“Please go back.”

The soft voice was a clear refusal.

“Just for a moment! Just a few seconds! No, if only I could give you this! It’s the antidote, so please, for the Duke…!”

“Go back.”

With an unreadable, calm expression, Sebastian gave his answer and walked away with firm steps.

Unable to even step on the threshold of the Duke of Fraser’s residence, Delfion stood awkwardly, waving his arm as if to hand over the antidote, his mouth wide open.

But only ragged, hissing breaths escaped his throat.

It was only because he was the master of the Ackman Trading Company that Sebastian, the estate’s head butler, bothered to face him at all.

Though not a soul was in sight, Delfion could feel the sharp vigilance and murderous intent pouring in from all directions, and he closed his mouth.

Just a few seconds – that was all he wanted.

Even a poor excuse, anything, if only he could say it.

It wasn’t meant to be.

Originally, the poison was meant for you, Dalia – she was to drink it, and a few minutes later he was to administer the antidote.

If things had gone as planned, we would be talking now under very different circumstances.

But then the Duke of Fraser got involved and ruined everything…

As Delfion recited these words in his mind, a wave of nausea washed over him and he doubled over.

“Ugh, ugh…”

Vomiting saliva and yellow bile, his hands shook uncontrollably.

What have I done…? What on earth have I done?

The dark stain that had gnawed at his heart – those sticky feelings of jealousy and inferiority – was shaken loose by the sheer force of the shock and fell away.

But the image of Curtis Fraser coughing up blood and collapsing like a corpse would not leave him. It spun endlessly before his eyes.

If things had gone according to his plan, it wouldn’t have been Curtis lying there – it would have been Dalia.

“I… I would have been the one to… with my own hands, I would have…”

The realization hit him like a blow to the head, leaving him dazed and unable to think straight.

‘Had I always been this despicable… this filthy person?’

Something beyond mere self-loathing swept over him like a tidal wave.

Delfion had never been a bad person. On the contrary, he liked people so much that his excessive kindness to everyone around him often became a problem – he was a man who cared too much for others.

He couldn’t say where things went wrong.

He had almost hurt his first love – the one he had given not only his heart but his whole soul to – with his own hands.

“Dal…”

His throat tightened with the crushing weight of guilt – guilt for letting this happen, and guilt for trying to get something out of it – and he couldn’t even finish saying her name, as if no answer would ever come.

He knew now that he would never see her again.

‘I will never see her again.’

Even if she forgave him, he no longer had the right to face her.

The moment he had chosen to remain silent about the fact that an illegitimate daughter of the Romand family had received poison, that chance had been lost forever.

But even now, Delfion fought to break the remaining bond that clung to his feet.

He struck his ankle with his fist, as if to cut off the stubborn desire, then staggered backward, helpless.

His face was deathly pale, and his hands trembled incessantly – he looked as if he might collapse at any moment, and no one would be surprised.

With great effort, he managed to move his arm and set the antidote down on the floor, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up at the Fraser estate.

In the end, Delfion Ackman had to retreat as if fleeing, afraid that even his shadow might reach the place where Dalia was.

***

Click.

The door closed and silence fell over the Duke of Fraser’s bedroom.

A room that had been closed to all but a few caretakers – and yet there were two people in it.

Curtis Fraser, the master of the bedroom, and his wife, Dalia Fraser.

One of them lay motionless on the bed, her eyes closed without so much as a flicker of movement, while the other sat in a chair pulled close to her side, staring at him in silence.

No – even though her eyes were fixed on his waxed cheek, her pale green eyes seemed lost, wandering somewhere far away.

‘How had it come to this?’

From the moment he snatched the teacup away until now, Dalia had been staggering in confusion. 

Holding Curtis, who had collapsed helplessly in her arms, she moved on instinct, desperately trying to hold him together as he grew colder with each passing moment. 

‘I have to go back. To my home. To the safest place.’ 

And so she returned to the Duke of Fraser’s estate. 

It was as if she had completely forgotten the time when she had called the Count’s estate “home”. 

In this moment of utmost crisis and urgency, Dalia had come to think of the Duke of Fraser’s estate as home. 

Since it was a change that had taken root unconsciously, Dalia herself had not yet realized it. 

Perhaps she would never realize it unless someone pointed it out to her.

