“The post has arrived from Mr. Blackwood.”

When the moment she had feared finally came, Rive accepted the letter from the postman with a surprisingly calm expression.

The postman’s eyes flickered restlessly as he took in the sight of the pale, frail blonde woman.

“Have you heard the news?”

She showed no sign of agitation—like a pure white lily. She looked as though she might wither and tear apart at the slightest touch, stirring a strange sense of pity in those who knew nothing about her.

Her tired eyelids lowered slowly as she looked down at the letter in her hands, as if she could no longer fight off the exhaustion pressing in on her.

“The war… ended in Burddale’s victory.”

Her voice, faint and subdued, cracked ever so slightly.

The postman shrugged.

“Well, they’ve subdued Natvan and secured their sovereignty—there’s no clearer victory than that for Burddale. I hear your husband made remarkable contributions in this war.”

“……”

“Well then, I’ll be on my way.”

Rive responded with a polite nod and a composed smile. The postman, having finished his duty, hesitated for a moment before removing his hat in respect and turning to leave.

A sharp gust of cold wind howled through the entrance he left behind.

She remembered Susan saying it would snow soon. Looking up at the distant sky, she saw dark, swollen clouds gathering, swallowing the heavens whole.

“When the war ends, I’ll sever all ties with the Grandly family.”

A voice she had once overheard drifted back to her, tangled in the roaring wind as it whipped her hair into disarray.

The hand clutching the letter had already gone pale, trembling faintly.

Rive hurried up the stairs.

Her heart pounded wildly. The faster she moved, the more unsteady her steps became.

As if fleeing, she rushed into her room and tore open the letter she had been gripping so tightly, unfolding its contents.

It was a divorce paper.

A document filled with threats—stating that if she did not comply, a lawsuit would follow—was attached alongside it.

The duke had already signed it.

As Rive scanned the papers, her eyes slowly reddened.

Knock. Knock.

A soft sound echoed behind her as she stood with her back to the door.

Startled, Rive dropped the documents in her hand.

Steadying her breath, she quickly gathered them, opened the drawer in front of her, and hastily hid them inside.

Her fingers trembled as she tried to smooth her disheveled hair.

When she opened the mahogany door, reddish-brown and polished to a deep sheen—there she stood.

“Miss Bricklin.”

“Oh—I saw the postman outside just now. Did anything arrive for me?”

Her lush blonde hair and bright green eyes—like a forest in full bloom—sparkled with anticipation.

The woman her husband loved.

His mistress—Heather Bricklin.

The very person he had spoken of when he said he would sever ties with the Grandly family once the war ended now stood before her.

Rive’s breathing began to falter.

Standing in the doorway, half-hidden behind the partially opened door, she slowly shook her head.

“So nothing came for me?”

At Heather’s repeated question, Rive answered without hesitation—no.

Seeing the woman purse her lips in disappointment, something deep within her chest twisted painfully.

Her husband had loved Heather Bricklin—the woman who had once been meant to become his wife.
It was an open secret, and Rive had always known it.

“Ah—right.”

Heather, who had been about to leave with reluctant steps, suddenly stopped.

As she turned back, Rive—who had just begun to close the door—froze as well.

Through the narrow gap, Heather’s face appeared, bright with excitement.

“Have you heard the news? There’s going to be a grand festival in the capital to welcome the return of the war hero.”

Heather’s eyes curved into crescents as she smiled brightly.

Looking at that smile, Rive’s scattered thoughts slowly settled back into place.

The voice that slipped past her lips—dry, almost like resignation—felt as though it didn’t belong to her.

“That’s wonderful news. He’ll be returning soon, after all.”

Heather tilted her head, clearly surprised by the unexpected response—then burst into laughter. Covering her mouth, she looked every bit the picture of a refined lady.

“I’m just so glad Andy returned safely.”

Lowering her gaze, Heather’s cheeks flushed with shy delight.

Rive wanted to smile back at her but her lips wouldn’t move, as though her face had frozen in place.

As she watched Heather turn away without hesitation, retracing her steps with graceful ease, Rive felt as though her body were plunging off a cliff with no end in sight.

Only after Heather had completely disappeared down the corridor did Rive finally close the door again, barely managing to steady herself.

Andy.

Heather was the only person who could call Andrew by that name so freely.

Rive looked back on her past self—so foolish for believing she could ever break through that unyielding wall.

Her husband had been promised a political marriage with another family from the beginning. There had never been any doubt that Heather Bricklin would become the Duchess of Blackwood. The two had been openly acknowledged as lovers.

But just as formal talks of their engagement began, Heather Bricklin suddenly vanished without a trace. That absurd turn of events quickly became a scandal, shaking the Blackwood household to its core.

