“Huh… it— it hurts…”
“Shut up! Who gave you the right to wag that filthy mouth of yours?”

Slash!

At her plea for mercy, a vicious hand lashed out. Light exploded before Laila’s eyes; the impact rocked her body and drove her hip against the corner of a table.

“You dare, smelling of your mother—such low birth—”

A woman’s voice, dripping with scorn and contempt. The world turned red and blurred; she couldn’t make out the face of the woman who struck her.

“Ugh—! Ugh…!!”

Her ribs felt like they’d been crushed; she couldn’t draw a proper breath. The woman seized a fistful of the little girl’s silver hair and began to spit out hateful words.

“Remember this well. Your maid-born mother was a vulgar wretch who dared to lay hands on my husband when she tried to climb the social ladder. So you’ll be the same, won’t you?”

“…ugh……”

“If you don’t want to die by my hand like your mother, you’ll live as if you’re already dead. Do not cross me.”

Slash!

Another sharp crack split the air, and Laila’s cheek was left raw and stinging, her face a bruised ruin.
She couldn’t move a single finger from the pain—but then, someone gathered her limp body into their arms.
And just like that, she was torn from the nightmare.

“Haah—haah…!”

Sitting upright in bed, Laila clutched her chest, gasping for breath. Sweat soaked her from head to toe.
Terror wrapped around her like invisible hands, as though someone were still strangling her. Instinctively, she curled into herself—her body remembering that it hurt less that way when the blows came.

But… who? Why?

She pressed a trembling hand to her heart, forcing herself to recall the dream.
It was the first memory that had surfaced in seven years—and she couldn’t bear to lose it again.

***

The next day, Carlo arrived at the ducal estate for his planned outing with Roselina.

“I hurried here as fast as I could, yet it seems I’ve kept a lady waiting.”

“Oh, not at all. I’ve only just come down.”

“Next time, I’ll make sure to arrive earlier—so that I’m the one waiting. Shall we?”

Offering his hand like a gentleman, he spoke with an easy charm. Roselina nodded shyly and placed her hand in his.

As they approached the carriage, Roselina’s gaze shifted toward Laila.

A bad sign.

Then she said lightly, “I’ve decided not to bring my maid today. Since Lady Laila’s hands are so quick and precise, I thought I might have her attend me instead.”

“…”

Had the humiliation she’d endured yesterday not been enough? Roselina was insistent—she wanted Laila to attend her personally.

‘If I’d known this would happen, I never would’ve come.’

She could have easily made an excuse, claimed there were other duties to tend to, and stayed behind.
But when Carlo had said he wanted her to accompany him, she hadn’t been able to refuse. It was a habit born of long, unrequited love.

Still shaken from the nightmare that had left her restless all night, Laila lowered her gaze, silently cursing her own foolishness.

“As my lady wishes.”

And, as always, Carlo abandoned her far too easily.

Laila was growing tired—tired of loving him without return, tired of clinging to a hope that he might one day see her heart, tired of watching him burn himself away in vengeance.

The rational part of her screamed to leave him.
But her heart had already been given away long ago.

After all, ever since she’d lost her memory, her life had revolved entirely around Carlo.

He was the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes, the one who gave her a name, the one who taught her everything she knew. They had been inseparable.

So how could she possibly leave him now?

‘But why… why has Carlo never told me anything about my past?’

She knew she was partly to blame—she’d never asked—but still, the question gnawed at her.

He had never once asked if she wanted to regain her lost memories.
Never mentioned her past.
As if he were warning her—don’t remember.

Was it because he knew how terrible those memories were, terrible enough to haunt her dreams?

‘Is he protecting me… because he’s afraid I’ll be hurt?’

Once, she would have believed that without question.
That was why she obeyed him, trusting his every decision.
But now, the doubt was beginning to gnaw at her.

What if her forgotten past was somehow tied to his revenge?
What if that was why he’d brought her all the way to Cerclezia—why he kept her close, yet in the shadows?

For the first time, Laila found herself truly wanting to know who she had been.

***

“I didn’t realize my lady had taken such a liking to my knight.”

As Laila wandered through her private torment, Carlo sat in the carriage with Roselina, his tone light but probing.

“Well, she’s a knight—her movements are quick, precise. It’s only natural I’d notice.”

“Yes, I suppose so. But as a lady, her manners leave much to be desired. I’d hate for her to make a mistake and cause you harm or offense.”

Carlo knew very well that Roselina couldn’t stand Laila.
Every meeting between them was marked by open disdain, by deliberate neglect. It was impossible not to see it.

That was why he’d planned to leave Laila behind.
Yet the night before, Roselina had sent an urgent letter—one that specifically demanded Laila accompany him.

“There’s no such thing,” Carlo replied calmly.

