Rob Beisler clicked his tongue as he met Callios’s tense gaze.

“She said you should stop drinking so much.”

“…Is that so?”

A hollow, breathless laugh escaped him.

It was just a simple message, yet he could clearly picture her expression and how she must have said it.

It was as if she were standing right in front of him now.

‘Even after suffering such humiliation and walking out there alone, you’re still worrying about me.’

Her kindness felt like poison.

His chest throbbed as if it had been pierced.

Callios let out a helpless laugh and collapsed back into his seat.

While Rob opened every window to air out the suffocating smell of alcohol, Callios asked quietly.

“Did she… seem all right.”

“She looked far better than she did at the duchy. More lively, too.”

Of course. The Benedict Duchy had taken a toll on her health. After what she had endured, that was only natural.

The rumors about her being unable to bear children might even have been true.

His teeth clenched hard.

Sighing heavily, Rob gathered all the empty bottles into his arms and reported.

“The other vassal lords have also heard the news and… there’s no particular objection to Lady Isabella Benedict’s imprisonment.”

“They’d better not object. Anyone who does—I’ll cut off their ears. If anyone had the nerve to protest after hearing all that, it would perhaps be better to cut their head off.”

Rob flinched at Callios’s low, murderous mutter.

He knew the man meant every word, so he couldn’t dismiss it lightly.

“Everything’s fine, but please, at least refrain from acting frightening in front of the young lady. I did tell you—many times—to speak more gently…”

“Did you come here because you’re eager for an early grave?”

Good grief! That mouth of his!

Rob Beisler sighed inwardly, but remained silent for the sake of survival.

Just then, a servant rushed in and reported hastily.

“The Emperor’s letter, My Lord.”

Had it been an important state matter, a high-ranking official would have arrived in a golden carriage, facing the imperial palace as he presented the letter with both hands.

However, given its simplicity, it seemed personal.

Callios, whose drunken haze vanished at once, took the Emperor’s letter calmly.

The messenger cleared his throat, glancing anxiously.

“His Majesty insisted that you must reply.”

Callios unfolded the letter and immediately frowned.

“Citra Theater?”

It was the theatre that he had once visited with Rosie. The cursed theatre where she had first told him that she wanted a divorce.

The invitation was to accompany the imperial family to watch a play together at the Citra Theatre.

However, it was the small postscript that made his brow twitch.

[I know you’re troubled over the divorce matter, but do make sure you attend.]

If he knew that Callios was troubled, he should never have summoned him.

Seeing Callios’s expression darken, the imperial messenger shifted nervously.

After sending back a reply confirming his attendance and dismissing those who had come with him, silence fell again in the office.

Callios reached for another bottle on the shelf, but stopped.

He stared blankly at the unopened bottle, then let out a long sigh.

“Haa…”

He put the bottle straight back where he had found it.

Rosiei’s advice to drink in moderation seemed to echo in his ears.

Although the alcohol had stopped hurting his head, Callios still rested his forehead against the shelf for a long time, as if he might hear the voice of his departed wife.

***

New servants arrived outside of the Count’s manor.

Jenny watched them with satisfaction as she chatted to Rosie, who was trimming freshly picked herbs.

“The chief steward recommended is remarkably competent.”

“Right? I’m glad we were introduced.”

“And the cook you personally brought in is excellent too. Ah, Coachman Hans will be back soon as well!”

“That’s wonderful. He was so reluctant when he had to leave back then.”

News that the Moavis manor had regained its former liveliness drew back many old acquaintances who had previously left.

As the former butler had passed away, the chief steward of the duchy had introduced a new butler himself.

Rosie was grateful for this, but when he visited the Count’s manor that day, he noticed that the chief steward’s face was unusually stern.

“How are things at the duchy?”

“Don’t even mention it. After the young lady left, it was chaos…”

He said that the duchy had been shrouded in deathly silence.

Everyone was so shocked that the atmosphere remained dismal for days.

Later, whenever people gathered in pairs or groups, they would whisper about what had happened that day.

Pante Benedict quickly sensed the mood. Furious at being humiliated, he flew into a rage.

“How dare those who ought to submit gossip about their master?”

Pante had always been prone to hitting servants, but he grew increasingly violent, doing even worse things.

Until Callios quietly warned him once:

“Watch yourself. If you want to continue playing at being a half-baked tyrant, then you need to know your limits.”

It was a direct criticism of Pante’s rule, which was based on fear.

Since then, Pante Benedict had become silent and withdrawn.

