For the past few days, Vincent had been in a foul, volatile mood.

Thanks to that, Hedwell, who had been on leave, was forced to rush back to the empire.

“Get a hold of yourself already!”

Hedwell finally snapped, unable to endure Vincent’s reckless behavior any longer.

“Mind your own business.”

Vincent replied lazily, picking at his ear.

Hedwell’s expression darkened.

“What’s your problem?”

He glared resentfully at the pile of documents in front of him, clutching the back of his neck.

These past few days, Vincent had turned into a brawler getting into fights at every opportunity, as if deliberately driving himself into ruin.

“I finally feel like I can breathe again, that’s all.”

Vincent smiled faintly.

Hedwell slapped his forehead.

He was at his wit’s end.

Here he was barely surviving, while Vincent claimed to feel alive.

It was maddening.

“You’ve returned, my lord.”

As Vincent stepped into the estate, Philip greeted him.

Vincent glanced over the servants lined neatly at the entrance and gave a small nod.

It had been a week since Laila Loardy disappeared from sight after that night.

But Vincent himself had been staying out just as often.

Despite living under the same roof, they had barely crossed paths.

Now that she had begun her own silent protest he responded by showing even more indifference.

It was obvious what she wanted: control over the household.

Vincent let out a quiet scoff and headed not for their shared bedroom, but another room.

After washing quickly with cold water and throwing on a robe, he stepped out.

Philip was already preparing tea.

“Did you go to the palace today, my lord?”

“What is that, some kind of ritual question?”

Vincent sneered, dropping into a chair.

“The Emperor doesn’t say anything, so if anyone has a problem, they can try me.”

His usual sharp tone.

Yet Philip could tell his master’s mood had sunk to its lowest.

Lately, Vincent had skipped his duties at the palace, attending only parties instead.

“I’m tired.”

A clear dismissal.

Philip bowed and withdrew.

Left alone, Vincent sat there for a long time, his expression twisted as he stared into nothing.

‘……I come home, and she’s nowhere to be seen.’

Not a trace of Laila.

It was as if she had vanished entirely.

Was she always this invisible?

Vincent frowned, recalling her appearance.

Plain, far from extravagant.

A smooth forehead, lowered lashes.

Behind them, calm violet eyes.

Her skin held a faint warmth, her lips soft and quietly alluring.

Her violet hair fell neatly, her waist slender enough to grasp with one hand.

Thin, delicate yet unmistakably a woman.

“…D*mn it.”

The curse slipped out.

What the h*ll was he doing, thinking like this?

His face twisted.

With a sudden motion, he slammed his fist against the table.

“……”

The teacup tipped over, spilling its contents onto his hand.

Though he had just washed in cold water, his body felt hot.

His brows drew together sharply.

The wind rustled faintly outside, brushing away the lingering heat but not the unease.

This was all Laila’s fault.

When he didn’t want to see her, she appeared endlessly.

Now that she had disappeared like a mouse, he found himself more aware of her than ever before.

Him.

Vincent Loardy.

“…Hah.”

He exhaled deeply, tilting his head back.

After calming himself, he adjusted his robe and made his way toward the bridal chamber.

This was merely a check.

If she had collapsed somewhere, as head of the house, he needed to know.

If she was seeing another man, way better.

He could finally file for divorce.

“My lord?”

As he reached the chamber, the maid he had seen before stepped out.

In her hands were a basin and a damp cloth.

Her uneasy expression narrowed Vincent’s eyes.

“Is she inside?”

“Please wait, my lord!”

Just as he was about to enter, the maid hurriedly blocked his path.

Vincent’s expression turned sharp.

What was this supposed to be?

Did she even know who stood before her?

Even if she had come from Laila’s family he was still the master of this house.

“How amusing. What exactly are you trying to do?”

Vincent’s voice turned cold.

The maid’s face went pale at once, realizing her mistake.

“I-I’m sorry… I acted rashly… please forgive me…”

“Why did you stop me? What is Lady Nelasidad doing in there?”

“T-that is…”

Her hesitation made Vincent raise a brow.

Then something crossed his mind.

