With unfocused, distant eyes, their son turned away and left before they could say anything, leaving the Count and Countess to beat their chests in frustration.

So this time they were determined not to give him any excuses, no matter what arguments he might use.

“If you allow me to host this one ball as I wish, I will marry the young lady of your choice without any engagement period.”

The ripples caused by Yoris’ words were too great to ignore.

Moreover, her son had staked his honour on this vow and even put it in writing.

What kind of parents could ignore such a firm resolve from their son?

In the end, though they sighed deeply and repeatedly, they agreed to let Yoris hold the ball as he wished.

Unlike before, Yoris prepared everything himself, making sure that not a single teacup was overlooked.

Although her son had been completely out of his mind with love, it seemed that his sharpness had not left him, as the hastily arranged ball received favourable reviews.

“Phew, it looks like he’s finally come to his senses.”

“No… wasn’t he like that for a while before? And then…”

When Irvelyn’s supervision had loosened a bit, Yoris had come to his senses after the meeting with Curtis.

But only for a moment.

As soon as Irvelyn’s “love” washed over him again, Yoris acted as if he were even more madly in love than before.

Count Diharman shook his head, and the Countess had to close her eyes tightly and press against her aching chest to calm herself.

Still, since Yoris had promised to marry without even an engagement as soon as tonight’s ball was over, surely now… surely…

While the Countess watched Yoris with eyes full of mixed hope and fear, Irvelyn didn’t look at anyone. Instead, she watched the time.

Or rather, she was waiting for the right moment.

Clink. 

The moment Dalia set down her empty teacup, something changed. 

Irvelyn had been desperate to eliminate and kill the Duchess of Fraser, but her plans had been far from grand or clever. 

She had never been that intelligent to begin with, and instead of improving herself, she was the type to blame everyone else for her misfortunes. 

So the plan she was forced to carry out almost entirely on her own, with no help from anyone, wasn’t just poorly conceived – it was a complete disaster.

Deep down, Irvelyn knew that the plan to kill the Duchess of Fraser could not have been so ruthlessly executed. 

And yet she had no time to hesitate or reconsider. There was no turning back now, so she pushed forward, telling herself it was just luck. 

But of course it wasn’t luck that had brought her plan so close to success. 

It wasn’t luck that had brought her petty scheme this far – it was the indifference and interference of two of the most powerful men in the Empire: Delfion Ackman and Curtis Fraser. 

Right up to the moment she was about to slip the poison she had prepared into Dalia’s teacup.

The moment Dalia removed her hand from the teacup, Yoris, who had been sitting at the same table, suddenly sprang to his feet.

The others froze at his sudden and somehow solemn action.

Yoris strode purposefully towards Dalia, as if he saw nothing and no one around him.

“Y-Yoris?”

Letting the Countess of Diharman’s trembling call slip past her ears, Dalia tilted her head slightly in confusion.

Curtis had already left his seat.

But why was Yoris Diharman coming this way?

If he had just wanted to have a light conversation with no particular purpose, there would have been no reason for him to get so close.

And it wasn’t just Dalia who thought so – the Countess of Diharman, sitting right next to her, felt the same way.

No, the Countess wasn’t just puzzled – she was alarmed.

Hadn’t her son already committed several offences against the Duke?

Were it not for the generosity of the Duke of Fraser – evidenced by his assurance that he meant no offence – and the trust that had been carefully built up between the two houses, Yoris would have faced serious consequences.

But now, the Duchess?

A shiver ran down the countess’s spine.

In the past, she would have been wary of her son’s reckless words directed at the mistress of the Fraser household.

But since the Duchess had returned from the brink of death, and judging by the Duke’s changed attitude since then, it was clear that if there was a limit to what could be forgiven, it extended only to insults to the Duke himself – nothing more.

No matter how blinded by love her son was – no matter what foolish things he said or did – he was still her son.

The Countess opened her mouth hastily, desperate to stop him.

“Yoris! What are you suddenly…?”

But before she could get in his way, Yoris bowed deeply to Dalia.

“I have been repeatedly rude to His Grace the Duke.”

At such a deeply respectful apology, Dalia blinked several times, then looked at the Countess of Diharman, who rose awkwardly from her seat.

As the Countess sat back down, Dalia responded with a graceful smile.

“Very well. His Grace will be returning soon and I trust you will show him the same courtesy.”

