift from the Emperor himself as a symbol of friendship.

As long as Callios Benedict possessed that sword, he would remain at the center of power. People seemed to think the same, stealing subtle glances at the imperial blade.

Sensing those looks, Isabella smiled proudly and said,

“Our Duke cannot part with his sword even after returning from war.”

“All of it is for the safety of the Empire.”

Pante added tactfully, following his mother’s lead in praising Callios.

With that, the guests became livelier.

“As expected of the Duke!”

“He is truly remarkable. His devotion to the Empire burns fiercely.”

Compliments poured down like rain.

Rosie, however, simply stood there with an impassive expression, sipping her wine.

‘There’s an awful lot of nonsense today.’