To uncover the truth behind his mother’s unjust death eight years ago, Carlo had sold even his soul.
As the heir and young duke of the Adelina Empire, he crossed the border into the Cerclezia Empire under the pretext of study. But studying was only a means to an end. The real reason he came all this way was to feed the flames of vengeance burning inside him.

“Carlo…”
“Enough.”

Each time Carlo turned away from her with that cold indifference, another wound opened in Laila’s heart.
Her heart, already torn to shreds, still beat for him—but she no longer knew how long it could endure.

Her lips parted helplessly before she lowered her head.
To say she understood his thirst for revenge felt like deceit, but to tell him to stop would only stoke his fury.

“I’m sorry.”

Holding back the tears that threatened to spill, Laila watched his back. The saying was true—whoever loves more is the weaker one.

Behind a serene smile, he hid the inferno of vengeance. Alone, he walked straight into hell.

To take revenge, Carlo had slipped into high society, seducing noble ladies to extract the information he needed. It was an effective method—one that earned him a reputation as the most charming libertine of all.

Yet no matter how sweetly he smiled at other women behind that mask of a rake, Laila believed she was the only one who truly knew the real Carlo.

However, the more he drew the line, the smaller she became.
At this rate, she feared she would truly become nothing to him.

If you wanted, I’d gladly take your hand and walk into hell with you.

“Could you go to the Crine Bakery early tomorrow morning?”
“Crine Bakery?”

At the sight of Carlo’s emotionless red eyes, Laila’s heart sank.
What was he going to make her do this time?
Or rather, what words would he use to wound her again?

Whenever Laila crossed the line, Carlo always pushed her away in the cruelest ways.

“Lady Roselina said she wanted the dessert they sell there. You know how popular it is among the nobles—if you don’t line up early in the morning, you can’t get any.”

“…”

Just like now.

“So go there tomorrow morning. I’ll be visiting her in the afternoon.”

He’s sending me to buy dessert just to win over Lady Roselina…

Roselina—the only daughter of Duke Crushian’s family, which held the most crucial information behind his revenge, and the only young lady who had yet to fall under his spell.

To seduce that Roselina, Carlo had the heartless habit of using Laila—
from trivial favors like this to far more terrible ones.

‘He knows exactly how I’ll feel standing in that line.’
It was cruel. Knowing her heart and still asking her to do this—Carlo was truly cruel.

Laila’s gaze fell, and Carlo passed by her without a second glance.

“Fuu…”
Her chest ached so badly it was hard to breathe.

“Fine. I’ll do everything. If it’s for your revenge, I’ll do all the dirty work. Just like I always have.”

Please, don’t give your heart to Lady Roselina.

Tears slipped from Laila’s blue eyes. For the sake of Carlo’s revenge, she had moved like a shadowed knight—quietly, swiftly, and without leaving a trace. She’d dug into background checks, trailed people, issued threats, even taken part in kidnappings. She had snuck into sl*ve markets and torn down drug rings. Called the reincarnation of an ancient sword, her skills let her handle every task without leaving any evidence. That expertise had chained her to brutal realities and endless nightmares.

‘You always said no one else could do this but me.’

Still, she could never push Carlo away when he asked. He was the only person who had promised family to someone who had lost her memories.

“Even if you don’t remember, it’s okay. From now on I’ll be your family; I’ll be your memory.”

Her first memory of him was aboard the ship bound for Cerclezia.
She had been lying in bed, her body covered in wounds, while he nursed her back to health. Even now, the only thing she clearly remembered was his quiet words—that her entire family had died in a terrible accident.

The loss of a family she couldn’t even remember, the guilt of being the only one who survived, and the helplessness of not knowing where to begin—Laila had endured it all because of Carlo.

He had cared for her for no reason, guided her when she was lost.

“I’ll stay by your side. I’ll never leave you. So don’t force yourself to remember the past. As long as I have you, that’s enough.”

Carlo’s embrace had been so warm. It felt like the mother’s arms she’d never known, and the strength of his hold was as steady as a father’s. In every sense, he was family.

