A sharp pain shot up her throat.

Then, suddenly, she felt the back of her neck grow light.

The blade had cut through her veil cleanly. The fabric floated gently to the ground, revealing the lower part of her face.

At the same time, the choker around her neck broke and fell off.

The slender band hit the floor, and the gemstone set within it caught the light and shimmered brilliantly.

Damian’s golden eyes fixed on it.

For a fleeting instant, an unnatural glow flickered deep within the green gemstone.

The next moment, his sword came down.

Crack!

With a single strike, the gem shattered like fragile glass, splintering into countless fragments.

Shhh—

A strange sound, neither wind nor anything else that could easily be named, whispered through the air as the light faded and died.

A cold, mocking laugh escaped Damian’s lips.

“So this is how you changed your voice.”

This was no ordinary jewel.

It was a magical stone, specially crafted.

Could this explain why she had been able to imitate Isabel’s voice so perfectly?

That would explain why he had sensed that something was amiss so many times yet had never discovered the truth.

A faint smile curved his lips at the sheer precision of her deception.

How much of her had been a lie?

He even thought that perhaps her blindness itself had been an act.

Damian’s gaze lifted from the shattered fragments on the floor to Bel.

Blood trickled down the back of her neck, staining her skin, yet she did not move. She seemed too stunned to think of pressing a hand to the wound.

There was not a trace of pity in the golden eyes that watched her.

He regarded her with the same cold, detached indifference he had always displayed.

“How did you injure your eyes?”

Why is he asking that?

She wondered, but she did not dare to ask aloud.

Her parched lips parted several times before a hoarse voice finally escaped.

“I—I was caught in the fi-fire Isabel started. Th-that’s how I… lost my sight.”

“So you killed Isabel?”

“What?”

“You lost your vision in the fire she caused. So you killed her for revenge. Isn’t that right?”

Killed Isabel?

How could someone who could not even see possibly kill her?

“N-No!”

She denied it urgently, as though she had been caught out.

Bel had never killed Isabel.

While it would be a lie to say that she had never resented her, she had never once considered taking her life.

On the day Isabel died, Bel was at the Baron’s estate.

As always, she was confined to her small room. She only found out about Isabel’s death late in the evening.

“Your ring was found at the scene. And you still say you didn’t do it?”

“I—I truly d-didn’t.”

Damian’s eyes flickered with suspicion.

She had a motive.

Her ring had been found at the scene of the accident.

She might be blind, but she was certainly not helpless. If she wanted to, she could use others as her hands and feet.

“I-I really never k-killed Isabel—”

“Enough with the pathetic excuses.”

Damian ground his teeth, seemingly appalled by her audacity.

At that moment, when all the evidence pointed to Bel, her words seemed to him like nothing but excuses.

A twisted sneer curled his lips.

“How did it feel, playing me all this time? Was it amusing? Watching me cling to you like a fool, unable to see that you were nothing but a fake?”

Bel wanted to say no.

Was she playing him? She had never been so bold before.

She wanted to tell him that she had been scared, and that she hadn’t experienced a single day of peace under the weight of her guilt.

But her throat felt sealed shut. Only uneven, ragged breaths escaped her lips.

Was that really true?

A familiar voice wormed its way into her already tangled thoughts.

Perhaps Damian was right.

Though she denied it, hadn’t she secretly relished this life where he mistook her for Isabel?

She had been given countless chances to tell the truth. And yet she remained silent, drunk on the affection he showed her.

It may have begun as coercion, but she continued down this path because of her own selfish desire.

Her teeth sank into her lower lip.

A wave of nausea rose within her.

Forced to confront the ugly emotions she had tried so hard to ignore, she felt an overwhelming urge to vomit, clawing its way up her throat.

“Did you kill Isabel because you coveted her place? Because you wanted it so badly you were willing to wear the shell of your dead sister?”

“……”

“That’s unfortunate. If you’d taken better care of the ring, you might never have been exposed.”

His words to Bel were laced with open revulsion, as though she were something filthy.

Confronted with such raw disgust, Bel could not bring herself to speak.

Whether or not she had killed Isabel, one fact remained undeniable.

She had deceived Damian.

She had taken her dead sister’s place and worn her identity like a mask.

Regret flooded her now, but it was meaningless.

