Rive stood by the window and watched the car carrying Heather drive away through the estate gates. Only then did she turn away, leaning against the window frame.

The room was vast and lavish to the point of being overwhelming.

To her, it felt excessive and deeply out of place.

It was a space that perfectly embodied the word Andrew often used: ‘unsuited’.

Her eyes drifted to the single leather bag on the bed.

She had lived on this estate for three years, and that single bag was the only thing she could take with her.

It sagged weakly, half-empty, almost as if reflecting her own hollow state.

Rive said nothing. She simply waited for night to fall.

Dawn, when everyone was asleep, would be the perfect time to leave.

No one would ever expect her to walk away of her own accord.

Earning the servants’ trust was the only thing she had done right in this house, albeit unintentionally.

The clock ticked steadily, each second echoing in the silence.

After pacing for a while, Riv pressed a hand to her heavy eyelids.

She hadn’t been sleeping well these past few days. The sudden wave of drowsiness unsettled her, especially now, but she sank onto the sofa nonetheless, drawing her knees up and lowering her head.

She was planning to catch the train to Southfirth before dawn.

It would be a long journey. Even a little rest would help.

But the moment sleep claimed her, a nightmare followed.

A shapeless shadow chased her endlessly.

The more she ran, the heavier her legs became.

The ground beneath her feet crumbled like desert sand, giving way with every step and slowly dragging her down.

As she struggled to escape, a thought suddenly crossed her mind.

‘Then… perhaps it would be better to disappear like this. Without a trace.’

Her eyes flew open.

The room was silent. It was still dark outside.

A hollow laugh escaped her lips.

Rive hesitated no longer. She reached into the drawer and took out the document she had hidden away.

It was the divorce papers, already signed.

She placed them carefully on the bed, then gripped the handle of her packed suitcase.

“…Ha.”

She forced her thoughts to be silent.

There was no reason to cling to the remnants of her past, especially since she had chosen to leave.

She stepped outside, her hand resting cautiously on the door.

The corridor was cold, with a hollow draught drifting through it.

Holding her bag tightly, Rive moved like a stray cat: quietly and carefully, leaving no trace of her presence.

The lamps along the walls cast a dim, flickering light, and with every step she took, her shadow trembled faintly against the walls.

The staircase came into view.

As she reached for the railing and turned, a faint glow brushed across her vision.

It lasted only a second.

But it was enough to make her stop completely.

It was her husband’s bedroom.

He was supposed to be in the capital, attending a festival to celebrate the return of a war hero and his reunion with Heather after such a long time apart.

So why was there light in his room?

Riv couldn’t bring herself to look away.

As if drawn by something she couldn’t resist, she found herself being slowly carried towards his bedroom by her own footsteps.

Her heart began to pound loudly and uncontrollably.

The door opened without resistance.

A cold wind rushed in, biting her skin.

Her gaze fell on a large figure slumped against the sofa with his head tilted back.

His black hair stirred in the breeze, brushing softly across his smooth forehead.

Rive’s lips parted.

Her husband had returned.

As her blurred vision cleared, her senses snapped back into place.

She turned quickly, intending to leave at once.

But before she could take a single step, a voice stopped her.

“Heather.”

It was his voice—low, shadowed, unmistakably his. And yet… something about it felt different.

Slowly, she turned back.

He hadn’t even opened his eyes, yet his lips moved faintly.

“Come here.”

He’d been drinking.

The fear that had gripped her loosened just enough to allow her to think clearly again.

He was weak when it came to alcohol — so much so that even one drink could strip him of his senses.

It was the Blackwood family’s curse — an absurd weakness passed down through the generations.

Andrew forced his heavy eyelids open.

Through his blurred vision, a small figure wavered indistinctly before him.

Rive stood still, silently meeting his pale, glassy eyes.

They seemed dimmed, as if scorched or veiled in ash, as they lingered on her.

She had longed for so long for his gaze to rest on her. And yet, despite all that yearning, he had never truly seen her.

Who would believe it—that they were husband and wife and had never even shared their wedding night?

Andrew groaned and pressed a hand to his forehead as if he were dizzy.