“Ha. Is that it?”

The corner of his lips twisted.

“So she’s been enjoying herself, and I interrupted?”

He laughed sharply.

No wonder she hadn’t shown herself for a week.

So while her husband was away, she had been entertaining herself.

His face flushed red with anger.

His already dark crimson eyes burned even more fiercely.

The servants all seemed to know and only he had been left in the dark.

Not because he expected her to be different but because he had been made a fool.

“I’m sorry… I’m unwell.”

At that moment, the door opened.

A faint voice, barely holding itself together.

Vincent turned and his eyes widened.

Laila Loardy stood there, sweat beading across her forehead.

Her thin nightgown clung damply to her skin.

‘She was sick?’

Vincent studied her carefully.

Her skin was pale, almost ghostlike.

Even her lips had lost their color.

He held his breath.

Only now did it make sense.

She hadn’t been avoiding him.

She had been ill.

That was why she hadn’t questioned where he’d been, why she hadn’t come to greet him.

Everything fell into place.

“……”

After a moment of silence, Vincent dismissed the maid with a glance and shut the door.

Laila stumbled back under his presence, clutching her nightgown as her body trembled.

“Vincent.”

“Since when?”

“…What?”

“Since when have you been sick?”

“Vincent, I…”

She looked at him blankly.

Then suddenly, she smiled.

A soft, fragile smile.

And beneath her lowered lashes, tears slipped down.

Had she been in that much pain?

Vincent froze.

He couldn’t look away.

The image of her crying lodged itself in his mind like a stone embedded deep.

The more he tried to push it away, the clearer it became.

Not knowing what to do, he clenched his fist, trying to steady himself.

“…Honestly, you…”

A foolish woman.

That was all he could think.

With a strained patience, Vincent guided her gently onto the bed.

“…Vincent.”

Her voice sounded almost like a complaint.

She wasn’t herself.

‘Because she’s sick?’

Yes.

That must be it.

Then.

“I don’t like you.”

His body went rigid.

“You always hurt me.”

What… did she just say?

His lips parted, stunned.

His crimson eyes filled with confusion.

Laila looked at him with unfocused eyes.

“It hurts… here… it hurts so much…”

She tapped her chest weakly.

“It hurts so much… but when I see you…”

Tears fell again.

Her small hand came to rest against his cheek.

And Vincent, could not think.

She didn’t like him?

Not him rejecting her, but her rejecting him?

‘Laila Nelasidad… hates me?’

His thoughts slowed, as if something had broken.

Why?

That made no sense.

Questions filled his mind but no words came out.

He wanted to grab her shoulders, to demand an answer but he couldn’t.

Everything felt unreal.

“Still… I’ll stay by your side.”

“Why… why?”

His voice came out hoarse.

“Because I…”

Her hand still rested against his face as her eyes slowly closed.

Vincent’s eyes widened.

He caught her hand instinctively, gripping it tightly as if she might disappear.

Soon, her breathing steadied.

She had fallen asleep.

Vincent exhaled sharply, dragging in the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

For a moment, he stood frozen.

Then, as if afraid, he stepped back.

His movements unsteady as though he might collapse at any moment.

***

The next day, Laila prepared to leave.

She still looked unwell, and Becky tried to stop her but Laila was firm.

In the end, Becky helped her get dressed.

“Becky… did Vincent come by yesterday?”

Becky paused, comb in hand.

“…No.”

The lie slipped out before she could stop herself.

It felt wrong to deceive her mistress but remembering last night, she had no choice.

Vincent’s expression had been terrifying.

‘You.’

Just being called by him had made her heart pound with fear.

‘Don’t tell anyone I was here.’

“E-even madam?”

When Becky had asked hesitantly, Vincent’s expression had darkened.

‘No one.’

Faced with his warning, Becky had no choice but to nod.

She didn’t want to lie but she wanted even less to be cast out of the estate.

She couldn’t leave her mistress.

“I see… so no one came.”

Laila murmured quietly.

Guilt pricked at Becky’s chest.

“…Yes. But, my lady… you’re still unwell. Where are you going?”