The man in the beige coat checked his watch and put down his empty cup. As if he had been waiting for this exact moment, he picked up the medical bag that had been sitting under the sofa.

“Are you leaving?”

Sensing movement, Bel asked quietly.

“Yes. Our time is up, so I must take my leave.”

After offering a polite bow, the man put a brown fedora on his head. He stepped out and carefully and silently closed the door.

He found Damian standing directly in front of him.

For a moment, he felt as though his heart had dropped straight to the floor. Composing himself quickly, he removed his hat once more and bowed.

“Your Grace.”

The man stiffened under Damian’s silent scrutiny. He tried not to show his tension, but it was impossible under that cold, piercing gaze.

A bead of sweat trickled down his spine.

Then, finally, Damian spoke.

“Are you the physician Baron Ester mentioned?”

“Yes, Your Grace. It is an honor to be entrusted with the treatment of Her Grace, the Grand Duchess.”

The man carefully concealed the tremor in his voice.

He had always known that he would eventually have to appear before the Grand Duke. But he had never imagined that it would happen so soon or so abruptly.

When he had briefly met the Grand Duchess at the Baron’s estate, she had not had this kind of overwhelming presence. Now, standing before Damian and feeling the weight of his commanding gaze, Bartgen scarcely dared to breathe.

When no response came, a knot of unease twisted in his stomach.

“How is Isabel’s treatment progressing?”

Fortunately, Damian appeared unaware of anything amiss. Bartgen wetted his dry lips discreetly.

“It will not be easy. However, there appears to be hope. With consistent treatment, she may recover some degree of vision.”

“I see.”

Damian seemed to have said all he intended. Taking that as dismissal, Bartgen bent deeply at the waist.

“I shall take my leave.”

“Wait.”

His body stiffened at her commanding tone. After wiping his damp palms on his trousers, he cautiously raised his head.

“What is your name?”

“Bartgen Varta.”

“Your origin?”

“I am from Krates. I hold a license authorized by the Royal Association—”

“That will be enough.”

As Bartgen reached into his inner pocket, Damian stopped him abruptly. Startled, Bartgen immediately bowed again and backed away, eager to leave before being called back.

The moment he stepped out of Damian’s sight, a heavy sigh escaped his lips. His hand moved instinctively to the empty inner pocket of his coat.

For a terrifying second, he had thought the Grand Duke would demand to see his medical license.

His heart had nearly stopped.

It seemed that his strategy of acting bold and self-assured in order to avoid arousing suspicion had worked.

Bartgen Varta.

Born to a commoner, he had never received proper medical training. He treated patients with reckless and misguided methods, yet dared to call himself a physician. In truth, he was nothing more than a fraud.

The fact that he had gone so long without being exposed was nothing short of a miracle. For years, he had posed as a healer, preying on desperate people and draining them of their savings.

But no deception lasts forever.

At one point, Bartgen approached the Count of Seltar, boldly claiming that he could cure his daughter of an incurable illness. However, the Count was sharp-eyed and far more perceptive than Bartgen had anticipated; he saw through Bartgen immediately. Forced to flee, Bartgen’s downfall was swift. He went from celebrated ‘miracle doctor’ to hunted charlatan overnight.

And then —

—like salvation itself, Logan Ester appeared.

From the outset, Logan knew that he was a fraud.

He asked Bartgen to feign treating the Grand Duchess’s eyes. In exchange, Logan had promised Bartgen enough wealth to live comfortably for the rest of his life, as well as a new, flawless identity.

It was suspicious.

But it was irresistible.

Who could resist a fortune for doing nothing more than sitting still and playing a part?

A man who had built his life on exploiting the suffering of others felt no hesitation. The moment he saw the thirty gold coins offered as an advance, he agreed.

For a brief moment, he wondered why the Grand Duchess would deceive the Grand Duke. But the thought passed quickly. The intrigues of high-born nobles were none of his concern.

As he imagined the gold resting safely in his strongbox, Bartgen quickened his steps, his greed dispelling any remaining unease.

***

“Eric.”

Damian’s gaze followed Bartgen’s retreating figure before he called for his aide.

A man with neatly combed-back hair stepped forward.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Look into Bartgen Varta.”

“Did you notice something suspicious?”

Eric recalled the man who had vanished like the wind. He replayed the encounter in his mind but found nothing obvious.

