“How could a blind woman possibly do such a thing?”

Baron Logan inwardly breathed a sigh of relief at the thought that he had found a way to survive. However, he fell silent at the follow-up question, as though he had been struck dumb. But only for a moment.

“I–I was told she ordered someone to do it.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“And why would that woman want to kill Isabel?”

“Bel has always resented Isabel. Even when they were children, she felt inferior, and her feelings only intensified after she lost her sight. She is convinced that Isabel started the fire that damaged her eyes. I never thought she would go so far as to commit a crime like this, but…”

Baron Logan continued, his voice steady and practiced, as though he were reciting lines he had rehearsed many times before.

Until now, Damian had believed that the two of them had acted together, or that Baron Logan had carried it out alone. Because Bel was blind, she had largely been beyond suspicion.

But if she had ordered someone else to act on her behalf, that changed everything.

An object surfaced in his mind: the ring discovered near the scene of the accident.

Without a word, Damian slipped his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and withdrew it. He let it fall onto the table in front of Baron Logan. It struck the surface with a dull, metallic clink.

The Baron forced his swollen eyes open and stared at the object before him. His split head throbbed violently and he felt nauseous, but he endured it.

The moment he could see it clearly, he recognized it. His eyes widened at the sight of the familiar ring.

“You know what it is. It was found at the scene of the accident.”

“Ah…”

Baron Logan’s hands trembled as he reached out to take the ring.

He recognized it immediately. It was his cursed wife’s ring.

How on earth had it got here?

His confused gaze darted between the ring and Damian; his swollen eyes were clouded with disbelief.

After her death, he had discarded all her belongings. He could not bear the thought of keeping a single memento of the woman who had abandoned him and carried another man’s child. The fact that Bel, her living reminder, still lived on his estate was enough to fill him with shame and disgust.

‘Bel?’

At that moment, he was struck by a memory of the silver ring that had always hung around Bel’s neck.

It was this ring.

A pain sharper than the one he had felt when his head hit the wall pierced through him.

Bel. This was the ring she had always carried. Then why…?

The accident scene? Had this ring been found at the scene?

Of course, his earlier claim that Bel had killed Isabel had been a lie. He had only mentioned her name to divert Damian’s anger away from himself.

But the moment he saw the ring, something inside him shifted. His thoughts began to change.

“This… this is Bel’s ring.”

“…”

“It was her mother’s keepsake. Bel always carried it with her. And you’re saying it was found at the scene of Isabel’s accident?”

Baron Logan ground his teeth. He did not know how Bel had managed it, but if this ring had truly been found at the scene, then it was almost certain that she had killed Isabel.

“…”

Damian looked down at the Baron, who was gasping for breath, looking both betrayed and angry. It didn’t seem like an act, but Damian couldn’t trust his words completely either.

If the Baron’s claims were true, Isabel’s death would not have benefited him. But would a man desperate enough to present a substitute in her place have killed her for real?

Bel, however, was another matter.

Damian had dismissed her as a suspect because she was blind. In his mind, she lacked both the motive and the strength to commit such a crime.

But now, she had a motive.

His assumption that she lacked the strength to commit such a crime was just that — an assumption. As the Baron had said, she could have simply ordered someone else to carry it out.

Then there was the ring.

If it truly belonged to Bel—

Damian picked it up once more and turned away. Ignoring the desperate voice calling after him, he strode out of the room.

***

“You’ve returned.”

It was a voice he hadn’t heard for a long time. It sounded low and weighed down with fatigue.

Bel studied his expression carefully before apologizing for what had happened in the study.

“I’m sorry about what happened before.”

She had entered his office without permission and disturbed important documents in a room that was not hers. Understandably, Damian was angry.

“That day?”

Damian repeated the words as though he did not understand, but he quickly realized what she meant. He had been especially on edge at that time. Though, truth be told, little had changed even now.

“Pay it no mind.”

Although his tone was indifferent, Bel felt reassured. His mood didn’t seem particularly bad to her.

This was a misjudgement born of her blindness.

She straightened her posture, intending to raise the matter she had come to discuss.

But Damian was quicker.

“I have something to say—”

“Madam.”

Her lips, which had only just parted with effort, slowly closed again. It was only then that Bel realized that something was wrong. Her body stiffened instantly.

But from his voice alone, she could not fully grasp what was happening. Never had her blindness felt so suffocating and limiting.

“Please, have some tea first. I’m told it’s a rare blend, personally imported from the Western Regions by the Marchioness of Valita.”

There was a subtle yet undeniable pressure in his tone — more of an unspoken command than a suggestion. Unable to refuse, Bel lifted the cup with unsteady hands and took a small sip of the dark tea.