A strange tension lingered between Callios and Pante, creating an uneasy atmosphere.

Callios appeared to be waiting for any excuse to remove Pante and kept a constant eye on him.

Hearing this, Rosie’s delicate brows pinched together.

“Wait. Are you saying the Duke already knew everything Pante did all this time?”

The chief steward nodded gloomily.

Rosie felt a quiet shock settle inside her.

He had known everything else, yet somehow he had truly not known what had happened to her.

No — at that point, it meant that he hadn’t even tried to find out.

‘Did he really mean it when he said he trusted me as the lady of the house?’

He had promised never to interfere in internal affairs, and he kept his promise.

Was it to protect her authority?

Whatever his intentions, by looking the other way, he left Rosie at the mercy of his violent family.

The result was a tragedy born from a perfect blend of calculated malice and convenient indifference.

“Even if he knew… the fact that he never imposed any restrictions is just… far too much.”

Did it mean he didn’t care what happened to the servants? Rosie shuddered at Callios’s apathy.

Just then, the chief steward took out a potted olive tree from the large box he had brought.

“Ah, yes. The knights asked me to deliver this to you…”

“I appreciate it, but please tell them they really don’t need to keep sending more.”

Rosie pressed her fingers to her brow as she looked at the ever-growing pile of olive pots around her.

At this rate, she might as well start her own olive farm!

Noticing her expression, the steward faltered, then quietly returned his olive pot to the box.

Thank goodness.

However, once she had heard from the steward how the vassal families and the duchy’s servants had reacted, a strange unease settled over her.

This was particularly the case when she learned how furious Rob Beisler’s people had been.

She never imagined that the things she had once wanted to accomplish before she died would come back to her like this.

What had once been nothing but humiliation and shame had been repeated so often that she had grown completely numb to it.

‘Ever since returning to the count’s manor, my body really has gotten much better…’

Aside from a few difficult days when she first arrived, the stiffness and pain had almost completely disappeared.

Her headaches had gone, and her body felt clearer than it had in years.

It seemed as if only better days lay ahead.

Yet she still feared that the end could come without warning.

Despite her attempts to prepare herself, the cold sensation of dying — experiencing it again — terrified her.

She had asked Sir Elaine, the head physician, about another patient’s symptoms, but this did not help.

‘What is it… what is this illness?’

Even in her previous life, doctors could only speculate that it was a hereditary condition passed down through the Count’s family. No one had ever provided a precise diagnosis.

Suppressing her frustration, she showed the steward out.

As she wiped the herbal stains from her fingertips, Jenny rushed towards her.

“My Lady! An invitation just arrived from Natalie!”

Once Sabrina was expelled, Natalie took her place at the Citra Theatre.

Rosie opened the envelope and found an invitation with a date inside.

[The imperial family will be attending this performance! I’m so nervous, I really need your support. Please cheer for me from the special guest seats! Please!]

She was exactly like Natalie: playful, dramatic and lively.

She probably wasn’t nervous at all. What a fuss!

Rosie let out a small laugh, dipped the pen into the ink bottle and quickly wrote her reply.

‘If she says she needs support, then I must go.’

She hadn’t given it much thought, but a few days later, she found herself standing outside the Citra Theatre.

The moment she climbed up to the second-floor guest balcony, however, she was startled.

‘He’s here too?’

Callios was sitting far across the hall.

With his chin resting on the armrest, he stared ahead, lost in thought. His profile looked listless and almost weary.

His jawline appeared even sharper, and he had grown thinner, which accentuated his already striking features.

As if sensing her gaze, Callios suddenly turned his head.

Startled, she instinctively ducked behind the nearest person.

‘…Should I just leave?’

She hesitated, but the thought of disappointing Natalie made her feet root to the spot.

Right.

He wasn’t someone she was forbidden to look at.

There was no reason why she should be the one to avoid him first.

Letting out a quiet sigh, Rosie slipped into the most secluded seat she could find.

Looking around, she saw that it wasn’t just the imperial family in attendance: Callios, Marquis Lockbell Midas and numerous other high-ranking nobles filled the hall.

‘Ah… so this was that kind of gathering.’

The Emperor occasionally held these gatherings to foster goodwill among the upper classes.

She should have remembered that.

Just then, a few noble ladies recognized Rosie and began whispering amongst themselves.

One of them — someone Rosie knew — started walking towards her.

Rosie forced a smile onto her face, but her expression remained tight.

At this rate, Callios was bound to notice her.

‘Please don’t speak to me. Please…’