Rosie wiped her lips thoroughly, worried that Jenny might notice, and then quietly hid the handkerchief, acting as if nothing had happened. Not only was her stomach burning, she was also anxious about when she might get caught.

‘If only the marquis could find some kind of clue….’

Why had her symptoms started to worsen? And why were new symptoms appearing that hadn’t been there before?

‘I didn’t cough up blood, though.’

She soothed the sting in her stomach with a sip of water and was just about to stand to resume her tasks when the butler informed her that Ashley had arrived at the count’s residence. Rosie welcomed her warmly.

“A–young lady! You’re here.”

“It’s been a while, sister. I brought this child with me too.”

Ashley arrived carrying a lot of things, which she asked the duke’s attendants to put down. Ide, the attendant who had once been humiliated by Callios by being chained up, was with her. Fortunately, Callios hadn’t bothered him since then and he had remained in the ducal household.

Rosie smiled, genuinely pleased to see him.

“It’s been a while for you too. I’m glad you look healthy.”

Ide grinned broadly, showing his teeth.

“I’ve been well thanks to you, madam. Thank you.”

“Good. …Hm? Where did she go?”

It was too soon for Jenny to have prepared the refreshments. While Rosie looked around for the missing girl, Ashley handed her a thick bundle of papers.

“Do you remember what you asked me before? About the missing sponsorship records? You wanted to know who supported the Citra Troupe Master. It turns out that the chief steward kept separate notes on everything he omitted.”

He had even documented exactly how many gold bars he skimmed.

Rosie looked down at the documents and lifted her head in shocked disbelief.

“Pante Benedict? The young master?”

“Yes. That’s what it shows.”

She had expected it to be Isabella.

It was unexpected.

“However, upon further investigation, it emerged that the troupe master was also responsible for bringing Sabrina and Viscount Russel together.”

Ashley spoke her former lover’s name in a dry, detached tone, as though she had completely moved on. Rosie lowered the documents, a faint frown forming between her brows.

“The troupe master introduced those two?”

“Yes. Apparently he invited them to some private gathering and introduced them there.”

Ashley’s expression dimmed.

“He knew that man was dating me, and yet…”

Ultimately, it seemed that Ashley was destined to be drawn into something unpleasant. From the moment Viscount Russel became Sabrina’s lover, her fate was sealed. It felt as though she had been targeted from the very beginning — a strange and twisted arrangement indeed.

‘…I’m probably overthinking it. My mind’s been all over the place lately.’

Perhaps he had introduced them without giving it a second thought. The troupe master had never cared if someone was already in a relationship.

Nevertheless, he could have got caught up in the case of forbidden sorcery and been dismissed like the others. But he hadn’t. He survived. Conveniently so. This alone left a bitter, uneasy feeling behind.

Rosie was deep in thought when Ashley, looking timid and guilty, finally spoke.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you before. That guest who walked out in the middle… Rumors spread everywhere after that. The duchy didn’t protect you at all.”

Rosie smiled softly at the sight of Ashley nervously twisting her fingers.

“There was nothing anyone could have done. I suppose that’s simply my fate.”

Ashley, who had been apologizing non-stop, suddenly remembered something and began rummaging through the items she had brought with her.

“Right—someone asked me to give this to you since I was coming here…”

“If it’s from Olive, you can tell her I’m fine now.”

Rosie said, trying to refuse with an awkward look, but Ashley shook her head.

“No, not her. My brother asked me to deliver this. The rest of these are my gifts.”

“The Duke?”

Ashley nodded and handed her a small envelope containing a short note. The handwriting was sharp and precise, and unmistakably Callios’.

[If you wish, spend the upcoming holiday at the lakeside villa. The air there is good.]

The date at the bottom was 10 December, their former wedding anniversary. A day that no longer held any meaning at all.

Rosie let out a quiet, bitter laugh. She immediately understood his intentions. Driven by guilt, he was offering her a pleasant retreat and telling her to rest at the villa.

‘Well, I have been working non-stop at the Count’s estate.’

It wasn’t a bad suggestion. The tight ache in her stomach eased a little.

Before long, Rosie left the residence with Ashley, who was heading home.

“I should stop by the hospital first.”

She murmured. She had coughed up blood again and needed to inform Viscount Elaine of her symptoms, as well as greet Marquis Midas while she was there. She had been running into him often at the hospital lately.

Having someone who knew her secret and protected it made things easier.

As expected, Marquis Midas was already waiting in the reception room reserved for distinguished guests when she arrived. Rosie offered him a polite smile and greeted him.

“You’re here again today.”

“How could I possibly take my eyes off a lady I worry so dearly for?”

He might as well be living there by now.

The hospital director, Viscount Elaine, shot a troubled look over the rim of his glasses at the Marquis, who was loitering nearby.