“I intend to find out.”

A cold light settled in Damian’s golden eyes. He could not yet put a name to it, but he felt as though something had grabbed hold of him.

Eric bowed and left at once to begin the investigation.

Left alone, Damian raised his hand to knock on Bel’s door, but then paused. A faint but undeniable sense of unease stopped him mid-motion.

He turned around.

The maids were standing in a line along the corridor, as though they had been dismissed, like servants awaiting judgement.

“Why are you all here? Should you not be attending Isabel?”

“Her Grace does not wish to show her face, so we stepped out for a while.”

All of them?

His expression darkened. His voice lowered to a whisper sharp as steel.

“Then who is attending her now?”

“One maid remains at her side.”

“Has it always been this way?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Whenever her face might be seen, she orders us to leave.”

The attendant bowed her head as his tone steadily became colder. The other flight attendants behind her stiffened, sensing the change in atmosphere.

“So you are telling me that this entire time, a single maid has been responsible for attending Isabel?”

Damian had deliberately assigned her a large number of maids. She was blind, and he wanted to make her life easier. They were there to follow his orders. That was their duty.

“She is not yet accustomed to the Grand Duke’s residence. Until she is familiar with it, the maid who was brought here from the Baron’s estate will be in charge.”

Damian’s displeasure did not fade, but he refrained from asking any more questions.

He remembered how Isabel had flinched when his lips had brushed her face. If she refused even gentle persuasion, the stewardess would be powerless.

“If the maid came from the baron’s estate, it must be Emma.”

“Pardon? Ah—her name is Sarah.”

The stewardess answered without hesitation. Damian’s eyebrows twitched faintly.

Sarah?

Had there ever been a maid by that name?

He could clearly remember seeing Emma at Isabel’s side on more than one occasion. But Sarah was unfamiliar.

If a maid had been brought from the baron’s estate, it should have been Emma. She was the one Isabel trusted and favored most.

A quiet thought surfaced in his mind.

What had become of Emma?

Since returning from the battlefield, he had not seen her once. Isabel had shut herself away after the accident, so it had not seemed unusual that he rarely encountered her maid.

And yet—

Something felt wrong.

He had visited the baron’s estate several times since the accident. Despite her memory loss, he had made it clear that he would not break their engagement. Each time, he brought carefully chosen gifts to take her injuries into account.

He had never been permitted to see her face. The maids had accepted gifts on her behalf.

If his memory served him correctly, Emma had not been among them. All of the faces he had seen at the time had been unfamiliar.

At the time, his entire focus had been on Isabel. He had paid no attention to the attendants standing behind her. But now, thinking back, he was certain.

Hair comes in countless shades, but red hair is rare. Only a small percentage of the world’s population had hair of that color.

Emma was one of those rare individuals — a vivid redhead who was impossible to overlook.

She had other distinguishing features as well. She wore ornaments that were far too expensive for a maid’s wages. Isabel had once mentioned that she gave her most treasured accessories to her most favored individuals.

If such a striking maid had remained by Isabel’s side, Damian would have remembered.

And yet he did not.

“Your Grace?”

Damian slowly withdrew his hand from the doorknob.

It didn’t make sense. Isabel had cherished that maid. There was no reason why she would have replaced her. Besides, there had been no mention of the maid dying in the accident. If that were the case, the woman standing beside Isabel now should not have been Sarah.

It should have been Emma.

There must be an explanation. Perhaps the baron had arranged things differently while Isabel was in a coma.

After all, she was only a maid.

Was he being overly suspicious?

Yet the faint unease coiling in his chest refused to loosen its grip.

Damian had always trusted his instincts. On the battlefield, survival depended on them. He lived by being constantly vigilant — every minute, every hour, every day. What had once been sharp intuition had hardened into something almost animalistic.

Now, that instinct was whispering a warning.

Slowly, he stepped back from the door.

“Eric.”

Back in his study, Eric was organizing documents. He looked up at the summons.

“Find someone.”

“Who?”

“Emma. Isabel’s personal maid.”

“The red-haired maid with spectacles?”

Eric set the papers down, recalling the freckled redhead who wore silver spectacles far too expensive for a servant’s wages.

“Yes.”

Bartgen Varta.

Emma.

Eric repeated the two names silently in his mind before moving at once to carry out the order.