“Oh, really?” Roselina tilted her head, her voice honey-sweet. “Surely… you’re not saying you dislike the idea of me being attended by your knight, are you, my lord?”

As if testing his heart, Roselina narrowed her eyes and asked her question.

“There’s no such thing,” Carlo replied smoothly. “I only wished to give my lady the very best.”

Laila swallowed her disgust and bitterness, watching him soothe Roselina’s jealousy by implying she was far from “the best.” It was infuriating, but she had to endure it. What mattered now was winning Roselina’s trust—no, more precisely, making her fall so deeply for him that she would give him everything.

“I’ll prove my devotion from now on,” Carlo continued.

“I look forward to it,” Roselina said with a coy smile.

“At Princess Lenoa’s party, I’ll make sure you shine brighter than anyone.”

When he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, Roselina’s smile deepened, pleased and smug.

“I was so tired of watching Princess Lenoa flaunt her engagement to His Highness the Crown Prince, but thanks to you, I feel much better now.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Carlo hadn’t forgotten how furious Roselina had been when she first learned of the engagement between Princess Lenoa and Crown Prince Theodore. That very day had also been the first time she’d slapped Laila—simply because she’d been in a foul mood.

Years ago, when Theodore had visited the Cerclezia Empire, Roselina had fallen for him at first sight. Everything about him seemed flawless, and she’d dreamed of becoming his bride. But when the engagement with Princess Lenoa was announced, all she could do was swallow her tears.

From then on, Roselina’s deep inferiority and envy toward Princess Lenoa took root—and her affection for Carlo grew into something warped, a desperate obsession meant to fill the hollow left behind.

Of course, her actions mirrored those of a woman in love, so for Carlo, it made no difference.

“Come to think of it,” Roselina said lightly, “I heard that His Highness, Crown Prince Theodore—soon to be wed to Princess Lenoa—will be visiting the Cerclezia Empire soon.”

“Yes, that’s right. He should arrive any day now. You can’t imagine how eagerly I’ve been waiting…”

“My lady,” Carlo murmured, his tone teasing but his gaze dark, “you’ll make me jealous if you speak like that.”

He smiled as he spoke, but his eyes betrayed a dangerous spark—one that promised possession rather than affection.

Roselina’s breath caught. The look in his eyes was enough to make any woman tremble. With a slow, deliberate movement, she leaned closer, her lips almost brushing his ear.

“Don’t be jealous,” she whispered. “I like you too, my lord.”

Such a brazen heart—wanting Theodore, yet unwilling to let go of Carlo, the man hopelessly devoted to her. She wanted both: the unattainable prince and the man who burned for her.

But Carlo didn’t care.
If letting her have her illusions brought him closer to the truth, so be it.
If she pressed her body against him, he would only draw her in further.

‘As long as she tells me where the man who framed my mother is hiding…’

Carlo’s hand slid up to her shoulder, then down along her arm in a slow, deliberate caress.
His touch grazed her skin lightly, almost tickling, and Roselina shivered with pleasure.

When her breathing grew shallow, Carlo tightened his grip and pulled her into his lap as if he could no longer restrain himself.

Roselina gasped softly, startled by the suddenness of it, but her face flushed crimson. There was something intoxicating about seeing a man lose control over her.

“Are you serious?” Carlo asked, his voice low.

“…What?” she breathed, her composure faltering.

Their noses almost brushed when Carlo’s lips grazed hers—barely, fleetingly.

“When you said you liked me,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “did you mean it?”

His hand slipped to the curve of her neck, gentle yet possessive. The air between them grew thick, heavy with heat and unspoken desire. Roselina’s eyes softened, unfocused, and that look alone filled Carlo with a rush of triumph.

‘Finally… she’s fallen.’

Their breaths mingled, shallow and uneven, lips hovering a whisper apart. Roselina’s chest rose and fell with want, yet she didn’t close her eyes. She wanted to watch—to see how long he could hold out with what he wanted right in front of him.

‘What a cruel woman.’

Carlo swallowed hard, running his tongue over his lips as if bracing himself. His breath came ragged, his gaze burning with a hunger he no longer bothered to hide.

Seeing that wild, restrained longing made Roselina’s heart quiver in anticipation.

“Roselina…”

Her name fell from his lips like a sigh, and the moment his mouth brushed hers, the air inside the carriage seemed to ignite.

“Please,” he whispered—
a plea, a confession, and a request for permission all at once.

When Carlo finally lost his restraint and caught Roselina’s lower lip between his teeth, she shivered and closed her eyes.

‘Too easy.’

He gave her exactly what she wanted to see—the tender hunger, the illusion of surrender.
And while she melted into the moment, Carlo was already laughing to himself inside.

Soon, he would bring this performance to its perfect end.