She had realized the truth far too late.

A suffocating silence settled between them.

Even the way she stood, head bowed as though awaiting judgement, seemed loathsome to Damian.

“Say something!”

He exploded into a shout.

Drip.

Tears fell onto her pale palm.

She blinked rapidly. Only when she felt a trembling droplet on her chin did she realize she was crying.

It was too late to turn back.

No apology or plea could undo what had been done.

Bel clasped her trembling hands together, struggling to steady her breathing. She straightened her shoulders and clenched her fists.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The cold question dropped from above her.

Bel released the lip she had been biting.

“I’m… sorry. I-I will not ask for forgiveness.”

She knew she didn’t have the right.

She also knew that even if she begged, Damian would never forgive her.

After much deliberation, she came to a decision.

“If your anger… does not subside, then my life—”

“Ha!”

A disbelieving laugh cut her off.

Was this her answer? To flee into death?

“Very well. If that is what you want, I’ll grant it.”

He tightened his grip on his sword and took a step towards her, a mocking sneer on his face.

With each step, the murderous intent radiating from him made the hairs on the back of Bel’s neck stand on end.

Instinctively, she took a step back. Then, as though she had made a quiet decision, she squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again.

She stood up straight.

Though she trembled like a fragile petal caught in the wind, she showed no open sign of fear — and that restraint twisted something inside him.

It made him feel, absurdly, as though he were the villain.

At that moment, a fierce gust of wind tore through the space between them.

The veil that had barely hidden her face was swept away.

For several long seconds, her features were fully revealed.

Damian’s heavy stride faltered.

His gaze locked onto her face.

Unlike the previous dark night, light now poured in from every direction.

Only then did he truly see Bel.

Her skin was so pale that it seemed almost translucent. Her hair shimmered like gold in the sunlight. Her features were delicate and finely shaped, almost fragile enough to break.

If it weren’t for her silver-grey eyes, hidden behind damp lashes, she could have been mistaken for Isabel.

For a moment, he really thought she looked like her.

Bel made no move to hide her face again.

Her dim, silver-grey eyes stared into nothingness.

They were the eyes of someone who had relinquished the will to live — so vacant that they seemed drained of all color.

When her long lashes quivered, clear tears slipped silently down her cheeks.

The sight sent a shiver down his spine.

Without thinking, he reached out, then abruptly pulled his hand back.

For a moment, Damian felt pity for her.

Pity?

The very notion struck him as absurd.

A cold wave of self-disgust swept through his chest.

The torrent of emotions crashing over him made the veins in his hand, which was clutching his sword, bulge.

He lifted the blade again.

The sharp tip hovered at Bel’s throat.

Still unaware of what was about to happen, she lowered her gaze and held her breath.

Her submissive posture irritated him.

The tear trembling on her chin seemed to bind him in place, as though he were under a curse.

The murderous intent that had surged within him only moments before began to waver.

At last, he slowly lowered the sword he could not bring himself to swing.

He could not kill her.

He had stepped over dozens — no, hundreds — of bodies to earn the title of war hero. Even when a comrade betrayed him after they had fought alongside each other, he had beheaded that man without hesitation.

And yet, he could not kill her.

She was a woman with a slender neck that looked fragile enough to snap beneath his bare hand — no blade necessary — and still he could not do it.

The absurdity of it left him almost speechless.

Was it because she resembled Isabel?

Had he seen Isabel’s face superimposed on hers for a moment?

Or was it because he could not bear to see her accept death so calmly?

He did not know the exact reason, but he chose to believe it was the latter.

The moment she embraced death with such quiet serenity, his resolve to grant it waned.

Damian had no intention of offering her peace.

If death would bring her rest instead of fear, then it was not the answer.

He looked down at her, his expression devoid of emotion.

“If what you desire is the position of Grand Duchess, I will give it to you.”

Bel doubted her own ears. Had her blindness now affected her hearing, too?

The turn of events was so confusing that she almost thought it must be.

“But that is all.”

He would keep her alive but deny her everything else.

If she longed for death, he would force her to live.

If she sought his attention, he wouldn’t spare her a glance.

If she craved love, he wouldn’t show her the slightest bit of affection.

He would dry her out slowly.

For the rest of her life.