After clearing his throat, he turned his attention back to Rosie, who was sitting opposite him.

“May I ask what color the blood was?”

“Mm… It seems to have gotten lighter. It used to be a very dark red.”

The blood, which had once been thick and murky like stagnant water, had gradually become clearer. But that didn’t mean her condition was improving. She was still coughing it up.

Viscount Elaine’s looked at the Marquis of Midas, who was fiddling with a drawing of the human body in his office. She looked at him, clearly uncomfortable

“Marquis, aren’t you busy?”

“Ah, I’m on vacation at the moment. Get back to work.”

Acting slick, the Marquis waved his hand, pulled up a chair next to Rosie and sat down as soon as Viscount Elaine left. His green eyes shone calmly as he admired Rosie’s profile leisurely.

Eventually, feeling uncomfortable, Rosie turned to face him and asked.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Marquis?”

‘Because you’re fascinating.”

“What is so fascinating about me?”

When Rosie chuckled and asked, Marquis Midas replied seriously.

“Aren’t you afraid?”

He meant: how could she remain so composed when faced with death? Rosie chose her words carefully before answering calmly and unshakably.

“Because I’ve experienced it once.”

“What do you mean?”

“The mental strain. In marriage.”

She spoke lightly, as if it were a joke, though it wasn’t entirely false. A half-truth slipped from her lips.

Midas nodded immediately as if he understood everything.

“Your marriage must have been terribly difficult. Given Duke Benedict’s temperament, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Everyone around Callios reacted in the same way. Even Rob Beisler, who was extremely loyal, had firm views about his lord’s character.

Fully convinced that he now understood the situation completely, the Marquis gave a thoughtful nod and picked up a roughly sketched anatomy diagram, examining it as though it were a masterpiece.

“Still, for all his temper, he did seem to make some effort not to treat his wife harshly.”

“…Did he?”

Rosie had spent so much time trying to avoid being hurt by his cold, cutting words. At some point, the fear of being hurt had made her withdraw into herself, causing her courage to fade and her heart to close shut.

If that was his idea of ‘trying’, she didn’t know what to say.

The Marquis seemed to understand exactly what she was thinking and made another casual remark.

“My situation is slightly different, but believe it or not, I am one of the Emperor’s two chariots. So I’m fairly familiar with Duke Benedict.”

Rosie’s interest was clear to see, and the Marquis noticed. He smiled.

“From what I’ve gathered, his temperament seems rooted in things that happened during his childhood.”

“Do you know more about it?”

Callios had never spoken about those years. Rumors only went so far.

Rosie tried to appear indifferent, but her curiosity got the better of her. After a moment’s thought, the Marquis put down the anatomy sketch and smiled playfully.

“Do you truly wish to know that much about Duke Benedict?”

Rosie hesitated and quickly looked away from his gaze.

“Is it strange… to be curious about someone I’ve separated from?”

Instead of answering, Marquis Midas gently took hold of her chin. Shifting her gaze towards him, he smiled warmly and teased her.

“If you call me Lockbell, I’ll tell you.”

No one besides Callios had ever caught her like this. Rosie flinched, startled, and turned her head sharply away as if to shake him off.

“Your hand, please…”

“Ah—my apologies.”

He released her at once, but the moment was still awkward. He was the type who touched others easily, who carried familiarity without hesitation.

Rosie quickly put distance between them and hurriedly repeated his condition.

“Lo—Lockbell… Marquis Midas.”

“…I didn’t mean for you to say the entire title, but fine.”

He didn’t seem particularly pleased, but with a sigh, he began.

“I heard his birth mother had quite a violent temperament.”

“The Duke’s mother?”

He nodded, tapping his fingers against the table in a steady rhythm.

“For someone from a knightly family, her mouth was… vicious—like a mercenary’s. She was said to be quite beautiful, but her hands were terribly rough. In many ways, a well-known figure.”

“Ah…”

“I don’t know the full details, but I expect he was beaten quite often as a child. There were even people who’d witnessed it with their own eyes.”

Callios had never spoken about his mother, not even once. Whenever the topic arose, he would quietly steer the conversation away or shut it down altogether.

“And she was an alcoholic. Even back when she lived in the brothel, she drank like it was water. Her drunken outbursts were said to be vicious.”

Rosie’s brows knitted together as she absorbed his words.

It made sense — Callios’s sharp, rough edges must have been shaped, at least in part, by the woman who gave birth to him.

“Now that I think about it… he rarely drank in front of me.”

She murmured the thought aloud without realizing it, then lifted her head when she felt a steady gaze on her.

Marquis Midas’s clear green eyes blinked once, quietly searching her expression.

“Do you still have feelings for the duke, my lady?”