“My lady, you’re only saying these things because you’re in shock. Your emotions are overwhelming you right now. But once time passes, you’ll realize it yourself—it isn’t love for me, but confusion born from pain.”

“No! Why won’t you believe me?”

“My lady, please—calm yourself. Take just one more day to think clearly. Bringing me into your room and tearing off your dress like that… that isn’t you. Don’t do something you’ll regret. Take a breath and think.”

“…”

It was the first and last time Carlo had spoken to her with sincerity.

After gently consoling her—knowing her mind was clouded by grief—he rose from the bed. Then he simply stood there, looking down at her.

Her dress hung loosely from her shoulders, barely covering her trembling body. Her eyes were swollen and red, so raw they almost looked painful.

“…Haa.”

Carlo sighed and reached out to lift her from the bed. Quietly, he began fastening her dress back into place.

It was the least he could do—perhaps it would dull the bitter, disgusting guilt gnawing at him.

When he fastened the last button, he stepped back and offered his final words.

“My lady, I regret that things had to end this way. But I’m certain you’ll find happiness with someone else—someone better than me.”

“…”

Roselina said nothing. Tears streamed down her face as she looked up at him, her eyes filled with unreadable emotion. Was it anger at being rejected to the very end? Or sorrow that he had truly let her go?

Carlo gave her a polite bow, then slowly turned to leave.

But at that moment—

Bang! The sudden sound of hurried footsteps and a door bursting open froze him in place.

“…!”

Roselina was on the balcony, stepping up onto the railing.

“My lady!!”

Carlo’s voice rang out, sharp with panic—followed by screams from below. The servants stationed outside the main building had spotted her.

“Please, step down!”
“No.”
“My lady!!”

Carlo’s jaw tightened as he hesitated to approach her too quickly, afraid any sudden movement might startle her. The look in her eyes was wild and unyielding—she truly meant to end her life.

He might have despised her, but this was never what he wanted.

“My lady, look at me. Don’t think about anything else—just look at me.”

“Hic… I said I love you! Why won’t you believe me?”

Perched on the railing, Roselina swayed precariously, as though even the faintest breeze could send her tumbling down.

Below, the Duke of Crussian, half out of his mind, was shouting for someone to save his daughter—but no one dared climb up to reach her.

Roselina screamed that she would jump if anyone dared to come closer.

“I’ll listen to whatever you have to say, my lady. So please, step down. Come to me, all right?”

“Lies… You’ll leave the moment I do! I’d rather die than live with this humiliation!”

Roselina’s voice trembled, but her stance on the railing was resolute. She looked every bit like someone ready to throw her life away.

“I won’t leave you! Please, come down!”

Carlo took a slow, measured step toward her—careful not to startle her. Every move had to be deliberate. Only three steps separated them now.

“You shouldn’t show me this side of yourself,” he said softly. “How much more do you want to make me angry?”

“Angry? Why would you be angry—you said you didn’t love me anymore!”

“I never said that. I left because I was hurt because I loved you. Please, don’t do this to me.”

Carlo kept up the act, his voice trembling with feigned emotion. For now, saving her life mattered more than the truth. If what she wanted was desperation, he could give her that.

“My lady, please, come down. I’m terrified… If something happens to you—”

He spread his arms wide, as if ready to catch her. Roselina’s gaze wavered.

“Do you… really love me?”
“Yes. I love you.”

At last, Roselina managed a faint smile of relief, brushing away her tears. For a moment, Carlo thought she might finally be regaining her senses—

Until—

“Kyah!”
“My lady!”

A sudden gust of wind swept across the balcony, making her stumble. Carlo lunged forward without thinking and caught her just as she began to fall, rolling across the floor with her in his arms.

He’d saved her by a hair’s breadth.

Relief washed over him—but so did the grim certainty that he was now entangled with her far more deeply than he ever intended.

Exhausted from her hysteria, Roselina soon drifted into unconsciousness. Carlo remained by her side, watching over her through the late hours of the night.

It was far too late for an unmarried man and woman to be alone together, yet no one in the ducal household seemed to question it. In fact, they hailed him as a hero—the nobleman who had saved their precious young lady.

“Haa…”

Leaning back in his chair, Carlo exhaled heavily and closed his eyes.

Laila must be waiting for me.

He’d kissed her forehead and promised to return soon—but things had gone awry, and now he found himself sitting at another woman’s bedside.

When he had caught Roselina from her fall and rolled across the floor with her, the startled duke and several knights had rushed into the room.

The duke, nearly in tears, grasped Carlo’s hand and said—

“You saved my daughter. You’re our savior—our benefactor!”

Under ordinary circumstances, the duke’s words should have filled Carlo with a thrill of victory—but instead, he barely managed to stifle a sigh.

It was because of Laila.

If vengeance had been his only goal, this turn of events would have been perfect. But with the promise he’d made to her still heavy on his conscience, he couldn’t feel triumphant. His entanglement with Roselina was only growing messier by the day.

Knock, knock.

A quiet tapping echoed through the still room. Turning his head, Carlo saw one of Roselina’s maids standing in the doorway.

