“It’s cold—why are you out here?”

Rive spotted Marsili sitting on the terrace in front of the entrance, wrapped in a blanket as he rocked gently in his chair.

He held a cup of warm tea in his hands.

“The snow makes everything look so beautiful.”

“You’ll catch a cold like that. Please, come inside, Grandfather.”

Marsili’s gaze lingered on the empty basket hanging from her arm.

“It seems you’ve been to the market.”

“Yes. I stopped by Mrs. Margaret’s place.”

Marsili found himself remembering the first time he had met Rive.

When he first brought her home, she slept for two whole days without waking.

Worried that she might be ill, he almost called a doctor when she finally woke up.

Still feeling hesitant, Rive told him that she had come to Southfirth in search of work. She added that she was too ashamed to ask, but wondered if she might be allowed to stay for a while.

Marsili agreed without hesitation.

It was somewhat impulsive, but he was not the kind of man to turn away someone with nowhere else to go.

Rive threw herself into every household chore she could find.

Although she appeared to be inexperienced, she proved to be surprisingly capable.

Even after she found out she was pregnant, she never stopped working.

No matter how much Marsili tried to stop her, she simply smiled.

Even at the height of her morning sickness, when she could barely eat anything, strawberries were the one thing she never refused.

Feeling perhaps guilty about the expense of such a luxury, she resolved that if she couldn’t find proper work, she would earn money however she could.

She started with embroidery and knitting, two crafts she claimed to be confident in, and before she knew it, years had passed.

She laughed it off, saying it had only been a way to pass the time, but Marsili chose to ignore the quiet sorrow lingering in her expression.

She was a pitiful child.

Even without looking too closely, he could tell that her heart had been broken a long time ago and left to scar over.

“I worry you might be pushing yourself too hard. It seems you’ve even been sleeping less because of your knitting.”

“No, it’s not like that. I just couldn’t sleep last night.”

Perhaps because she rarely fell into a deep sleep, she often suffered from insomnia.

Whenever her thoughts became tangled, she would knit.

Some nights, she would lose track of time entirely and find herself entranced by the quiet mystery of dawn outside the window.

As always, Marsili did not press further.

“It seems Paul and Ainer aren’t back yet.”

As Marsili stood up, Rive quickly moved to support him. When he swayed, she instinctively tightened her grip.

“Grandfather, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Liz. It seems age has made the dizziness worse.”

“It’s been happening often lately… maybe we should go to the hospital together?”

Her eyes trembled with worry as she looked at him.

Marsili was about to respond but suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps broke in.

The labored breathing drew closer, and both Marsili and Rive turned toward it.

“Mrs. Margaret?”

“Oh dear, something terrible has happened! Good heavens—what in the world is this!”

Mrs. Margaret stood bent over, hands on her knees, gasping for breath—her face pale, almost ashen.

“Come quickly! Both of you, hurry!”

She waved her hand urgently.

At the same time, as if sharing the same thought, Marsili and Rive exchanged a glance—
their gazes locking together.

***

“How dare you accuse my son of being a thief? How dare someone like you!”

The crowd that had gathered could not bring themselves to intervene.

The tall man sprawled on the ground endured the relentless kicks in silence, not uttering a single groan.

Gus Margaret held Ainer, the youngest member of the Burnett family, in her arms. He was crying so hard that he might choke.

“My son, steal something? Say that again!”

Viscount Madnerus Tayligo panted heavily, tugging at the tie around his neck. His rough hands twisted the fabric tightly around his fist.

Jason watched indifferently from the back seat of a car parked at the edge of the square, his chin resting on the window frame.

‘How stupid.’

Boredom filled the boy’s eyes as he looked at Paul Burnett, lying on the ground being trampled.

“You worthless—”

“Paul!”

The Viscount’s fist cut through the air and stopped abruptly above Paul’s head.

His gaze flickered with interest as he looked at the woman who had pushed her way through the crowd.

Rive.

She covered her trembling mouth with her hand as she stepped forward to approach the Viscount, who was still straddling Paul with his fist raised.

Behind her, Marsili froze at the sight of his grandson lying broken on the stone pavement; he had just arrived.

Mrs Margaret supported him as he staggered and cried out in shock.

“Liz, how did you find us here!”

Paul, who had remained silent throughout the beating, finally lifted his head, looking alarmed.

Rive’s trembling eyes met his.

She had no idea what had happened.

But one thing was clear: she could not tolerate seeing Paul being assaulted.

Straightening her posture, she faced the Viscount without flinching.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Oh? Come to think of it—you’re from that Cannons estate I have under mortgage, aren’t you?”

As Marsili grew older, his income dwindled and his circumstances worsened.

He had taken out a loan from Viscount Tayligo, who had promised a low interest rate. In return, he handed over part of his Cannons estate as collateral.

Rive had only recently found out about this.

“You will be held responsible for this, Viscount Tayligo.”

“Responsible? Why should I be? It’s this man who accused my son of being a thief who should take responsibility!”

“Paul accused your son of theft?”

“He said my son stole some ridiculous pair of gloves, something he’s never even seen before!”

As the Viscount advanced on her aggressively, Paul—who had somehow risen—stepped in front of Rive, shielding her.

Seeing his battered back, Rive swallowed hard.

“I never accused him of being a thief. I only asked him to return them.”

Paul’s brows knitted together as he spoke; the cut at the corner of his mouth ached with every word.

The Viscount scoffed.

The crowd held its breath, sensing that violence was about to erupt again.

Stepping beside Paul, Rive faced the Viscount squarely.

“Then that means someone is lying. Shouldn’t we ask the person involved?”

“What?”

“Where is your son? If we ask him directly—”

“How dare a lowborn harlot like you interfere? Get out of—!”

Before he could finish speaking, the Viscount swung his fist towards Rive and a sharp scream tore from Paul’s throat.

Paul had twisted his arm.

The Viscount was forced to his knees on the stone pavement, crying out in pain.

Rive looked down at him coldly.

“It seems, Viscount Tayligo, that you were never taught even the most basic decorum expected of a noble.”

“Ah—! Let go of me! Do you hear me? I’ll sue every last one of you!”

“Go ahead.”

Rive answered without hesitation.

Paul, who was restraining Viscount Tayligo, widened his eyes in shock.

A loud murmur rippled through the crowd as confusion spread.

Stepping closer to the kneeling Viscount, Rive spoke calmly.

“You have publicly insulted another person. As such, Viscount Tayligo, you cannot escape the consequences of your actions. How unfortunate. The world has moved on, but you are stuck in the past. It seems we have no choice but to meet again in court.”

The viscount’s face flushed red, then drained pale as blood rushed unevenly through his body. He groaned, unable to find a reply.

“For a provincial viscount such as yourself, I wonder what kind of connections you possess — enough to influence a judge’s personal interests? I hope you are met with someone wise and impartial.”

A faint, crooked smile touched Rive’s lips; her expression was composed and almost unsettlingly calm.

Paul felt as though he were dreaming.

In the harsh, biting wind, her soft, golden hair whipped wildly around her.

She looked like something drawn from a painting, yet her gaze was cold, sharp and merciless as she threatened her opponent without hesitation.

“This works out quite well. With so many witnesses present, we can consider the testimonies secured.”

“You—!”

“I heard your gold mine venture was recently canceled. In your current situation, do you really think you can silence all these witnesses?”

For a brief moment, Viscount Madnerus Tayligo’s expression twisted as his eyes darted frantically.

Then, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the heavy silence.

“Father… I’m sorry.”

It was Jason.