But right now, such a thing felt so trivial to Dalia that she could have brushed it off with a dismissive “So what?”

As she recounted the events of the banquet in Diharman, her mind drifted backward, from the present to the past.

All of it – every memory – was time spent with Curtis.

“…You don’t believe…”

The conversation in front of the fireplace.

The fall banquet where he had willingly bowed to her.

“Only you did that.”

The memory of that summer, when the two of them had been left alone, washed away by the torrential rain.

“Dalia.”

That spring night, when instead of looking at the huge moon hanging in the sky, he looked at her – as if blinded, his eyebrows furrowed and his hand outstretched.

And then…

As her mind drifted further and further back, it stopped at their wedding.

“I vow to be with you forever.”

A vow so painfully barren and empty that no one would have believed it – she should have remembered the look on his face that day.

And yet, every time Dalia thought of Curtis, all she could see was the face of a man tortured by a love he could no longer bear. 

A man who lingered near her just to catch a glimpse, who crept quietly closer, desperate to share even the smallest piece of her world. 

A man whose eyes followed her every step, and when their hands touched it was as if his blood was on fire – as if he longed for her with a thirst he could never quench. 

She could no longer remember the man he used to be – the one who moved like a lifeless puppet, cold and emotionless.

What filled that room was…

“I’ve only prepared soft, easy-to-eat food for you.”

Sebastian’s calm voice broke her thoughts.

She had no appetite at all, but out of habit she took the spoon and took a small sip of the thick soup.

‘Ah, the cook must have put a lot of effort into tonight’s dinner.’

No sooner had she formed that impression than Dalia, without realizing it, lifted her head and turned her eyes to the seat where Curtis used to sit.

And when she saw the empty chair, she froze.

Just as Curtis had felt her absence, she felt his now.

Too deeply…

It felt so natural, so obvious, that sharing a simple thought about a meal that had passed her lips seemed like something she should do. It had become so ingrained in her daily life.

Only now did she realize it.

‘It is too late now.’

From the moment she opened her eyes to the moment she closed them, Curtis had been at her side.

‘When did it start?’

What sense did it make now, at this point?

Dalia laughed as if she were about to cry. How had he blended so skillfully into her life? Even in retrospect, it seemed impossible.

Yes, she had no choice but to admit it.

“Haah…”

Dalia gripped the fork tightly. She still had no appetite, and the food that rolled around in her mouth felt grainy like sand, but she chewed it thoroughly and swallowed.

‘I need to eat. I need to gather strength. Only then can I think. Only then…’

Only then would she be able to decide the direction of her heart, which swayed endlessly like reeds in the wind.

Dalia shook her head, her cheeks puffed up with food. She had already made a decision, but here she was, trying to back out again.

Soon she finished her meal and stood up. Her stomach was so full that she felt uncomfortable, but when she saw the relief on the faces of those who had been worried, her own discomfort faded.

But the sudden introduction of Sebastian and the person she met in the reception room made the uneasiness she had managed to suppress resurface.

Bolk Dorante.

The Mad Dog of the North. After bowing formally to her, he quickly handed her a small vial.

“This is the antidote. The Duke prepared it in advance.”

There was no further explanation. But Dalia, being clever enough, immediately grasped the full context with just that one sentence.

“Whether you use it or not is entirely up to you, Duchess.”

As she looked down at the antidote in disbelief, Bolk stood quietly, not making a sound.

“If you meet my wife, just say what you’re supposed to.”

It would be a lie to say he had no intention of teasing her, given the Duke of Fraser’s warning, but Bolk’s love for the North had prevented him from acting on it.

To calm the North, the Fraser family’s help was essential, and the support of the royal family and the Diharman family, who were also involved, would be a significant loss if not used.

He walked away, but Dalia didn’t notice. She just kept her eyes on the antidote, changing her expression several times, lost in her own thoughts.

“It might be better to get some fresh air…”

He had already known.

The poison aimed at her would get into the Diharman family during the banquet. And yet, he hadn’t stopped it. In fact, he had even intervened and taken the poison himself.

She held the antidote and gently rubbed the smooth surface of the vial.

The milky liquid inside shimmered, and it was Curtis’s lifeline.

Such a thing was in her hands.

Unconsciously, Dalia began to rub her chest vigorously.

“I’m crazy.”