“She’s still awake?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Her room is still lit.”

Kieron had heard that Ariadne had regained consciousness, but he wasn’t going to let her persuade him again.

He didn’t even glance in the direction of her room. He remained shut away in his study, refusing to watch the entire household rise and fall around her once more.

Yet news of her reached him effortlessly.

The first person she had asked for upon waking was Derrick.

Derrick had brought her a stack of documents.

That she had barely eaten her light dinner before returning straight to her work.

And that even now, long after the estate had fallen silent, she was still awake, bent over those papers.

It was absurd.

She had been so ill, yet the moment she could stand, she had reached for the documents.

Was she out of her mind?

Scowling, Kieron pushed himself up from his chair.

Stubbornness like hers was practically a sickness in itself.

“Where are you going, Your Grace?”

“…You don’t need to know. I’ll be back shortly. Wait here.”

“If you’re headed to see the lady, you mustn’t, Your Grace. The butler said he would go in your stead—”

“D*mn it. Do I now need your permission to see my own wife in my own house?”

“But the butler insisted, he said Your Grace would not be of help to the lady right now. Please, Your Grace.”

“So Derrick is your superior now, is that it?”

As if he weren’t already irritated enough, everything seemed to irritate him even more.

Whether Herald tried to stop him or not, Kieron brushed past him sharply and strode straight towards Ariadne’s room.

Ariadne Peyton was the cherished daughter of a marquess.

Anyone who saw her could tell that she had been raised with all the love that the marquess, the marchioness, and her fiercely protective brothers could give, she was the pride and treasure of the Peyton household.

When they learned that he was the reason she had collapsed, their reaction was far harsher than he could have imagined.

Her brothers gazed down at the unconscious Ariadne with sorrowful eyes, then turned their fury on him, glaring as though they might tear him apart on the spot.

Her mother looked as though she was barely holding herself back.

The marquess quietly took him aside.

In polite terms, he told him that he had always hoped his daughter would meet a kind and loving young man and that he had never imagined a duke as a potential son-in-law.

However, since Ariadne had chosen him, the Marquis said he would do his best to accept it.

This was despite Kieron never having said that he intended to marry Ariadne.

“And if I refuse the proposal?”

“Then there will be nothing in this empire you could desire that is more precious than my daughter—and you will not have it.”

The Marquis’s gaze made the truth painfully obvious.

Kieron realized then that he could not escape marriage to Ariadne Peyton.

In hindsight, the situation was almost laughable: a marquis taking in an unwanted son-in-law solely to protect his love-struck daughter.

He needed to revive his struggling household, and she needed to marry in order to free herself from hers.

They had both entered the union wanting different things and thinking different thoughts, even though they were standing at the same altar.

And yet, the wedding happened far sooner than anyone expected.

The Marquis must have known.

Had they opted for an engagement instead of a marriage, Kieron would have used it as a shield, delaying and postponing until his precious daughter withered under the weight of unrequited love.

That was why the Marquis had rushed the announcement and handed his daughter over.

He had even attached that condition, absurd and humiliating for anyone.

But even without it, Kieron had disliked Ariadne.

He disliked the subtle, almost calculating manner in which she had taken hold of the entire household and drawn all eyes towards her within a single year.

Her false modesty — acting composed and dignified in front of him, despite having grown up as a sheltered, pampered young lady.

Then again, perhaps it wasn’t cunning. Perhaps it was simply the way she had been raised.

It didn’t matter.

He hated the whole situation.

What he hated even more was that he was beginning to pay attention to her, too.

“Your Grace!”

He arrived at her room and came face-to-face with Derrick, who was gripping the doorknob as though about to go inside.

Seeing his startled expression as he blocked the way only worsened Kieron’s irritation.

“Move.”

“Your Grace, the lady has only just awakened.”

“Then you should have kept the ‘only just awakened’ lady from letting every detail of what she’s doing reach my ears.”

He despised the fact that the entire estate seemed to revolve around her.

How long had she even been there, and yet everyone still leapt into action the moment anything concerned her?

Would they still behave that way if they knew what he had endured and compromised in order to marry her?

Would they still be so eager if they knew the conditions and threats the Marquis had forced upon him?

When he opened the door and saw her pale face and the trembling stack of papers in her hands, he felt as though she might disappear at any moment.

“I didn’t expect you to go to such lengths just to get my attention.”

The anger he had been holding back finally erupted.

Behind him, Derrick let out a weary sigh.

Her maid froze where she stood.

Ariadne, still clutching her papers, stood stock still.

“You’re truly a nuisance.”

Her already colorless face drained even further, turning almost ghostly.

“I–it’s not like that…”

“I thought you had at least some sense. Are you the type to cause trouble on purpose?”

“Your Grace!”

When Derrick called out, Ariadne swayed in her seat.

How could someone be so weak that they were wobbling even while sitting down?

He clicked his tongue, and the maid hurried over to support her.

The little color that remained in her face drained away, leaving it almost corpse-like.

The sight alone irritated him.

He strode forward, snatched the papers from her hands, and tossed them aside.