“It’s… quite nice.”

Her tongue was so tense that she could barely taste anything. Nevertheless, she forced an awkward smile and said it was good. It had been described as rare and precious, so she felt she should praise it out of courtesy, even though she didn’t like it.

“Is that so? How strange. Did you not say you were allergic to peaches?”

For a moment, a suffocating silence descended upon her, like ice water being poured over her head.

The garden was so quiet that it felt as though it had been cut off from the outside world.

Her lips, which had just brushed the rim of her teacup, trembled faintly. Only then did she detect the faint, unmistakable scent of peach. The taste spreading across her tongue turned bitter, as if she had swallowed poison.

Before she could feel ashamed of being exposed as a liar, confusion and doubt surged through her instead.

If he knew about her peach allergy, why had he served her peach-infused tea?

Her fingers tightened around the cup. Not knowing his intentions filled her with creeping, suffocating dread.

“Ah. I suppose that would make sense—since you do not, in fact, have a peach allergy.”

A wave of dizziness hit her as if all the blood had drained from her feet. Her bleached hair felt cold, and she could feel tension tightening her lower abdomen.

“Is that not so?”

His flat, emotionless voice cut through her fading awareness.

Her heart plummeted as though into an abyss. Her dry hands began to tremble, betraying the fragile turmoil she could no longer hide.

At last, the teacup slipped from her grasp.

Crash!

The sharp sound of the porcelain shattering seemed to rip through her ears.

Yet Bel did not react. They say that when shock is too overwhelming, even breathing becomes difficult. She struggled to breathe, her inhalations uneven and ragged, her entire body trembling uncontrollably.

Neither Bel nor Damian so much as glanced at the broken cup. The maids had already been dismissed and nobody came to clean up the broken pieces.

In that silent space, it was just the two of them.

“Bel Ester.”

The name left Damian’s mouth as though bitten off, and it tightened around her throat like a noose.

“Did you kill Isabel?”

A low ringing filled her ears.

His voice seemed to drift further and further away. Suddenly, a memory from another day flooded her mind.

The sky had been flawless, without a single cloud in sight. The sunlight had been almost too warm, and a soft spring breeze had carried the scent of blossoming flowers.

In a place where countless people had offered their blessings, they had vowed to be together forever.

They had spoken of happiness.

Crack.

A strange sound cut through that moment.

Damian’s voice faltered and warped.

Then the sharp crash of glass shattering rang out.

Bel was suddenly brought back to reality.

“Speak.”

A cold voice, cold enough to freeze the warmth of spring, pierced her heart.

Ah!

Yes.

This is reality.

The midsummer night’s dream was over.

Clink.

The faint sound of metal striking something echoed out.

Bel’s shoulders trembled.

“Touch it.”

At the sound of his commanding voice, Bel’s hand moved involuntarily.

Her pale fingers wandered across the surface of the table. Despite the object being right in front of her, her hand circled aimlessly for a moment before finally finding it.

“Is it yours?”

The hand that had been tracing it stopped moving hesitantly.

Damian’s golden eyes looked down at the hand, showing no emotion.

“I am told it was the late Madame Ester’s ring.”

“How did you—”

“Is it yours?”

How had Damian come to possess the ring she had lost months ago?

Why was he asking her about it?

She couldn’t understand any of it.

Her instincts were screaming a warning.

‘Don’t say it. You mustn’t.’

But her lips had already begun to move of their own accord.

“…Yes.”

“Ha.”

The sharp sound of his breath leaving his lungs cut through the air like a blade. Bel’s shoulders instinctively drew inwards.

He looked at her with a merciless gaze.

Had some small part of him still hoped that it wasn’t true?

As his emotions crumbled, only betrayal remained.

He forced down the storm raging inside him and cloaked himself once more in cold restraint.

This woman killed Isabel.

A faint breeze swept through the garden, lifting the edge of Bel’s veil.

For a moment, something flashed into view at the nape of her pale neck, hidden beneath her collar.

Damian did not miss it.

His hand moved to the hilt of his sword.

Shrring.

The sharp, ominous sound cut through the still air, sending shivers down everyone’s spine.

The blade came to rest against Bel’s throat.

The cold metal, utterly devoid of warmth, touched her skin and Bel’s breath stopped.

She recognized it at once.

Was he going to kill her?

Bel closed her eyes.

This was one of the many endings she had anticipated.

It was better than being dragged back into the hands of Baron Logan.

Even so, no amount of preparation could banish fear entirely.

‘Please, let it be painless.’

Damian’s arm rose.

The languid afternoon sunlight fractured along the keen edge of the blade.