Rive watched him impassively. Then, as if under a quiet spell, she let the bag slip from her hand. It fell softly beside the door.

Her eyes traced the line of his broad shoulders.

Despite the cold, he wore only a thin shirt. The fabric clung to his body, revealing its firm contours.

While he remained lost in his drunken haze, Rive allowed herself to truly look at the man she had never been able to have — just this once.

Perhaps it was all right to be selfish just this once.

His slow, uneven breathing filled the silence.

The faint sound of the wind mingled with the sharp scent of alcohol, stirring something deep within her.

Step by step, she moved closer.

Andrew lowered his hand from his head, let out a deep breath, and lifted his gaze.

He looked dazed and unguarded, as though he were drifting through a dream.

Stepping forward, Rive raised her trembling hand and reached for his shoulder.

“Heather.”

The strange haze clouding Rive’s eyes shattered in an instant.

Her clear, emerald gaze—once bright as the source of life itself—turned murky, like a stagnant swamp.

Heather.

“Heather…?”

A faint, self-mocking smile curved across Rive’s lips.

Her mind cleared at once, sharpened by her husband’s cold indifference and his inability to offer her even the slightest hint of affection.

She no longer cared why a man who should have been in the capital was here.

Drawing her hand back to her chest, she turned away from him.

The oil lamp that had been softly lighting the room flickered violently in a sudden gust of wind and then went out.

In an instant, the room was swallowed by darkness.

His uneven breathing and her own unsteady breaths mingled in the silence.

She felt movement behind her.

Her steps quickened.

As she bent down to pick up the bag by the door, she was suddenly seized, spun around, and lifted into the air.

“—!”

Her scream caught in her throat.

Before she could move, she felt a hot breath against her lips. Her eyes flew open and she held her breath instinctively.

The sharp scent of alcohol followed.

Somewhere in her fading awareness, she realized he was carrying her towards the bed.

But she had no strength to resist the force holding her down.

He laid her gently yet firmly on the mattress.

Burying his face in the curve of her neck, he brushed his lips unsteadily against her skin. The unfamiliar contact made her flinch, but fear and confusion stopped her from reacting.

His hands moved without hesitation.

She knew she should stop him.

But the thought of what would happen if he realized that the woman beneath him was not Heather left her frozen.

Perhaps it was better this way.

Better that he wasn’t fully aware.

Rive stared blankly up at the darkened ceiling.

His touch was urgent and restless, like someone desperately trying to quench an unrelenting thirst. With every movement, her confusion deepened, pulling her further into something she neither understood nor could escape.

A strange, unfamiliar sensation spread through her body, making her toes curl and her breath falter.

Then, a sharp pain tore through her, rushing up her spine and leaving a burning sensation across her neck and cheeks.

“Don’t go.”

His low voice pulled her back from the brink of unconsciousness.

Rive clamped her hands over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut.

Her mind went cold.

With each subsequent movement, tears slipped silently from her unfocused emerald eyes.

“Don’t go… please…”

Unexpectedly gentle, he brushed her hair back and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

When she looked up at him, her body trembled silently.

The way he held her made her feel as though he would never let her go.

And yet—

The way he looked at her…

What was he seeing?

Was he lost in the memory of the day his beloved Heather left him? Was he still wearing that same desperate expression?

It hurt.

Rive clenched the sheets tightly, her hands trembling as she endured it.

When he finally realized that the woman in his arms was the same woman he despised and loathed, he would surely look at her again with that same cold, cruel gaze.

Even now… even in a moment like this…

She found herself afraid of that rejection.

How pitiful.

Through her tear-blurred vision, darkness slowly crept in and swallowed everything.

Little by little, she felt herself being consumed by him.

Deep in her memory, she recalled asking her nurse what her wedding night with her husband was supposed to feel like.

“Everything turns white, and for a moment, you can’t see anything at all. It feels as though your body is floating, as if you’ve been lifted somewhere weightless. A deep, overwhelming happiness washes over you. Once you’ve experienced it, you’ll find yourself longing to be with your husband every night. But you’re still too young—there’s no need for you to understand it just yet.”

Her nurse had been lying.