Chapter 1 Part 2

Three years earlier.

Melissa Gallandia felt cold sweat beading between her interlocked fingers.

She bit her lip lightly.

The engagement ceremony and banquet had just ended,

and now the drawing room was filled with idle small talk.

Her dress, extravagant and constricting, made her feel more n*ked than clothed.

The gazes around her were laced with ridicule and contempt—

but she could not leave the room.

Her drunken fiancé had yet to excuse himself.

“Do you know,” he slurred,

“how many of my lovers cry themselves to sleep every night because of you?”

Franz Bergritz, Melissa’s fiancé, swirled the wine in his glass, his black hair tousled.

His face, slumped against the couch, was already flushed deep red from drink.

Melissa stood beside him like a doll, silently enduring the contempt and ridicule.

“Has Mother lost her mind, marrying someone like me—her legitimate son—off to the daughter of a traitor?”

He turned his head and glanced sidelong at her, repeating for the hundredth time what he had already said.

“Or is it the shameless wench who still insists on marrying me that’s gone mad?”

“Franz. Don’t blame your mother. I’m sure she has her reasons.”

A young nobleman seated across the room murmured,

his languid eyes trailing lazily over Melissa.

“She might be something in bed, who knows?”

“Even if she is, so what? She’s still a nobody.”

Franz laughed as though he didn’t entirely dislike the crude joke.

“Well, I suppose something unfamiliar might have its charm.”

If “lineage” referred to bloodline, Melissa Gallandia had one.

She was the granddaughter of Baron Gallandia, a vassal of House Bergritz.

But her mother, who had once been heir to the family,

for reasons unknown, gathered private soldiers during a time when House Bergritz was politically weakened.

It was seen as nothing short of betrayal.

Unable to overlook this, Melissa’s grandfather executed his own daughter to protect the territory

and returned half his land to the Bergritz family.

And as restitution, he sent young Melissa as a hostage.

Ordinarily, noble hostages were raised among other children of the court, treated as political siblings.

But not in Bergritz.

Not when she bore the mark of betrayal.

“…Melissa, was your father a servant? Or a wh*re?”

Just as Franz muttered, though her mother’s lineage was clear, her father’s identity was not.

Daughter of a traitor.

Of questionable blood.

So Melissa had lived her life in the Bergritz estate as a hostage scorned by all.

She had grown used to the suffocating treatment, as natural as breathing—

But that didn’t make the humiliation any less.

As she stood motionless, saying nothing, Franz staggered to his feet and loomed in front of her.

“What, are you upset?”

He lifted his heels slightly, emphasizing the inch of height he had over her.

“You should be glad you’re useful. Day or night.”

She should have said it—something like ‘Gladly, I’ll be useful even at night.’

But Melissa was too exhausted from the long day.

No—truthfully, she simply didn’t want to.

Silence was the only weapon she had to wound him in return.

The only way she could defy him without breaking.

“You’re not going to answer me?”

Franz’s eyes flared with fury as he grabbed her chin and jerked it upward.

“You lowborn wench, are you ignoring me? Can’t even open your eyes properly?

Look at me.”

“……”

“Filthy bastards—stiff-necked for nothing. That bastard, and you too…!”

His thoughts shifted.

His hand dropped from her chin and suddenly swung upward—

a wide arc aimed straight for her cheek.

Melissa clasped her hands together in front of her.

It was the first time she had been struck in front of so many people—

and the shame was sudden and sharp.

But it wasn’t despair.

There wasn’t a single person in this place who genuinely cared for her.

Getting hit before people who meant nothing to her brought only pain, not humiliation.

As his hand cut through the air, drawing closer, Melissa tightly shut her eyes.

But no matter how long she waited—

no pain came.

Had Franz passed out from the alcohol?

When she opened her eyes in the heavy silence, what she saw wasn’t Franz collapsed.

It was a pair of golden eyes.

Radiating intent.

“I didn’t know you were the kind to strike women, Brother.”

A smooth, low voice reverberated through her.

A man she hadn’t forgotten for even a moment.

Caught by the curve of his faint smile, Melissa murmured before she could stop herself.

“Alexander…”

Alexander Bergritz.

The man who rose above his older brother Franz to become the head of House Bergritz.

The governor of the southern province—

a title too small to encompass all he was.

With the scorn and ridicule cut off like a snapped thread,

Melissa’s reason began to return.

What… what did I just say?

Alexander?

The distance between them was vast—

as distant as the castle’s highest tower was from its deepest cellar.

She had no right to speak his name so familiarly.

“Lord Bergritz, please forgive my rudeness.”

Melissa bowed her head in apology.

She moved so hastily that a few fine strands of hair escaped from her tied-up hair and clung to her cheek.

Flustered, she quickly tucked them behind her ear.

She had told herself this wasn’t humiliation, only discomfort—

But that conviction vanished instantly.

Because she had shown this side of herself to the one person she never wanted to.

Yet just seeing his face filled her with joy.

She couldn’t hide the trembling in her eyes.

Afraid that he might see the unwarranted shyness and the shame that followed,

she kept her head bowed, using apology as an excuse.

She saw the tip of his shoe.

Just having her line of sight share space with his feet made her heart swell.

“It’s fine,” he said.

His voice fell like a sigh.

The detached tone made her heart jolt, as if something inside her had broken.

