Butler Pedleton glanced at his pocket watch, his expression heavy with concern.

He stood stiffly in place, casting a cautious look towards the Duke of Blackwood, who had been buried in his work for hours.

Unaware that the fire had died down hours ago, the duke had spent the entire day in his study.

“Master.”

At last, unable to wait any longer, Pedleton made up his mind.

Swallowing dryly, he lowered his head.

“Th-that is… Miss Bricklin is still outside…”

It had already been two hours since he had come to the study, unable to refuse Heather’s earnest request to see the Duke.

“I’ll see her later.”

After saying that, the Duke had seemed to forget Pedleton’s existence entirely, immersing himself in his work.

Watching Andrew show no reaction, Pedleton swallowed a silent sigh.

“Master, Miss Bricklin is still waiting in the corridor.”

“At last,” the Duke responded.

He put down his pen, its clear metallic sound echoing faintly against the desk.

Removing his silver-rimmed glasses, he reached for his cigarette case out of habit.

Pedleton’s expression brightened.

“What shall we do?”

With a cigarette between his lips, Andrew cast him a bored glance.

“Blonde hair. Light green eyes.”

“…Pardon?”

“If there is a maid in this estate with that appearance—dismiss her.”

“Wh-what do you mean by that, all of a sudden?”

Andrew tilted his head slightly, struck a match, and lit his cigarette

With a soft crackle, smoke rose like mist around his face.

He could do nothing to suppress the lingering sense of something missing, clinging to him as though it were part of himself.

The thirst he had buried for so long began to resurface — perhaps because every corner of Bloodtail still bore traces of her time there.

Some memories were eternal.

No matter how deeply they were hidden or erased, they never truly disappeared.

Behind Andrew, whose expression was unreadable, snow began to fall slowly from the grey sky.

Pedleton, who had been looking out of the window, suddenly faltered.

“Shall I repeat myself?”

A chill crept down his spine at the ominous tone.

Though the Duke’s voice felt strangely unfamiliar, Pedleton bowed with proper decorum and answered,

“It will be done at once.”

“Leave.”

“Th-then… what about Miss Bricklin…?”

Trailing off, Pedleton met the Duke’s gaze — and, in that instant, something struck him.

He bowed deeply once more.

Then, as if trying to escape, he backed away and hurried out of the study, a chill running down his spine.

Blonde hair. Light green eyes.

Heather Bricklin matched that description perfectly.

And now that he thought of it, the late Duchess of Blackwood had possessed the same features.

Wiping the cold sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, Pedleton shook his head and let out a quiet sigh.

Since returning to Bloodtail, the Duke of Blackwood had changed —subtly yet unmistakably.

Until now, the House of Blackwood had maintained its own quiet order.

But not anymore.

The air within the estate felt heavy.

At times, an inexplicable chill would creep in, stirring a deep sense of unease.

What he had once dismissed as mere imagination, he now realized had been real all along.

Pedleton felt unsettled.

He had served the Duke for many years. Yet even now, he could not say with certainty what kind of man Andrew Blackwood truly was.

“Butler.”

“…Ah, Miss Bricklin.”

Heather, who had been pacing the corridor absentmindedly, spotted Pedleton emerge from the study. She hurried towards her, her face lighting up with hope.

Although she had grown thinner and more worn, she remained strikingly beautiful.

Pedleton bowed, his expression solemn.

“The Duke has many pending matters. He says it will be difficult to spare time.”

“……”

“Perhaps another time—”

“Would you step aside for a moment?”

Before he could stop her, Heather pushed past him and walked straight to the study door.

Pedleton’s eyes widened.

“Please, you mustn’t—”

But it was too late.

She had already gripped the doorknob tightly.

The door swung open.

A cold gust of air rushed in, stirring the hem of her skirt.

Through the hazy veil of cigarette smoke, the silhouette of the Duke of Blackwood slowly came into view.

The acrid air stung her dry eyes.

Having firmly closed the door behind her to prevent Pedleton from following, Heather crossed the room, her heels striking the floor with sharp, echoing clicks.

“We need to talk, Your Grace.”

As the wavering smoke slowly cleared, she finally saw the face she had longed to see.

When she stood before him and saw his utterly emotionless expression, she felt a faint sense of shame and clenched her fists.

She knew that she could no longer treat Andrew the way she once had.

Just as that woman had done, she now intended to cling to him and beg for his attention.

Her eyes trembled as she watched his controlled, deliberate movements as he crushed the cigarette into the ashtray.

“Please…”

Leaning back in his chair, Andrew tilted his chin slightly upwards.

His gaze wasn’t on her, but fixed behind her.

It was a silent command to Pedleton, who had rushed in after her, to leave.

“I know you want to hurt me.”

“……”

“How could I not? When I think about everything you must have gone through because of me… I know I have no right.”

“……”

“But… I truly want to try again with you. If there’s any way I can show you how I feel—no matter what it takes, I will. So please…”

The determined voice gradually broke into sobs.

