For reasons she could not clearly discern, consciously or unconsciously, Dalia found her gaze inadvertently drawn to his jaw. It was only after biting the inside of her mouth that she took him fully in.

His silver hair, backlit by the morning sun, was impeccably neat, and beneath it the smooth line of his forehead and the strikingly high bridge of his nose were exactly as she remembered them.

He had remained unchanged, without the slightest hint of disorder, until the moment he had cut through her heart.

From their first meeting, which had captured her heart, to the agonising years of their marriage, she could count on one hand the number of times his sharply defined eyebrows had so much as twitched.

There had been a time when she felt she would do anything, absolutely anything, to earn even a fraction of his smile.

Of course, Curtis’s smile – said to be worth more than gold – had belonged to Irvelyn alone from beginning to end.

And at last she faced those piercing violet eyes – set deep in the shadow of his gaze, straight as a blade. That colour, flickering like the dawn of midwinter as the northern winds raged.

Before her regression, Dalia had always waited for this moment. The moment when he would look directly at her.

Of the twenty-four hours in a day, it was only in that fleeting moment that he truly took her in with his eyes.

Even at dinner, when they sat opposite each other, they rarely made eye contact or exchanged words. Curtis simply did not prefer idle conversation while eating.

For Dalia, who had loved him so painfully, it was only natural to accommodate his preferences.

She never once took the initiative to speak, and with neither of them making any effort to acknowledge the other, there was no reason for their eyes to meet.

Within moments of their eyes meeting, Curtis, as usual, was the first to look away and turn his back on her.

As Dalia took in his broad back, his iron shoulders and the immaculately tailored suit that draped so perfectly over him, she unconsciously swallowed a breath.

‘Ah… so that’s how it is.’

The sigh that had lingered over the raw wound in her mouth spread faintly to her fingertips, sending a subtle tremor through them.

She tucked her hand under her skirt, suppressing any sign of emotion. And even though Curtis was no longer looking her way, she painted a perfect smile on her lips.

“Take care.”

The brief goodbye she uttered every day flowed smoothly, without the slightest hesitation, as if it were second nature. And as always, there was no reply.

And so their brief encounter ended as simply as it had begun.

As she looked at the gleaming cufflinks on his sleeve – the ones she had chosen for him – Dalia had to keep the corners of her lips from curling up. And it was only natural, for…

Dalia Gruy’s heart did not tremble in the slightest at the sight of Curtis Fraser. Not even a trace.

No trembling, no excitement, no joy, no lingering attachment, no regret, no despair, no resignation, no anger, no hatred, no frustration – she felt absolutely nothing.

Curtis Fraser no longer meant anything to Dalia Gruy.

And because of that, she didn’t even feel a sense of relief.

Before facing him, Dalia had never even considered this outcome. And yet, beyond her expectations, she found herself utterly delighted – to the point where she wanted to laugh out loud and celebrate her own joy.

She felt no anger, no resentment towards the man who had killed her.

Hatred is often a powerful force that drives people on. Because anger and resentment take strength.

But Dalia had no desire to rely on such emotions as the driving force of her life.

To be consumed by them would only prove that Curtis was still deeply embedded in her – that his presence was something she could never erase.

And so she welcomed the stillness in her heart – not just a simple sense of calm, but a complete, tomb-like stillness. There was not a speck left in her to give to Curtis.

Dalia stayed where she was, watching until the carriage with Curtis was completely out of sight. At the end, she clasped her chest tightly before turning away.

My love had truly, without a doubt, died with me.

***

After sending Curtis off, Dalia immediately returned to her daily routine.

In the past, she had meticulously watched over his every move, making sure he was comfortable.

But now that her love had faded, it was nothing more than an exhausting nuisance. Still, she could not just stop.

Better to get it over with.

After a quick review of Curtis’ schedule for the day, she went to work out of sheer habit, carrying out her tasks mechanically.

With all the experience she had gained over the years, she knew that whether love was involved or not, everything around Curtis would continue to function flawlessly, perfectly tailored to his preferences – without him having to lift a finger.

Just one more year and it would all be over.