“What is it?” he asked softly, careful not to wake the sleeping lady.

“The duke sent me to ask if you need anything, my lord.”
“No, I’m fine. Is His Grace still awake?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Where is he?”
“In his study.”

Carlo nodded. “Understood.”

The maid bowed and withdrew silently.

Since it’s come to this… I might as well tell the duke about him.

Now that he had earned the duke’s full trust, it was time to move. With that decision made, Carlo rose from his chair and headed straight for the study.

Knock, knock.

“My lord, it’s Carlo Siren.”
“Come in.”

At the duke’s permission, Carlo stepped into the study. The duke greeted him with a relieved smile.

“You’ve done well staying up so late. You must be tired.”

Noting the shift in the duke’s attitude, Carlo offered a polite, composed smile and took a seat.

“I’m fine, my lord. But I believe it’s time I take my leave.”
“Leave? Roselina will be disappointed to hear that.”

The duke’s tone carried a hint of worry—as if afraid that once his daughter woke and found Carlo gone, she might spiral into another fit.

“I’m sure the lady has calmed down by now,” Carlo replied evenly.
“Hmm…”

“If she wakes and asks for me tomorrow, please send word. I’ll come immediately.”
“Very well.”

Carlo rose from his chair as though preparing to depart, then paused midway and turned back to face the duke.

“Ah, my lord—may I ask for your help with something?”
“Of course. I’d do anything within my power for you, Lord Carlo.”

“A few days ago, I had the honor of meeting His Highness, Crown Prince Theodor.”

The duke’s brows twitched at once. It was clearly not the kind of introduction he liked to hear.

“His Highness asked me to find someone for him.”
“Someone? Who might that be?”
“Crook Zegner.”

“…!!”

The duke’s eyes trembled, as if struck by a sudden quake. For a man known for his cold-blooded composure to falter so visibly—there could be no clearer sign.

So it really is him, Carlo thought. Zegner is definitely one of his men.

“It seems His Highness is looking for him discreetly,” Carlo continued, “but it’s as though the man’s vanished into thin air. His Highness couldn’t locate him, so he asked me to assist.”

“I—I see. Ahem… Did he mention why he’s searching for him?”
“No, my lord. I wasn’t told. It struck me as strange too, but what can I do? A request from His Highness isn’t something one refuses.”

In truth, Carlo had no intention of finding Zegner for Theodor. His real aim was to use the duke to uncover the man’s whereabouts.

Now that he knew the duke’s reaction, it was clear—if Theodor was seeking Zegner, the duke would surely try to hide him. And in that chaos, Carlo planned to strike.

Perhaps, if he played this right, the duke might even confide in him directly about the man’s location.

By the time dawn broke, Carlo finally returned to the mansion. Without even resting, he went straight to Laila’s room.

Knock, knock.

“Laila.”

He waited, but there was no reply. For a moment, he considered turning the handle and stepping inside—but then he stopped himself and turned away.

She’s leaving for the battlefield in a few hours. She should at least get some rest.

With that small thought of consideration, Carlo walked away, leaving silence in his wake.

Inside the room, Laila sat on the floor with her eyes wide open. Her back pressed against the wall, knees drawn to her chest, she shut her eyes tightly.

You’re only coming back now?

The light outside was already creeping through the curtains. What had kept him so long at the duke’s mansion?

When he knocked, she had wanted to open the door—to ask him, to see his face. But her body wouldn’t move.

She had spent the night waiting, worrying, tormenting herself, until even the strength to stand had drained from her.

You could’ve come in… and just held me.

She had hoped for that—for him to come in quietly, to find her awake but pretending to sleep, and to hold her from behind without saying a word.

But after that single knock on the door, Carlo left—his business done, as though nothing more needed to be said.

“Hic…”

A soft, broken sob escaped from within the room.

Contrary to Carlo’s wish that Laila get a good night’s sleep before his departure, she couldn’t close her eyes for even a moment. Not until he was gone.

***

The next morning, Laila woke with a weary sigh, rubbing her dry, pale face.

“I should get ready.”

It was nearly time to leave for the Imperial Palace. She hurried to wash, and when she stood before the mirror afterward, droplets of water slid down her long, golden hair.

“…I should probably cut it.”

No matter how tightly she bound it, her hair always came loose whenever she swung her sword. During training, she could stop and retie it—but in battle, there would be no such luxury. Cutting it was the only sensible choice.

“How long have I grown it… four years?”

She let out a small laugh and picked up the scissors lying on the bathroom shelf.

Snip.

Her golden hair fell soundlessly to the floor. It felt almost absurd—how something that had taken four years to grow could be gone in a heartbeat.

The reflection in the mirror looked foreign to her now. Short hair, sharp eyes, and a quiet air of resolve—like someone wearing another person’s face.

“This is… who I am now,” Laila whispered, her voice barely audible above the quiet drip of water from her hair. “So… it’s all right.”

She met her own reflection with steady eyes—no longer the girl who hesitated behind others’ shadows, nor the woman who waited for someone to return.

The weight of the cut hair at her feet felt lighter than she expected. What remained was resolve—cold, clear, and unyielding.