Bel faltered at Sarah’s plea.

Her hand, which was gripping Bel’s arm, trembled, and her voice carried raw desperation. In the silence that surrounded them, the sound of their uneven breathing filled the room.

Sarah took a shaky breath before speaking again.

“Do you know what my situation is right now? Of course you don’t. You can’t even see.”

Resentment laced her voice.

Her bloodshot eyes remained fixed on Bel.

After Bel’s true identity was revealed, Sarah was moved to a different set of quarters. Initially, she was terrified that the Grand Duke had discovered her involvement, but nothing happened immediately. She had not been beaten. She had not been dismissed.

For a short while, she believed she was safe.

However, she had failed to foresee the merciless hierarchy among the Grand Ducal servants.

The hostility was suffocating.

They gave her the heaviest workloads. They deliberately withheld necessary information so that she would make mistakes in her duties. They ignored her, excluded her, and isolated her at every opportunity.

Each day became a form of torment.

At first, she wondered if she was imagining it. But once it was clear that Bel — the mistress she had once served — had lost all standing, the bullying became bolder and more relentless.

Sarah had once held a modest but steady position of respect in the baron’s household.

She had nothing left here.

She could no longer endure it. But she could not go back home either. The Baron had not given such an order.

A month later, the opportunity she had been waiting for finally arose.

The Baron had sent word.

The message had arrived in the most discreet way possible, hidden inside a small box containing the plan he had devised, as well as a glass vial filled with a stimulant.

Now, Sarah picked up the vial again and pressed it firmly into Bel’s hand. In the calmest and most sincere tone she could manage, she said.

“Take this.”

“The baron said that if this fails again, he won’t spare my family. Please.”

A tear fell onto the back of Bel’s hand.

Startled, she didn’t even think to wipe it away.

Although she had fiercely resisted only moments ago, hearing about Sarah’s situation made refusing outright impossible.

Yet she could not bring herself to agree either.

Sarah continued, her voice thick with pleading.

“It’s not just about me. You can’t go on living like this either. Are you content with this life? Being mocked by servants and ignored by His Highness—will you endure it forever?”

Content?

Of course not.

But this was how Bel’s life had always been.

The past few months were just an anomaly. She had always lived cautiously, measuring her steps and lowering her gaze.

Now, she was simply going back to how things had always been.

“Wouldn’t you like things to go back to how they were? If you have his child, he’ll look at you again. Be honest — you liked it back then. That’s why you stayed silent. You wanted to stay by his side.”

The exposure of her hidden feelings made Bel’s face burn with shame.

She bit her lip, unable to deny it.

“It’s not difficult. Just mix this into his wine. Then everything can return to the way it was.”

Sarah’s words were sweet — dangerously sweet, in fact.

But Bel knew better.

Such a thing would never come to pass.

If one child could so easily win someone over, why would so many families fall apart? Why would so many children grow up without parents?

“Even if I bear his child… he will remain the same.”

“You won’t know unless you try.”

At Bel’s skepticism, Sarah bit her lip in agitation.

“Miss, please…”

Bel swallowed a sigh and gently took Sarah’s hand.

She pressed the glass vial back into it.

“I’m sorry, Sarah. I… can’t.”

Sarah’s eyes turned cold.

The desperate, tearful expression she had been wearing hardened immediately, but Bel, who was blind, did not notice.

Sarah slowly released her arm and stood up. She looked down at Bel’s faint silhouette in the darkness.

“Very well. If you refuse, I can’t force you.”

Contrary to what Bel had expected, Sarah withdrew easily.

Bel assumed she had finally come to her senses.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help…”

Although she felt sorry for Sarah’s family, she could offer them nothing more than empty words of comfort.

The Baron was not a man to give up after one failure. However, if repeated attempts yielded nothing, perhaps even he would abandon the matter. Then the threats against Sara’s family would cease.

Bel clung to that hope.

“Yes. I’ll go now. Sleep well.”

Sarah’s tone had grown stiff.

There was a click. The door closed.

Silence settled over the room.

After that night, Sarah did not come again.

Just when Bel thought that both Sarah and the Baron had finally given up, it happened.

***

Reports had arrived of an increase in clashes between rebels and local residents in the northern mountain range. Minor skirmishes had become commonplace.

As the unrest along the border continued to escalate, it could not be quelled simply by dispatching troops.

This issue had been at the forefront of Damian’s mind for over ten days.

And this was only one of his many concerns.

His responsibilities had piled up, leaving him with scarcely a moment to breathe.

