Time passed quickly and it was already two years since the unexpected death of the Duchess of Fraser.

During this time, the social circles of the Empire were abuzz with rumours and the newspapers were full of all sorts of stories.

There were reports of the owner of the Northern Wall coming to the capital, gossip about Yoris true love, and secret investment talks involving the continent’s richest man.

But there was no mention of Duke Fraser, the man many had quietly waited and hoped for. With Dalia Fraser’s death, it was as if Curtis Fraser had also disappeared.

* * *

Ding. Ding ding ding.

The soft, dull sound of a bell rang out on a morning just before spring after a harsh winter.

A temple, isolated from the world, where people practice silence to strengthen body and mind, to purify their hearts and draw closer to God.

After exchanging silent greetings, heads bowed and faces veiled, they began their modest breakfast. Among them was Dalia, who had lived in this temple, completely cut off from the world, waiting for time to pass.

Since the day she had faked her death and fled from Duke Fraser, Dalia had given little thought to anything.

In truth, there had been little to think about. The most important part of her had crumbled and shattered, leaving her with nothing of value.

When Dalia closes her eyes, she hears the sound of crickets chirping, and the silence of the temple seems to echo throughout the surrounding area.

She often looks up at the sky, sometimes wondering what she will do when she leaves this place. During the first four seasons, there were times when she would suddenly wake up, her heart racing as she quickly looked around.

“Is he here?”

Whenever she heard Curtis Fraser’s voice, a voice that should not be there, she felt a wave of fear. She feared that Curtis had discovered that she was still alive and would come looking for her.

In those moments, Dalia was overcome with fear and a deep longing to know what was happening outside, often pacing the temple anxiously.

After a year, and the passage of four more seasons, the quiet and routine life of the Temple brought Dalia both stability and a sense of freedom. No one knew her, and no one cared.

The people gathered here were all focused on their own inner lives. In this peaceful silence, Dalia gradually found her own sense of peace.

The daily routine, which began with morning prayers, was followed by a simple meal, appropriate work, personal meditation and mutual respect.

Days passed, weeks passed… and soon two years had passed since Dalia Fraser’s death and spring had come again.

Dalia, still alive, ate steaming potatoes and sipped thin soup with a now familiar rough wooden spoon. Her time in the temple was coming to an end.

Irvelyn had probably already made a grand entrance at the Moon Banquet.

The engagement outfit Curtis had prepared for his banquet would probably look tailor-made for Irvelyn.

Ah, may their love last a thousand years.

By now, Curtis has probably forgotten about his late wife and is busy pursuing Irvelyn.

With no more obstacles like the late Duchess Fraser, Curtis may be much more proactive than before.

The other three competitors, once his rivals, are probably much busier now than they were before.

In the end, Dalia was sure that Curtis and Irvelyn would make their love work, and that they’d probably be able to manage everything well on their own.

When she left the temple, the first thing she would do was go home. She’d visit her domain for a while, and once she was far from the capital, she could buy a horse.

If she wears the robe for silent meditation, no one will dare lift it to show her face, so there’s no fear of being recognised.

When she returns home and sees her family, it won’t be too late to make plans.

Will they be surprised to see their dead daughter return?

Probably not; her parents will probably just accept it, and her grandfather will probably laugh heartily and say, “You too, Gruy.

Older than the Empire itself, the Gruy family is so ancient that no one knows where they came from

While countless dynasties and kingdoms have risen and fallen on the continent, the name of the Gruy family has never been erased, even if it has faded or become obscure over time.

Over the years, the stories of the family have been treated as legends or fairy tales told to children, but they have always been kept private, never shared with outsiders.

The direct descendants of the family grew up listening to these mysterious and fantastic tales – tales of experiences passed down like bedtime stories in their blood – and they knew they were true stories. Dalia was no exception.

She believed that her return to life was a result of being a Gruy, and she was sure that her resurrection wouldn’t surprise the family, as there had been others who had died and come back to life.

Or was it reincarnation?

In any case, even if it was known that she had died, Dalia was sure that her return would be met with nothing but acceptance. It had been a long time since she had last seen her family, even before her return.

It had been a long time since Dalia had last seen her family, even before her regression. It wasn’t just a feeling; it had been a long time.

Remembering the days when members of the Gruy family rarely appeared at official events, and especially when she became Duchess of Fraser and never returned to Gruy since then, Dalia couldn’t help but let out a small sigh.

Really… it had been a long time. If she was going to die again, she should have spent more time with her family.

To avoid any regrets, Dalia decided that this time she would spend time with them.

If she wanted to arrive before it got too hot, she would have to leave in about a week.

Dalia added the remaining potato to the soup, stirred it and took a big bite, thinking quietly.

But is there really a world where everything goes according to plan?

The world outside, the one Dalia didn’t know, was very different from the one she had expected.

* * *

“This is where we stop.”

“Yes. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

At Curtis’s words, the advisors immediately bowed their heads and left.

Alone, Curtis put down his pen after the last signature and extended his left hand. He took a sip from the tea that was always by his side, but a slight frown appeared on his forehead.

Once again, the smell and taste of the tea irritated the tip of his tongue. He left the cup half empty and set it down.

Pulling the bell rope, Sebastian entered with a calm stride.

“Did you call, sir?”

“Tea.”

“Is it still not right?”

“Yes.”

“I apologise. I will adjust the blend of leaves and the temperature.”

Curtis, silently watching Sebastian bow deeply, soon dismissed him.

Alone again, Curtis sank deep into his chair, leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

He squeezed his tired brow, but the heaviness, as if from his eyes to the whole weight of his head, did not go away easily.

It had been a long time since he had drunk a proper cup of tea. The tea, once perfectly suited to his taste, had begun to drift, and no matter how much Sebastian tried to adjust it, there was always something wrong.

When did it start…?

His sharp memory pinpointed the exact moment. It was after Dalia Fraser, his wife, had died.

A sharp pain throbbed around his heart, but it was so brief that Curtis didn’t even notice it.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and began to remember everything that had happened since her death.

After the overly simple funeral for the Duchess of Fraser, unworthy of her status, Curtis expelled the woman involved in his wife’s ‘accident’ from the Empire.

Further investigation revealed that many young women under the woman’s guidance had suffered such severe verbal abuse that some had made extreme decisions.

So Curtis acted without hesitation. The Woman’s existence became something no one dared mention, and she was completely erased from history. Such was the power of the Fraser name.

After taking care of the necessary things, he didn’t reorganise the family, but went straight to Count Gruy’s house.

“It was considered an accident, but the woman was treated appropriately.”

“I see. An accident… Understood.”

Although Dalia had died of poisoning, and the circumstances made her death seem accidental, he reported it to Count Gruy.

Their reaction, however, was strangely indifferent. The family was already known to be quiet and to hold calmness as a virtue, but their reaction to the death of their only daughter seemed odd.