She covered her swollen eyes with her palms, but tears still slipped through her fingers and fell.

She was crying.

He recognized that.

Yet Andrew’s heart remained as still as something adrift in a vast, silent sea.

“Heather.”

Andrew stood up and watched her quietly.

He walked around the desk and stopped in front of her. His blue eyes settled on her, growing cold and unmoving.

Their gazes met, but their thoughts were in completely different places.

“Why are you still here?”

It sounded almost like he was asking himself.

“I don’t recall there ever being a moment when either of us was sincere.”

Why did the lingering image of his deceased wife refuse to fade?

Even after all this time, whenever he saw a woman who resembled her, his thoughts would stop as though something inside him had broken.

In hindsight, his wife had longed for love, yet she had never allowed herself to yearn for it openly.

It was as if that had been the last boundary she had kept for herself.

He knew the woman standing before him was not his wife.

And yet, her tear-filled, pale green eyes, which had always yearned for his love, appeared before him like a hallucination, stirring the emptiness within him.

When Heather stood before him with an utterly emotionless expression, a faint sense of shame made her clench her fists tightly.

She knew she could no longer treat Andrew the way she once had. Just as that woman had done, she now intended to cling to him, to beg and plead for even the slightest fragment of his attention.

Her eyes trembled as she watched him crush the cigarette into the ashtray with controlled deliberation.

“Please…”

Leaning back in his chair, Andrew tilted his chin slightly upwards.

His gaze wasn’t on her, but fixed behind her.

It was a silent command to Pedleton, who had rushed in after her, to leave.

“I know you want to hurt me.”

“……”

“How could I not? When I think of everything you’ve been through because of me… I know I have no right.”

“……”

“But… I truly want to try again with you. If there’s any way I can show you how I feel—no matter what it takes, I will. So please…”

The determined voice gradually broke into sobs.

She covered her swollen eyes with her palm, but tears still slipped through her fingers and fell.

She was crying.

He recognized that. Yet Andrew’s heart remained as still as something adrift in a vast, silent sea.

“Heather.”

Andrew stood up and watched her quietly.

He walked around the desk and stopped in front of her. His blue eyes settled on her, growing cold and unmoving.

Their gazes met, but their thoughts were in completely different places.

“Why are you still here?”

It sounded almost like he was asking himself.

“I don’t recall there ever being a moment when either of us was sincere.”

Why did the image of his deceased wife refuse to fade?

Even now, after all this time, whenever he saw a woman who resembled her, his thoughts would stop in their tracks, as if something inside him had broken silently.

In hindsight, his wife had longed for love, yet she had never allowed herself to yearn for it openly.

It was as if that had been the last boundary she had kept for herself.

He knew the woman before him was not his wife.

And yet, her tear-filled, pale green eyes, always yearning for his love, appeared before him like a hallucination, stirring the emptiness within him.

***

“Aren’t your hands cold?”

Sitting on the bench and swinging his legs, Ainer happily ate his vanilla ice cream, shaking his head energetically in response to Paul’s question.

Paul’s concerned gaze lingered on him.

Despite his young age, Ainer was mature beyond his years — a child with a deep and gentle heart.

“Uncle.”

Ainer stopped eating and looked up at Paul.

Paul casually wiped the ice cream from the child’s mouth with his hand and nodded, urging him to continue.

Ainer hesitated, his lips pressing together as if choosing his words.

“Let’s keep it a secret from Mom that we lost the gloves.”

“…What?”

“Just between you and me!”

Paul stared at him, momentarily dumbfounded.

Every time the child’s small fingers fidgeted, something in his chest ached.

“About earlier…”

“I think brother Jason was jealous of my gloves!”

“…Huh?”

“If he had just asked, I would’ve given them to him. I have lots and lots of gloves Mom made for me.”

As Ainer’s expression quickly turned downcast, Paul gently ruffled his hair and let out a soft, playful smile.

“Are you really okay with that? Those gloves meant a lot to you.”

“……”

“Just like you said, we’ll keep it a secret from your mom. But what Jason did was wrong.”

At Paul’s firm tone, Ainer blinked his wide eyes.

What had he been thinking, choosing to hide how hurt he was?

Paul knew.

That seeing his mother sad was the hardest thing in the world for him.

Seeing his own past emotions reflected so clearly in Ainer, Paul was overcome with an unbearable sense of guilt.

“I’ll get them back for you. I promise.”

“…Really?”

“So just trust your uncle!”

Paul thumped his chest and declared it confidently.

Ainer watched him carefully, then mimicked the gesture by puffing out his small chest.

The sight made Paul burst into laughter.

Brushing the child’s hair back, he pulled Ainer tightly into his arms.

‘I hope no sadness ever finds its way into that bright smile.’

Paul wanted to be someone this young child could always rely on.

He wanted to be a safe place, someone he could lean on without hesitation.

As this quiet longing took root and grew stronger, so did Paul’s resolve.