And so, unable to withstand the pressure surrounding him, the Duke of Blackwood chose Rive Grandly—who was widely rumored to admire him—as his wife.

In truth, Rive had always known. That he had chosen her as nothing more than an escape—from the tiresome attention and gossip that surrounded him.

It was only a year after their marriage that Heather—who had disappeared without a trace—returned.

Throughout their marriage, Andrew had never once given himself to Rive.

Not once.

To Rive, who had slowly withered away in silence, that woman’s existence became an unerasable scar, a shadow she could never escape.

In the end, that shameless woman took her place at his side.

And over the two years since he had taken her in as his mistress, Rive had faded like a flower slowly losing its life.

“My lady… shall I help you change?”

Lost in her thoughts, Rive was pulled back by the worried voice of the maid, Sophia, from outside the door.

“I’m fine. I’m almost done—go ahead and go down first.”

Covering her dry face with both hands as she steadied her breathing, Rive brushed back the neatly tied strands of her hair.

“Yes, my lady. The meal is ready, so please come down.”

Since the day she entered the ducal household, Rive had always treated the servants with respect, regardless of their status.

And because of that, they, too, had treated her with kindness.

But only for a time.

At some point their attitude began to change.

With Heather’s return, everyone’s loyalties had shifted. It was only natural—servants would always look after their own survival.

And yet, Sophia remained the only one in this household who openly cared for Rive.

After giving a brief acknowledgment, Rive hurriedly changed her clothes.

“Really? Then I should prepare at once. It’ll take at least an hour to get to the capital.”

Having finished dressing, Rive was descending the stairs when she caught the sound of a conversation.

Someone was standing by the telephone set along the corridor leading to the dining room.

Heather’s bright, excited voice lingered in her ears as she passed through the arched entrance.

The cheerful laughter grated against her senses.

With an empty expression, Rive walked past and glanced indifferently over the neatly arranged dishes on the table.

She had just taken her seat and picked up her cutlery when the sound of light, lively footsteps approached.

“Susan!”

“Yes, Miss Bricklin.”

A pair of flushed cheeks entered her view.

“I’ve been invited to the festival, so I’ll need to prepare right away. What should I do? I’d like to bring just one maid with me.”

Heather’s gaze, which had been directed at Susan—the head maid of the estate—shifted softly.

To avoid meeting her eyes, Rive focused on cutting her steak into small pieces.

“They say it’s going to be a grand ball. I might finally get to dance with Andy.”

Clang.

The strength drained from her hand as she pressed down on the knife. The sharp sound of metal striking against the dish echoed through the quiet room.

Her gaze dropped.

Reflected on the broad surface of the knife was the face of a pale woman.

“Milady, are you alright?”

Sophia approached. Rive’s stiff shoulders flinched.

After picking up the fallen napkin and replacing it with a clean one, Sophia poured water into the empty glass.

“You don’t look well.”

Rive felt as though she should say something but no words came.

She could feel Heather drawing closer.

With every step Heather took, a wave of nausea churned within her.

“I feel terrible about it. The invitation is only for one person.”

“It’s alright.”

“Right? I thought so. After all, you’ve never had any interest in social gatherings, my lady.”

No—that wasn’t true.

She had only pretended to be uninterested, knowing that Andrew had never wanted to take her with him.

“Then I’ll excuse myself first. It’s a long journey, so I must hurry.”

Until Heather turned and disappeared from view, Rive could not say a single word.

Her fingers, resting on her lap, curled in tightly—drained of all color.

Letting out a faint, bitter laugh at her own pitiful state, Rive lifted the napkin Sophia had placed before her and wiped her lips.

The untouched dishes had already gone cold.

As she rose from her seat, the servants—who had been silently watching the heavy atmosphere—held their breath.

From the moment her husband declared he would end their relationship, no… perhaps long before that this had always been inevitable.

With each step she took, it felt as though the ground beneath her was giving way.

Uneven breaths slipped past her lips, and the hand clutching at her chest trembled uncontrollably.

‘It’s alright.’

Murmuring the words to herself, Rive clenched her shaking hands and slowly began walking toward her bedroom.

She had only grown greedy wanting to remain by his side just a little longer.

After all, she had already planned to step away on her own before he could cast her aside.

Every day had been a life of quiet neglect, and yet, there had still been moments, moments that made her happy simply because she was with him.

Even knowing everything, that foolish attachment had never once loosened its grip on her.

So at the very least, she didn’t want her ending to be so utterly miserable.

It was a decision made far too late but now was the perfect chance to leave him.

So in the end it would not be she who was abandoned.

It would be him, Andrew.