Logan was fined for running an illegal gambling house. However, there was insufficient evidence to secure a conviction for drug trafficking.

Damian could have annulled the fraudulent marriage and punished them immediately. However, he chose a different course of action.

He cut off all support to the Baron’s household.

Already burdened by heavy fines, the baron soon discovered that all remaining avenues for securing funds had been quietly blocked — by the Grand Duke himself. It did not take long for his finances to collapse. Ruin closed in from all sides, and before long he had no choice but to auction off his estate.

The baron’s downfall was no accident. It was deliberate.

Damian wanted him to understand the cruel truth that there are fates worse than death. Being forced to continue living in disgrace and desperation is sometimes a harsher punishment.

The same fate awaited Bel.

After ensuring she fully grasped the audacity of murdering Isabel and coveting the title of Grand Duchess, Damian planned to divorce her, too.

For now, everything was unfolding exactly as he had planned.

***

Bel’s eyes flew open.

She was completely surrounded by darkness.

She took a sharp, shaky breath; her hands were trembling uncontrollably. Cold sweat clung to her skin like ice, soaking her entire body.

Gradually, her breathing began to steady. Instead of the unyielding chill of prison bars beneath her fingertips, she felt the softness of fabric.

First came relief.

Then came despair.

The nightmares were becoming more frequent.

Dreams of Isabel trying to kill her. Dreams of being engulfed by flames. Sometimes she dreamed that Damian had cast her aside without hesitation.

No —

Was that truly just a dream?

She curled up, drawing her knees close.

It was cold.

Despite it being summer, her nights felt unbearably cold. With her pale fingers, she pulled the blanket tighter around her, as though trying to shield herself from something far colder than the air.

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

At first, she did not understand.

Her thoughts were clouded by fear, guilt and anxiety, which prevented her from grasping the deeper meaning of what was happening. But it did not take long for the truth to sink in.

Her personal maid had been replaced.

The new maid was just like the one who used to bring her meals at the Baron’s estate — curt and expressionless. Sarah had been reassigned somewhere far away, out of sight and out of reach.

Damian believed that Bel had ordered Isabel’s murder.

And so he had removed Sarah — the link between Bel and the Baron, and the eyes that had once watched and reported on his behalf.

A precaution.

The man who had once dined with her every day and taken quiet walks at her side no longer sought her company. Even when their paths crossed by chance, he treated her as though she were not there.

As if she had become invisible again.

As his attitude shifted overnight, so did that of the household staff.

At first, they were careful. They remembered how several servants had been dismissed in the past for insulting Bel. However, as more and more of them witnessed Damian’s indifference, they began to mirror it — first subtly, then more openly.

They did not yet know that Bel was an imposter. To the maids who had once endured Isabel’s cruelty, however, the change felt like quiet justice. Some even openly whispered that it was only a matter of time.

Damian no longer sought Bel out.

For her part, Bel wished only to remain unnoticed, breathing quietly in the shadows. She did not want to risk exacerbating his displeasure.

After waking from another nightmare, she tried to sleep again. But sleep would not come.

In the end, she gave up and got out of bed.

Relying only on her memory, she washed and dressed herself. Without Sarah, there was no one else to help her.

Preparing alone was exhausting.

It felt as though she had been cast into a foreign land, unable to see anything, with no one there to guide her.

The only small mercy was that Bel was accustomed to surviving on her own.

She accepted her circumstances more quickly than most. Just as she had done at the Baron’s estate, she slowly began to relearn how to live alone in this place.

“Ah—”

A sharp pain shot through her knee.

She must have banged it on something.

Perhaps she wasn’t as used to living alone as she thought.

Letting out a quiet sigh, she slowed down and moved more carefully. Yet the pain did not fade as she had hoped. It lingered, throbbing stubbornly.

When she reached down to touch the spot, her fingers came away damp.

Blood.

Bel swallowed back another sigh and dampened a handkerchief with water. Lifting her skirt above her knee, she exposed smooth skin now marred by countless small wounds.

The hand that cleaned them was in no better condition.

All of the injuries had appeared within the past few days. Without any medicine to treat them, she had simply left them as they were. Some had already begun to scar, thin marks tracing her skin like silent evidence of her neglect.

