As their voices overlapped, they both instinctively fell silent, allowing the same uncomfortable silence to settle between them once more. 

For Dalia, the silence was unbearable, like sitting on a bed of thorns, every second testing her patience. But Curtis hardly noticed – he was too caught up in the sight of her, too lost in the moment to care. 

The moment she spoke his name, a shiver ran through his veins, rushing straight to his heart, pounding against his ribs. 

Yes. His heart trembled. 

Her violet eyes burned like a rising flame, but her own green gaze remained cool and unreadable. Though her eyes shone clearer than they had two years ago, the words that fell from her lips carried the same piercing chill as before.

“I’d like to know how you got here, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not an important question.”

Dalia paused for a moment before continuing with emphasis. 

“I just want to ask you one thing.” 

She took a deep breath and spoke firmly. 

“Why are you looking for your dead ex-wife?” 

His dead ex-wife. 

Calling herself that without the slightest hesitation, Dalia’s unwavering demeanour made Curtis’ heart lurch violently. 

“But you’re alive.” 

“Officially, I’m dead. The funeral’s already over, isn’t it?”

With every word she spoke, Curtis felt a dull pain throb deep inside him. 

He had expected – no, he had known – that Dalia would treat him differently than she had two years ago. But that didn’t mean it hurt any less. 

Through her, he was learning that understanding and accepting were two very different things. 

And that a person’s heart could tremble just by standing in front of someone. 

She was alive. She was there, looking into his eyes. 

And all he could do was stare at her like a fool.

But the next words that left Dalia’s lips made Curtis’ pupils contract in an instant, like a predator locking on to its prey. 

“The Duchess Fraser is dead. I am now Dalia Gruy, Duke Fraser.” 

Her words didn’t just draw a line between them – they severed their connection completely. 

Curtis immediately shook his head. 

“You stand here, alive. Dalia Fraser, you are still my wife and the Duchess of Fraser.”

His voice, devoid of inflection, and his expressionless face were exactly as Dalia remembered them – unchanged, unwavering. Or perhaps it was just her imagination, but his eyes looked… wounded. 

You’ve lost your mind, Dalia Gruy.

Meeting Curtis so suddenly, in such an unexpected place and time, had clearly shaken her. 

Wounded? Him? Curtis Fraser?

The only one who could bring this man to his knees, who could make him burn with longing, was Irvelyn. 

Nothing else – neither people nor possessions – had ever meant anything to him. 

Hadn’t she already learned this painful truth in the cruelest way?

Dalia pressed her hand tightly against the spot on her chest where his sword had once cut mercilessly. 

“I really don’t understand.” 

“What don’t you understand?” 

“Why should I still be the Duchess of Fraser? It’s already been publicly announced that I’m dead. What reason is there to change that?”

Her voice was calm, almost indifferent.

“If you’re worried that I might try to claim some rights as your former wife, I can write you a pledge right now.” 

“Dalia.”

“Yes. I am Dalia Gruy, Duke Fraser. Since there’s nothing left between us from our time as husband and wife, this works perfectly.” 

Logically, Dalia’s words were almost absurd – after all, she was undeniably alive, yet she insisted on being treated as if she were dead. 

And to be honest, she wasn’t even sure why she was saying all this. 

From the very beginning… 

“Why did you come looking for me?” 

Try as she might, she couldn’t find an answer to that question.

But Curtis didn’t give her the answer she was expecting. Instead, he said something else entirely. 

“Dalia… don’t say that the time between us was nothing.” 

“And what if it was?” 

Her voice was calm, almost indifferent, and her expression was equally untroubled – so much so that it left Curtis speechless. 

For the first time in his life, his tongue hesitated. The man who had never been silenced by anyone was at a loss for words.

And then, for the first time – after years of silence at Curtis’ side – Dalia’s pale lips whispered, soft and weightless, like the song of a lark. 

“It meant nothing, Your Grace. That time… it was nothing.” 

“How can you say that? The time we spent together, the years that passed…” 

“Yes, they have passed. But just because we spent time together doesn’t mean it ever really existed between us.” 