As Dalia selected a tie pin for Curtis, who had a meeting with the nobles scheduled for that evening, her lips twisted in displeasure.

Looking back on her past self, she realised that what she had once considered love was too pathetic to be called that, and too humiliating to be called devotion.

There was nothing inherently wrong with the idea of personally caring for her husband, but if Curtis had been the least bit interested in such things, it wouldn’t have been surprising if he’d found her excessive attention stifling.

Blind, unsolicited service-how utterly ridiculous.

Besides, she was his wife, not his vassal. Even a loyal vassal might be devoted and attentive to her lord, but not to such an absurdly obsessive degree.

“Tsk.”

Dalia clicked her tongue in frustration, but her pen never stopped moving.

There were always things that had to be done, whether you wanted to or not. And this – this was something she had to do for her own survival and the bright future she was determined to secure.

Having quickly completed this tedious and unpleasant task, Dalia soon turned her attention to the stack of invitations piled high to her left.

The number of invitations addressed to the Duchess of Fraser was, with a little exaggeration, the highest in the Empire.

Social gatherings, tea parties, cultural and artistic events – despite being filtered once or twice before reaching her, the sheer volume was still enough to overflow the tray.

However, Dalia rarely responded to the flood of invitations.

Unless it was an event she was obliged to attend as part of the Duke and Duchess’s duties, she saw no reason to make an appearance.

Even before her marriage she had not been particularly active in social circles, and after her marriage she attended even less.

A happy duchess indeed.

She had no desire to hear the whispered nicknames that were so easily muttered about her.

Then there were the subtle, far-reaching glances hidden behind a stiff, masked smile. And more looks.

Eyes filled with curiosity and jealousy, envy and mockery, veiled by a thin layer of politeness and courtesy.

Sitting alone in the middle of such a crowd had always been an unbearable ordeal.

The fact that she had never been able to refute the claim that she had ended up at Curtis’ side by sheer luck had made it all the more unbearable.

But now Dalia herself had come to accept the nickname.

With one exception.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips as her true thoughts unconsciously slipped out.

‘Yes, it was luck. But not good luck – more like terrible bad luck.’

In truth, objectively speaking, it was somewhat understandable why Dalia Gruy had caught Curtis Fraser’s eye.

For one thing, the House of Count Gruy had a longer history than the Duchy of Fraser. Although it was not at the height of its present wealth, it remained a solid and influential family.

Therefore, when comparing their political standing, wealth and reputation with the Duchy of Fraser, the scales would naturally have tipped slightly in Fraser’s favour – not excessively, but just enough.

But in reality, no matter which noble house was placed on the scales against Fraser, the weight would always tip towards them.

The idea of equality was an illusion from the start.

Especially when you consider that the Imperial family itself was hardly on an equal footing. After all, there were only six Imperial princesses in the entire Empire.

In the end, only a handful of families could even be considered capable of maintaining a reasonably acceptable balance with the Duchy of Fraser.

The second reason was Dalia Gruy herself. She had no outstanding qualities of appearance or ability, but she had no glaring faults either – a perfectly unremarkable noblewoman.

In other words, she was the ideal duchess – someone who would simply occupy a seat and uphold the family name without causing any trouble.

But no matter how logical this reasoning was, it never stopped people from whispering.

For to envy someone who so effortlessly had what everyone else wanted was not a matter of logic – it was driven purely by emotion.

Until the moment of her death, Dalia was seen as nothing more than a duchess who had been blessed with sheer luck.

And after Curtis fell madly in love with Irvelyn, the rumours became even more scornful and cruel, forcing Dalia to endure them all the more.

“So even the Duke is just a man. Well, with a duchess like that…”

“Imagine being pushed aside by a count’s illegitimate child.”

“What does she have besides luck? It’s no surprise.”

“Or maybe there’s another problem altogether.”

With every step she took outside the mansion, rumours, whispers and ridicule clung to her shadow like a stain.

And yet, foolishly, Dalia endured.

Again and again.

After all, she was the one at his side. She was the woman he had sworn to spend the rest of his life with.

How foolish she had been.

No, had it really been for love?