‘Should I ask for medicine?’

She hadn’t dared to ask where it was kept.

But she couldn’t just leave the wounds like this.

So, when the maid brought her breakfast, Bel gathered her courage and asked.

At least they didn’t intend to starve her.

Her meals arrived punctually.

“Um… could I perhaps have some medicine?”

Bel asked hesitantly.

The maid’s gaze shifted between her and the bloodstained handkerchief on the table. She answered calmly that she would take care of it.

Bel murmured a quiet thank you.

After finishing her meal, she returned to her bedroom and spent the hours in silence. There was little she could do. She walked in slow circles around the same confined space or traced the raised dots of Braille books with her fingertips.

Blindness restricted her movements.

Her world had become painfully small.

Sometimes, when the rest of the household had fallen asleep, she would slip quietly into the garden. After spending the whole day shut away in her room, she felt as though she might suffocate.

However, she was wary of Damian’s reaction and did not dare venture out recklessly. For several days, she endured it.

But she could not forget the brief, intoxicating taste of freedom she had once known.

Ultimately, she chose the hour just before dawn, when the world was quiet and her absence would go unnoticed.

She moved her cane with extreme care, afraid that even the faintest tap against the ground might wake someone.

The moment she stepped out of the suffocating room, her breathing eased.

The night air was cool against her skin, carrying the scent of summer grass. For a fleeting moment, she felt lighter.

Then her foot caught on a stone she had failed to sense.

Before she could steady herself, her body pitched forward.

“Ah…”

‘Am I really this foolish?’

She had walked this path dozens of times before, yet she had fallen again.

Careless.

She had allowed herself to relax, lulled by the cool night air.

Bracing her palms against the ground, she slowly pushed herself upright. Only then did she realize that her cane was no longer within reach.

Panic flickered through her chest.

She stretched out her hands and groped blindly across the ground, searching for the familiar shape. No matter how widely she reached, she could not find it.

Instead of the solid, reassuring length of her cane, her palm brushed against something smooth.

Not soil…

The realization had barely formed in her mind when a familiar voice spoke from above.

A chill crept up her spine.

“You’re quite something.”

“……”

“Do you plan to scrub the garden floor clean with your dress?”

The reproach in his cold, disdainful voice made her ears burn.

How wretched she must have looked! A noblewoman crawling on the ground like that!

The thought of how she must appear to Damian filled her with shame.

Forgetting her cane entirely, she hurried to her feet. In her haste, she stepped on it and stumbled once more.

An arm caught her around the waist.

In the mere two months since her arrival, she had grown accustomed to the breadth and firmness of that embrace. After so long without it, the sudden warmth made her heart tremble violently.

But the next words he spoke shattered that fragile moment.

“Have you lost the use of your legs as well?”

They struck her like splintered glass.

Damian pushed her away as though brushing aside something unclean. He didn’t push her hard enough to make her fall again, but the rejection stung far more than any impact with the ground ever could.

“If this was some ploy to win my pity, stop it. It won’t work. And what would people say if they saw this, hm? What if rumors spread that the Grand Duchess is a limping blind woman?”

His biting mockery cut deep.

It hurt so much that she almost wished for indifference instead.

Desperate to stop her eyes from reddening, she clenched her teeth.

“I’m… sorry.”

Her voice had dwindled to a whisper.

She couldn’t even lift her head.

Damian walked past her without another glance.

Bel remained frozen to the spot until the sound of his footsteps had completely disappeared. Only then did she raise her head. Her lower lip, bitten down on mercilessly, was already bleeding.

When she could no longer hear him, she fled as though escaping something far more terrifying than the dark.

That night, the nightmare came without fail.

Blind woman. Stammerer. Cripple.

The voices hurled these words at her without restraint, their laughter sharp and merciless.

She pressed her hands over her ears, desperate to block them out.

The sounds gradually faded.

But the stares did not.

She could feel Damian’s most clearly, piercing her with his gaze.

Amidst the chorus of cruel laughter, it was his voice alone that rang out, distinct and unforgiving.

“Murderer.”

Her eyes flew open.

But even though they were open, all she could see was darkness.

She could not tell whether she was awake or still trapped in the nightmare.

Bel held her breath and swallowed her tears.