Yoris didn’t respond to that comment, but instead brought up something else.

“It may be shameless of me to ask forgiveness for such a thing, but… may I offer you a cup of tea?”

It was an unexpected request, but since he was asking for forgiveness, she couldn’t refuse outright.

Besides, it would have been even more heartless to ignore the Countess’s desperate look as she looked at her with pleading eyes.

So Dalia nodded slightly and Yoris, as if he had been waiting for this moment, filled her teacup.

The poison, which he had prepared beforehand, flowed from a device hidden at the edge of his sleeve and mixed seamlessly with the tea.

Watching Yoris pour the tea, Delfion gripped the antidote tightly, his palm clammy with tension, the vial slipping from his grasp again and again.

If Dalia took a single sip of this tea, the poison would soon take hold of her body.

He had chosen one that would cause as little pain as possible, but unlike in fairy tales, in reality no poison would let its victim slip away peacefully and without agony.

A poison designed solely to harm would, of course, cause suffering proportional to its toxicity.

So if he wanted to spare her as much pain as possible, he would have to get her the antidote without a second’s delay!

The option of preventing her from drinking the poison had long since been abandoned.

He had already given that up.

If only he could take her pain instead…

No – he already had pain.

From the moment Dalia had rejected him, that pain had never stopped – again and again, endlessly.

Just as the vice-master sitting next to him was about to comment on Delfion’s strange expression, Delfion suddenly sprang to his feet.

“Curtis Fraser!”

Delfion’s eyes were wide open, as if they were about to tear at the edges, burning with intensity.

At the end of Delfion’s piercing gaze was Curtis.

And Irvelyn, no less shocked, staring with her eyes wide open and her mouth agape.

Neither had expected his return.

“Curtis?”

Dalia reflexively held out her hand as she looked up at him – now standing right next to her, having taken the teacup Yoris had just filled.

But she would never get the cup back.

For after a calm, downward glance at Yoris, and then a quick glance at the frozen Delfion, Curtis tilted the cup and downed the tea in one swift motion.

Dalia blinked quickly, her mind reeling.

‘What… is he doing? What is this…?’

Because of Curtis, who didn’t just ignore the etiquette, he completely destroyed it, Dalia’s thoughts moved sluggishly, trying to catch up.

‘Was he that thirsty?’

That was the first, most reasonable thought that came to mind – but even as it did, her gaze instinctively shifted to Curtis’ own teacup, the one originally set for him.

But no matter how thirsty he might have been –

Really, how long does it take to make a cup of tea?

Just as she was about to reach out and fill his teacup for him –

Gurgle.

A sudden, thick stench of blood erupted right next to her.

“Huh?”

Someone made a dumbfounded sound, but no one could blame them.

What was about to happen was far beyond anyone’s comprehension.

Curtis didn’t even m*an.

He just kept coughing up clots of blood and dark, blackened g*re.

His once clean front was now completely drenched in a dark, almost black red.

When he stepped back to keep the blood from splattering on Dalia, his face remained as expressionless as ever – but thick veins bulged along his neck.

The moment his pale eyes met Dalia’s, completely drained of colour, Curtis’ body suddenly collapsed.

A man who had always stood firm as a mountain, unshakable as the depths of the sea, was now disintegrating mercilessly before their eyes.

‘So it’s true – a poison that rends the organs and sears the veins from within.’

And yet, even as he endured a pain he had never felt before in his life, he gave a faint, blurry smile.

Dalia, her eyes filled with a mixture of shock and tears, reached out to him as he reeled.

“Curtis!”

Without a second thought, she reached out and pulled him into her arms as he collapsed.

Her dress, too, was soon drenched in dark, crimson blood.

He never knew that the pain that burned him from within could feel so sweet. 

No – if only those emerald eyes calling his name and holding him would, he would gladly endure anything, even if it meant writhing in the fires of hell. 

‘Ah… yes. Dalia.’ 

‘If holding your hand and stopping you from leaving means I have to drink the deadliest poison in the world, then so be it – I will gladly do so.’ 

‘You drank poison to escape me, and now I drink poison to keep you by my side.’ 

“No! Curtis! Curtis!” 

As he heard Dalia’s scream, a desperate cry that sounded like a wail, he finally let go of his fading consciousness. 

This was an ending that no one – no one but Curtis himself – had seen coming.