The passengers, lined up to disembark from the ferry, noticed the woman running and screaming down the corridor, but paid her little mind. To them, their own families—whom they would soon meet—were far more important than a strange woman with tear-stained, red eyes, running barefoot in distress.

Rochelle shook off the crew members’ hands and darted about like a madwoman, eventually slipping down to the lowest deck and flinging open a small door. The abandoned storeroom reeked with a musty stench.

Coughing from the dust, she frantically hid herself among the cleaning supplies.

At the same time, her parents’ cries rang sharply in her ears. Rochelle anxiously glanced around. Even though she knew it was only a hallucination, she was helpless every time it happened.

Then another shout echoed. The harsh sound of shoes scraping against the wooden floor scattered in all directions.

On edge, Rochelle bit her lips and paced behind the thick iron door. She was already a rat trapped in a cage—unable to escape, with no light of survival left.

With her back to the iron door, she slowly crouched to the floor, her body trembling violently. She could hardly breathe, her mind growing faint. As her vision darkened, tears suddenly poured out.

‘…Yevgeny.’

Where was Yevgeny now? He had promised to help her, to marry her—so where had he disappeared to at this moment? She knew she shouldn’t think this way, but despair kept creeping in.

She didn’t want to doubt him, didn’t want to doubt the man she loved…

Hiding her face between her knees, she heard a chilling sound—the lock being struck by something heavy and falling off—as the back door burst open.

“Here, over here! I found her, Sir Kaiten!”

“Tie her up! Grab her, now!”

The very next moment, merciless hands grabbed her by the nape and threw her to the floor.

“Ahh!”

Taken by surprise, Rochelle screamed as she collapsed. With no strength in her body, she rolled a couple of times, blinking with difficulty.

She saw several men in crisp military uniforms in her blurred vision. Some aimed long matchlock rifles at her, while another scowled, holding a rope in his hand. His eyes were filled with a bitter, furious resentment, as if he’d found his lifelong enemy.

Just because she had expected this didn’t mean the fear went away. Emotions burrowed into her heart whether she wanted them or not.

She didn’t want to show them how scared she was, didn’t want to tremble before them. She wanted to be dignified. But Rochelle’s eyes could only see the long matchlock rifles in their hands, the well-kept black barrels gleaming with oil.

As she stared blankly at those round muzzles, her head was slammed to the ground. Blood seemed to flow from her forehead and nose, soaking her face. Rochelle blinked dully. Someone climbed on her back, forcefully binding her hands and feet with rope.

Rochelle closed her eyes. Darkness closed in.

She just wanted to die like this.

***

God had surely abandoned her. Blinking, Rochelle let out a hollow laugh.

Where was all the blood coming from? Her once soft, rich hair was now matted and stiff with filth and blood. Someone yanked that branch-like, hardened hair, laughing.

“How does it feel, noble lady, to fall to the very bottom of life?”

“…”

“Now do you have even a shred of understanding for the hearts of foolish commoners?”

Rochelle cautiously lifted her head, then grimaced. Her head throbbed as if it would split open. Her body, battered and bruised, stung where torn skin met dusty floor, but none of it really mattered anymore.

After blinking a few more times, a figure entered her hazy vision. The man stood with the light behind him, making it hard to see his face, but it was clear he was a young man about her age.

“Do you remember me?”

“…”

Rochelle quietly shook her head.

She didn’t know him at all. There wasn’t even the faintest memory of seeing him before. The man, unable to contain his anger, rushed at her and struck her head with his knee.

“Ah!”

She screamed, rolling over on the floor again. Her nose felt wet with blood, but with her arms bound, she couldn’t check.

“How could you forget! The stable master Arfin’s son! How could you!”

“How could you forget that face!” He shouted, stamping around the cell in a rage, then returning to slap her hard across the face.

Rochelle couldn’t even resist. No, she didn’t even have the will to try. Any pitiful attempt would have been meaningless.

The young man knelt, roughly grabbing her hair and pulling her face close. His face was twisted with madness, his bloodshot eyes blazing red.

Looking at his sunken, gaunt cheeks, Rochelle shook her head again. Then, summoning strength in her throat, she shouted,

“I don’t know! I really don’t! How could I know you, I don’t know you at all! I don’t!”

Her sharp voice echoed through the dark cell. The sound was so loud that someone outside banged around, then opened the iron door and came in. Seeing the scene, he frowned deeply in annoyance.

“What’s all this ruckus!”

“…”

“John! You brat! I told you to watch the woman so she doesn’t escape, not to mess up her face like that!”

The young man called John slowly got to his feet. As he moved, the badges on his shoulder epaulets clinked together.

He brushed his black hair from his forehead and replied curtly.

“…Understood, Sir Johan.”

“If either of you makes a racket again, just wait and see what I tell Sir Kaiten when I go upstairs.”

“…”

“This isn’t Brittany. Until Sir Ivan arrives, we’re to keep a close watch on her and nothing more. Don’t cause any unnecessary trouble.”

“Yes, I’ll keep it in mind.”

When John nodded quietly, the man left, closing the door behind him.

Recalling their conversation, Rochelle couldn’t hide the tension in her expression. Ivan—was Ivan alive and coming here? Her hands, tied behind her back, trembled violently.

“Just kill me. Right now, with that gun at your belt.”

Rochelle whispered. But the man only tightened his grip on her hair, waving her head in the air with a mocking laugh.

“Do you really think you deserve such an easy death, Rochelle Kotov?”

“…”

“Do you even know what your father did to me, to my father?”

“What did he do?”

She glared at John, eyes blazing. Triggered by her look, he slapped her face hard.

Groaning softly, she looked up at him as John whispered,

“He killed him. In front of all the servants, he grabbed my father by the hair and dragged him across the floor. Smashed his shins, knees, hips, back, and finally his head with a club. Why, are you really going to say you didn’t know?”

“…”

‘No, that can’t be.’

Rochelle shook her head, tears streaming down her face. Her father couldn’t have done that. There’s no way such a tragedy could have happened in the Kotov family. The mansion she remembered was always peaceful, calm, everyone happy.

But the young man before her writhed in pain, recalling his childhood. His face twisted in agony. Gasping, he now glared at her with a face armored in cruelty. His blood-red eyes were filled with nothing but her.

‘It can’t be.’

‘It can’t be.’

Rochelle kept shaking her head.

‘You must be mistaken. My father could never have done that. With that gentle face, he couldn’t have committed such a cruel act. You’re lying. You’re just trying to make me feel guilty. To make me believe I deserve this, so I’ll give up on life. That’s what this is.’

“That’s what this is!”