From that day—the day she lost her memories—Laila accepted everything as if it had been carved into her soul. If he said it was fine, then it was fine. If he said it was good, then it was good.

How could she not love the man who had protected and saved her, with no reason at all, when she had been utterly alone in the world?
He was the one who had given meaning to a life that hadn’t even had a beginning.

Perhaps that was why she clung to him so desperately, why she tried so hard to help him.
If she were to lose Carlo too, there would be nothing left of her.
If he abandoned her, she would once again be alone—adrift like dust in the wind.

He was her only one.
The reason she picked up a sword, the reason she dyed her hair, the reason she risked her life and made no effort to recover her past—everything began and ended with Carlo.

I’ll do everything for you from now on. So… just stay by my side.

To the man who was her everything—her one and only—it was a confession that would never reach him, and a desperate plea.

***

With a crash!, one of the ornaments in Carlo’s room shattered to pieces.

“Fuuh… d*mn it.”

Carlo gripped his long, flowing hair as though he might tear it out, yet his gaze never left the window. Even as he exhaled ragged breaths of fury, his instincts were searching—for someone.

“Do you really like Lady Roselina?”

No. It was for revenge.

The act of playing a womanizer he didn’t wish to be, the stench of cloying perfume from noble ladies he held in his arms—every bit of it was for that damned revenge.

Manipulating infatuated women to extract valuable information and set his plans in motion was far too easy. He offered his hand, his embrace, his warmth—twisting their hearts until they were his to command. And once he had everything he wanted, he never looked back.

For six long years, he had lived as a man with no future—a scoundrel who toyed with women’s hearts.
Six years of disgust, of loathing himself and the life he’d chosen to endure.

Who could have imagined that the kind, brilliant heir of a ducal house would turn into this?
How had the perfect life he once knew collapsed so completely?

Yes—it had all begun when his father brought home his mistress.

The man who had always been meticulous and cold-headed had changed overnight, when Carlo was eleven.

“Duke, I really get to live here from now on? I’m so happy!”

The memory of that young, beautiful lady running into his father’s arms with a playful smile still filled him with shock and revulsion.

“My name’s Sophia! Please take good care of me!”

It wasn’t until later that he realized the young lady with the charming smile was his father’s mistress.
Carlo denied it at first—refusing to believe the man smiling and holding the girl could be his father—but the truth was unyieldingly cold.

“Hah…! Duke!”

His father’s room had been full of lascivious sounds, while his mother’s room filled with pitiful sobs.
As time passed, Carlo’s heart swelled only with hatred. Rage at a father who betrayed his mother, abandoned his family for a mistress, consumed him.

And then, one day, an unexpected calamity struck.

“Poison—there’s poison!!”

It was revealed that poison had been placed in Mistress Sophia’s tea, and of course the culprit was pointed at Carlo’s mother. Bottles of poison were found in the mother’s chamber as evidence, and she was caught meeting the man who supposedly supplied the poison. Society was stunned. People murmured that the gentle, dignified Duchess could never be guilty, but witness testimony and the evidence all pointed to her.

“Mo—Mother…!”
“Carlo… come, hold your mother’s hand.”

Carlo could not bear to see his mother, degraded and imprisoned; an indescribable fury boiled within him. His mother’s cold, lifeless hand trembled pitifully beyond the prison bars, but in Carlo’s rage he could not see it.

“I will never forgive this. I will prove my mother’s innocence and drive Sophia out of the ducal house!!”

Carlo had believed that if he could just drive Sophia out, everything would return to how it once was—happy, peaceful, whole.
He had been too young then, and far too naïve.

“Carlo. Please… hold your mother’s hand, just once. I want to see your face properly, one last time.”

As he wiped his tears and stepped closer to the bars, his mother reached out a trembling hand. Their fingers were just about to touch—when his father burst in with the knights.

The young Carlo was dragged away before he could react.

“Carlo…! Carlo!”

Her desperate voice echoed behind him as he kicked and struggled in vain.
All she had wanted was to see her beloved son’s face and hold his hand one last time, but Carlo never managed to grant her that wish.

And he hadn’t known.
That would be the last farewell he’d ever have with his mother.