“Derrick! From now on, do not bring matters of the household to the lady. Handle them yourself. If anyone moves her for any reason from this moment onwards, dismiss them on the spot. Make that clear to the staff.”

“Your Grace, that—!”

“One more incident like this, and I’ll make sure you can’t step outside this room at all. Keep yourself still, madam.”

“A….”

Her eyes trembled at the low, growling warning. A gaze heavy with emotions he couldn’t begin to define—so full it looked ready to spill over.

Kieron snapped his eyes away from her.

“The papers in this room—clear them out and bring them to me. All of them, Derrick.”

“…Yes, Your Grace.”

He cast one final glance at Derrick, who bowed, barely concealing his displeasure. Then he turned and left the room.

He could feel her gaze burning into his back.

It no longer held the warmth it once did, nor was it shy or startled.

It was just hollow, sunken and unreadable.

No resentment.

No hatred.

No anger.

But the earnest longing she had previously displayed was also absent.

“If I had known it would end up like this, perhaps it would have been better not to marry at all.”

He regretted not refusing the Marquis of Peyton.

He had gained support, resources and influence.

However, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he could have secured all of this independently with a little more time.

The Marquis had merely sped up the process.

This meant that, no matter how many times he reconsidered, Ariadne Peyton was an unnecessary addition.

An addition he could never undo.

Running a hand through his hair in frustration, he headed back towards his study.

He had a household to rebuild.

He had work to do.

***

“My lady, if you eat like that, you’ll make yourself ill—please.”

“…I can eat a little more, Jay.”

“You’ve already had far more than usual, my lady! And when you overeat, you always fall gravely sick…”

Following that night—that nightmare—Ariadne stopped inviting Kieron to dinner.

Instead, she simply lived.

She ate.

And she ate.

She moved, she slept, she worked.

She kept her hands endlessly occupied, embroidering handkerchiefs and gloves for him, and giving the rest to the servants.

Sometimes she went shopping, using her family’s allowance to buy him small gifts. On other days, she bought desserts from shops in the capital and shared them with the maids.

Once a day, she went for a walk. She never missed a single meal — three full meals plus dessert.

Jay was constantly worried about her, insisting that her complexion was getting worse and her pallor even deeper.

But Ariadne felt her mind becoming clearer.

Kieron Ambrose disliked Ariadne Peyton.

Their sudden marriage — something that should never have happened — was a burden to him. And she, the product of that marriage, meant nothing to him.

On the day the princess visited, Ariadne thought she must be mistaken.

She couldn’t believe that the man who had once been so kind to her could now speak to her so coldly and treat her so badly.

She tried to convince herself that it had only been a nightmare, that she had imagined it. But no matter how many times she told herself that, nothing changed.

It had been real.

At some point — she couldn’t remember when — the day from her recurring dream began to play out endlessly.

In every dream, he always said the same words.

Words that she could no longer deny were real.

“I didn’t expect you to resort to this just to get my attention.”
“I thought you had at least a little sense. Are you the type who makes trouble by stepping forward?”
“If I had known it would come to this, it would’ve been better not to marry at all.”

No matter how many times she played those words over in her mind, she was the only one they ever hurt.

Whenever her thoughts became dull and she slipped into a fog, his voice echoed endlessly in her head.

The servants, who had once been constantly at her side, gradually stepped back and treated her as they always had.

Even Derrick, her protector for so long, seldom appeared anymore, quietly taking back the duties she used to oversee.

Ariadne didn’t want to be forgotten.

So she struggled — quietly, stubbornly, and in her own small ways.

Every day, she asked where he was.

She lingered in hallways he might pass through.

Whenever she found the slightest excuse, she went to look for him, again and again, feeling desperate and restless.

But all her reaching and grasping amounted to nothing.

“I’m sorry, but I’m busy with work.”

That was all he said when he suddenly appeared behind her as she was asking his aide about his whereabouts, as if her struggle had never once grazed him, as if it could never matter.

And so, once again, Kieron turned his back on Ariadne.

“Is His Grace at the estate today?”

“Oh—did you not hear? His Grace left for Fessina this morning…”

“…”

“He said it would take… around two months.”

“…I see.”

Even on their first wedding anniversary—

“The Duke didn’t come home last night…?”

“No, my lady. A message came that he’ll be late today as well. He said you should rest first.”

And on his birthday, the one for which she had sent a letter and a gift, mustering every bit of courage—

“The Duke said to tell you he received the gift, and that you should rest while you’re away.”

“…The Duke… can’t come with us?”

“Yes. He said he’s sorry he can’t join you.”

And on her parents’ birthday, the one she had asked him for months to attend together—

“My lady… His Grace may not return tonight…”

“…I see.”

Even on her birthday, which she spent alone.

She slipped from everyone’s thoughts just like that.

To Kieron, Ariadne had always been someone who could easily be forgotten: a woman who forced him to face his limitations, who confronted him and reminded him daily that no matter how long he dwelled on it, there was no answer to the problem she presented.

Kieron was also the one who, by doing nothing, had allowed her to fade until she nearly disappeared.

After quietly withering away for such a long time, Ariadne finally decided to let go of her feelings for Kieron.

This happened on the very day that their long-postponed tea finally took place.