Melissa, she mocked herself bitterly.

Did you really think he’d speak kindly to you, as if you were a lady of noble standing?

She forced herself to rein in her racing heart.

“Brother,” Alexander said, his voice now directed at Franz.

“To strike your betrothed in public—especially one you’re promised to—

it’s disgraceful. You should at least consider our parents’ reputation.”

“What concern is that of yours…?”

“The royal family was invited to this engagement, Franz.”

“……”

“They’re likely not far. In one of the nearby rooms, perhaps.”

It was a warning: Behave yourself.

Franz pulled away from him with a sharp twist of his arm, irritation flaring.

Alexander sat down on the empty couch, his expression unreadable.

And even as he moved away, Melissa found herself lingering on the trailing edge of his cape.

She hated that it had vanished from view.

But even if she couldn’t see him anymore,

that fleeting moment was enough to burn him into her memory.

He wore a crisp uniform fit for the capital—nothing out of place—

but there was nothing humble about his adornments.

Golden earrings matching the hue of his eyes, rings that suited his bronze skin—

each expensive accessory was like the perfect period at the end of a well-crafted sentence.

From the brief moment he passed, his scent lingered:

a blend of wild wind, earth, and green—a fragrance born of rigorous training.

It was the scent of a land she had never seen.

The southern province of Tavalon.

“You. What are you doing here?”

Thump. Thump.

Between the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears, Melissa heard Franz’s irritated voice cut through.

Then came Alexander’s quiet, mirthless laugh.

“You’re getting engaged, Brother. Of course I had to come congratulate you.”

Melissa suddenly found herself wanting to see him again.

Was he slouched arrogantly with his chin in hand? Or reaching for a cigar, perhaps?

She had only ever watched him from afar.

It had been years since she had been this close.

Apparently, filling a notebook with sketches of him hadn’t been enough—

now, she only wanted more.

“You came to mock me, didn’t you?

To see just how pathetic Franz’s woman is.”

Alexander let out a sudden, sharp laugh.

His harsh features curved in an expression that—just for a moment—seemed almost innocent.

“Franz’s woman?”

“……”

“Already acting like a married man, are you?”

Even though she knew his words were meaningless,

the moment the word marriage left his lips,

Melissa instinctively lifted her head from its long bow.

Just as she had imagined, Alexander was lounging back on the couch, cigar between his lips.

What she hadn’t expected—

was that he was looking straight at her.

Their eyes met,

and her heart surged like it might explode.

“Should I call you ‘sister-in-law,’ then?”

Narrowing his eyes, he inhaled from the cigar until the tip glowed, then exhaled a long plume of smoke.

Through the haze, the sweep of his slicked-back black hair shimmered faintly.

“Congratulations on the engagement, sister-in-law.”

Even knowing he was teasing her,

the faint glint of amusement in his gaze nearly stole her breath.

She wanted to cry.

She wanted to laugh.

Her face refused to obey her,

so she bowed her head again, deeply.

“…Thank you, my lord.”

“Just call me Alex.

We’re family now, after all.”

There wasn’t a soul among his actual family who called him Alex.

It was clearly a joke.

And yet she wavered.

Really? Am I allowed to?

She wanted—so badly—to find an excuse to say his name aloud.

But she hesitated.

Caught between wanting and knowing better,

she could neither accept nor reject his offer.

And in that silence—

Franz’s warped laughter tore through the room.

“Pfft.”

“Ha. Hahaha!”

Franz held his glass, but couldn’t even drink from it, chuckling as he spoke.

“You sound like you’re ready to drag her into your bed tonight.”

Alexander furrowed his brow, as if mildly inconvenienced.

Melissa, cheeks burning, could hardly contain her fluster.

Of course it was just a polite joke.

She felt sick with herself for even hesitating.

Panicking, she mumbled, pitifully,

“I… I didn’t mean to give the wrong impression.

Truly, my lord.”

“I know. You don’t need to explain.”

There was amusement in his voice.

Even as she became the b*tt of the joke,

Melissa felt no indignation—

only the overwhelming inability to think clearly in his presence.

She had loved him for so long, and so silently.

It wasn’t just a one-sided crush. A crush was for those too naive to know better.

She knew.

She had always known her feelings meant nothing to him.

That she meant nothing.

And still—her heart ached.

Still—it beat stupidly in her chest.

And her face blurred with emotion.

Franz, who had been watching her fall apart with leisurely interest, lifted his glass and said,

“Why not? He gave you permission—just call him what you like. Melissa.”

“…Thank you. The gesture is enough.”

Her polite refusal seemed to irritate Franz,

who now found her flustered demeanor more annoying than amusing.

His tone grew darker, more threatening.

“As your husband-to-be, I’m giving you permission to say his name.

What—do you think my word is a joke?”

Franz’s moods often swung wildly,

but after a drink, they turned volatile.

His shadowed eyes moved between Alexander and Melissa, cold and slow.

Then he muttered under his breath, voice filled with venom.

“This is why bastard brats are…”

At the word bastard,

a heavy silence descended over the drawing room.

Most of the guests were the children of House Bergritz’s vassals.

And all of them, of course, knew—

Alexander was a bastard.

The bastard who now sat as head of House Bergritz.

And more than anything—

they knew exactly what it had taken for him to claim that position.