Fatigue now shadowed his once immaculate features.

Pressing his fingers to his temples, he tried to ease the pressure behind his eyes. But such exhaustion could not be dismissed by a simple touch.

“Wouldn’t it be better for you to rest tonight?”

Eric, who had been helping Damian with the paperwork, ventured a suggestion carefully. Even to him, his superior looked extremely tired.

Damian was about to refuse, but then he nodded.

In his current state, he wouldn’t be able to work properly anyway.

“Shall I have some whisky prepared?”

Recalling that Damian had recently started drinking alcohol before going to bed, Eric spoke up.

Damian gave a slight nod.

He wasn’t particularly fond of alcohol. However, on nights when he was troubled, a single drink helped him sleep more easily.

Soon, a maid entered, carrying a bottle of whisky and a glass of ice. She stepped forward to pour it for him, but he dismissed her with a brief gesture.

Once the maid and Eric had left the room, Damian rose from his desk, removing his cufflinks as he walked. He lowered himself onto the sofa and poured the whisky over the clear ice.

A single rounded cube shifted, floating faintly in the amber liquid.

He lifted the glass and took a measured sip. The sharp scent and bite of the whisky spread across his tongue.

Clink.

When the glass was half empty, he swirled it gently. Melted ice tapped softly against the sides. After another slow drink, warmth began to seep through his body.

By the time he had finished the whisky, the ice had melted down to barely a third of its original size.

Thud. Thud.

His heart began to pound violently.

In the suffocating silence, he could hear his pulse throbbing loudly in his ears.

One glass shouldn’t have affected him like this.

He exhaled slowly, but his breath left him hot and unsteady. A faint line formed between his brows as he pushed himself to his feet.

He staggered.

Something was wrong.

He could drink a full glass of whisky without ice and not feel any effect. Even allowing for fatigue, this reaction was far too sudden. Was his tolerance simply dulling with age? Had he not kept up with the Emperor when they had a drink together recently?

The bottle and the half-empty glass blurred and split into two in his vision.

He dragged a rough hand through his hair and let out an irritated curse. Pressing his fingers against his temples did nothing. The room continued to spin.

With a sharp tug, he loosened his tie, then tore open the two top buttons of his shirt. His skin burned beneath his touch; he felt feverish and overheated.

His throat felt unbearably dry.

He tipped back the remaining melted ice water and swallowed it, but it did nothing to quench his thirst.

He needed to clear his head; anything would do.

He left the study.

He thought he was walking steadily, but in his current state, he could no longer trust his senses.

He made his way towards his bedroom.

Only one thought consumed him: cold water. He had to pour it over his head immediately.

The corridor stretched ahead of him, bathed in pale moonlight, silent and empty.

As the heat in his lower abdomen intensified and his thirst became unbearable, he quickened his pace.

His room was on the third floor. He would have to climb the stairs.

But as he neared them, his body betrayed him once more.

Reaching out to steady himself against the wall, he knocked over a glass bottle instead.

Crash!

The sharp sound shattered the night’s stillness.

D*mn it!

He swallowed back the curse rising in his throat just as a voice called out from ahead.

“Is—Is someone there?”

He lifted his head.

“Are you all right?”

He stood beside the stair railing.

Bel was there, too.

Earlier that evening, Sarah had urgently summoned her to the back garden, claiming that she had something important to tell her. Bel had assumed it concerned the Baron once more.

But Sarah only faltered, unable to speak plainly. In the end, Bel learned nothing and quietly returned inside.

Knowing that being seen together would only invite trouble, they parted at the entrance. Bel began making her way towards her bedchamber alone.

Originally, her chamber had been the largest room on the third floor.

However, in consideration of her blindness, two rooms on the ground floor had been joined together and remodeled to create a new chamber for her.

To be precise, that arrangement had been made for the real Isabel.

Bel was slowly crossing the first-floor corridor, her hand gliding along the wall to guide her steps, when a sudden crash shattered the quiet above.

The sharp sound of breaking glass rang through the hall.

Then silence.

The stillness that followed seemed to close in around her, heavy and suffocating.

Anxiety, unease and the faintest flicker of curiosity rooted her to the spot.

After hesitating, she carefully climbed the stairs.

When she reached the top, she could not tell where the noise had come from. Tentatively, she called out into the empty space.

Instead of a voice, she heard the crunch of glass beneath someone’s foot.

The sound was closer than she had expected.

As she turned her head slightly to the left, she was hit by a large body.