Time doesn’t define a relationship. Some fall in love at first sight, others remain strangers even after spending a lifetime together. 

“Time that lasts, that builds on itself, something to look back on… we never had that.”

Dalia smiled faintly as she explained the end of a relationship with Curtis that had never existed. 

“There’s nothing, is there? Between us.” 

The moment she smiled, Curtis instinctively reached out for her. 

But his hand never touched her – it hesitated, then withdrew. 

And it was then that Curtis finally realised. 

Dalia Fraser was dead. 

She had killed herself two years ago.

Perhaps it had happened long ago—or in a future that would never come—that he had been the one to kill her.

And yet, because the one meeting his gaze was undeniably Dalia, his heart clenched with a piercing ache, and his insides twisted in turmoil.

Dalia.

Just as she had said—Dalia Fraser was dead.

But even she could not take herself away from him. He would never lose her again.

Every time he heard her speak, Curtis felt an unbearable pain stabbing at his heart, though he could never quite name it.

But one thing was certain—he would not let her go.

Curtis reached out once more, his fingers gently wrapping around Dalia’s hand. 

As their eyes met, he brought her hand to his lips and planted a lingering kiss on the back of it before whispering, 

“Just like you said, we are ‘us’. You and I… we’re still ‘us.'”

* * * 

“What am I supposed to do with this… really…” 

Dalia ran a hand through her hair, a heavy sigh coming from deep within her chest. 

“Let’s go back.”

 Even though Dalia had cut him off, Curtis reached out to her. 

Not only did he reach out, he took her hand in his and even pressed his lips to it. 

The breath that passed through his dry lips was so unbearably warm that it felt like her hand was on fire. 

Unconsciously, Dalia rubbed the back of her hand where his lips had touched. 

There had been a time when she had longed for the few words that had escaped between his strong, steady hands and lips. 

But that time had long since passed, so she rejected him without hesitation. 

“No. I won’t go.” 

She had thought, of course, that he would turn away then. 

And yet…

“Did we not stand before the sacred altar and vow to stay together until our very last breath? Come back to me.”

Curtis did not back down. 

Dalia opened her mouth to speak, but he was quicker. 

“Dalia.” 

There was something deep and unspoken in that single call of her name, something surging and overflowing. And before she realised it, her hand had reached out to take his. 

Now, remembering that moment, Dalia unconsciously rubbed her arms again. 

Then, realising what she was doing, she let out a weary murmur.

“What is this, really…” 

Dalia let out a hollow laugh as she dusted her hands, only to stop abruptly. 

Knock, knock, knock, knock. 

The knocking from outside the door was anything but ordinary. 

This particular knock was a special signal – one that only Sonia or Lania would use to warn Dalia if something was wrong. 

Dalia sprang to her feet and before she could give permission, the door was flung open. 

And of course… 

“My lady!” 

“Sonia? How did you get here?” 

“I received a letter saying you were here!” 

“A letter? What do you mean…” 

“All right, all right, let me come in first”

As Sonia cast a subtle glance behind her, Dalia finally turned her attention to the figure standing further back, her smile turning slightly awkward. 

“Delfion, was it you who called for Sonia?” 

“It wasn’t me…” 

“It was I. 

Before he could finish, a much deeper voice came from further behind. 

As Curtis stepped forward, the air in the room tightened, swelling with tension as if it might burst at any moment. 

He was the kind of man who had an overwhelming presence – one who could make a room hold its breath just by being there.

And the one most affected by his presence was not Dalia or Sonia – it was Delfion. 

Unconsciously, he swallowed dryly, only to scowl at himself in irritation at such a reaction. 

Yesterday he had backed down at Dalia’s request, but today he refused to back down so easily. 

The only saving grace was that, no matter how he looked at it, Dalia clearly did not welcome the presence of the Duke of Fraser. 

Of course, how could a former Duchess, who had faked her own death and fled, have a good relationship with her husband? 

With narrowed eyes, Delfion watched them intently. They stood there, locked in each other’s gaze, as if they were the only ones in the room.