It was the first curse she had uttered since arriving in Antmaren. But even that wasn’t enough to quell her anger – Isabelle’s hand immediately flew to her hair. The carefully braided strands unraveled in an instant.

Marie, who had been quietly watching, approached and began to fix her hair.

“You really are so stubborn.”

“I can’t face Monsieur like this.”

“He’s already seen you at your worst anyway.”

From outside came the faint sound of clicking heels. Camille must have left.

Only then did Isabelle pull on her robe and leave the bedroom.

The walk to the dining room was short. She had eaten alone a few times before, so even without Marie’s guidance, Isabelle could find her way quite well.

“Ah, you’ve arrived. Monsieur is waiting for you.”

When she reached the plain door, a servant who had been talking to the maids came to greet her. It was the same servant who had once served only Camille in Calvador.

“So Saint-Mang is here too, I see.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Tell them I’m dining alone.”

At those words, Isabelle immediately turned away. She wanted to avoid another confrontation. It was cowardly, but her tired heart allowed it.

Leaving the confused servant behind, waving his hands in confusion, Isabelle continued on her way.

But not long after, her footsteps came to a halt.

Click – the sound of a door opening was followed by someone grabbing her shoulder.

Istinctively, she turned her head – and it was that face again.

Bathed in the reddish light streaming through the window, his golden hair shone even brighter, just as it always had.

“…Arnaud.”

At that moment, the image of Arnaud from the days at the Château de Zaphcada merged with the man in front of her.

The stairs, lined with small blue and white tiles – Arnaud had once stood there in silence, staring at her right after their first kiss.

What rose at the memory was anger.

This man was no longer the Arnaud of Imanoria. He was already completely ruined, a rake who now embraced maids without a second thought.

Her resentment was so intense that she didn’t even remember the misunderstanding she had caused.

Isabelle slapped her shoulder and said.

“What could you possibly have to say to me?”

“Why are you avoiding me? Now that everything is out in the open, what is there to be afraid of?”

His voice was also strained with emotion. His deeply furrowed brow looked pained.

It was strange, but in that expression, Isabelle saw the same look her husband had worn after a night of drinking.

As the memory of Arnaud from that one night surfaced, he suddenly grabbed Isabelle’s wrist roughly and pulled her through the door. She struggled, but his grip showed no signs of loosening.

“Let go of me!”

It was the first time she had ever refused his touch.

His actions were without any trace of consideration, and though Isabelle tried to shake him off with all her might, his relentless steps dragged her all the way into the dining room.

“Oh my.”

It meant she had to face the very person she never wanted to see again.

Camille, who had been wetting her lips with the rum the maids had poured, looked surprised for a moment-then gave her a faint, blurry smile.

It was more humiliating than being dragged in by Arnaud.

Unable to bear it, she tried to turn away, but her husband grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her into a chair.

Isabelle, her cheeks flushed with humiliation, began to hurl accusations at Arnaud, who had returned to his seat.

“Calling me over so forcefully – you haven’t changed at all. You’re no different from that night, Monsieur.”

Her words contained accusations about what Arnaud had done to her that night.

At that, clang – a glass next to Arnaud toppled and fell. The sharp crash of shattering glass echoed through the dining room.

“Don’t call me that! You even left a wound on my hand that night!”

What Arnaud was saying was completely different from Isabelle’s version of events. Their wedding night had been humiliating, yes—but how could that possibly compare to the night he had kissed Agnès?

Isabelle let out a blatant, mocking laugh.

Arnaud’s eyebrows twitched with intensity. He didn’t care about the misunderstanding – what mattered more to Isabelle was all the resentment she was holding onto.

“I’m not talking about our wedding night!”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“That night when you… when you called for a woman to… to comfort you…”

Her throat tightened. The words were trapped before they could fully come out.

Seeing one of Arnaud’s eyebrows twitch in response only deepened her grief.

What cruel thing would he say next with that face?

Forgetting that Camille was sitting across from them, she clutched her skirt tightly and continued, her voice full of resentment:

“That night… when you asked someone to choose… a mademoiselle to comfort you… you, Arnaud-you asked for it…”

Tears welled up in an instant. Isabelle could no longer see Arnaud’s face clearly.

In the end, she couldn’t speak at all. Her words were so slurred that she didn’t even know what she was saying.

In the end, Isabelle lowered her head and cried.

She didn’t notice Camille watching her with an uncomfortable expression, nor did she know what kind of face Arnaud was making when he looked at her…

“I… called for women?”

Arnaud said the words clearly, but Isabelle didn’t hear him – her sobbing was too intense.

All the humiliation she had suffered came rushing back.

Finally, as Isabelle cried, her hand covering her mouth, Arnaud rose to his feet.

“Eli… Isabelle, what in the world are you…”

“Compose yourself.”

It was Camille who stopped Arnaud.

When Arnaud tried to move toward his wife, Camille blocked him with both arms and pushed him back into his seat.

The tears really wouldn’t stop.

She’d tried to console herself by blaming Camille, telling herself he must have been drunk and out of his mind…but in the end, it must have been Arnaud’s choice.

The thought never left her mind.

While she was overwhelmed with emotion, Camille approached her, offered her a handkerchief and said:

“It has been so long since you two met, and now voices are being raised like this… I don’t like it either.

“I don’t need it.”

“Tears sting when they dry, you know. Please wipe them, madame.”

“I said I don’t need it!”

Isabelle raised her voice in frustration, causing Camille to jump and step back with a startled gasp.

Then came her husband’s sigh-the icing on the cake.

“Don’t take it out on everyone, dear.”

Arnaud said, wetting his tongue with the rum Murier had poured.

His throat must have been parched because he drank it all. Then he put down the glass and spoke again in a calmer voice.

“…Let’s talk about the details later. For now, let’s eat.”

“Then you two can go. I have no intention of staying.”

But Isabelle was already exhausted.

The only way to keep from crying more was to leave this place, so she pushed back her chair and headed for the door.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Arnaud was not the kind of man to let that go.

Just like before, he reached out and turned her shoulder-but this time, as if she could not take it any longer, Isabelle spat out her words like vomit.

“With my own hands!”

Her scream rang through the room and his already wide eyes widened even more. His deep blue eyes wavered like crashing waves.

Isabelle shook his hand from her shoulder again and said.

“I’m on my way back from granting a title to the woman carrying your child. Are you satisfied now? Does it make you feel better, Arnaud?”

“What are you talking about?”

“How long will you deny it? The woman you took with your own hands-Agnès!”

Why was he looking at her like that?

As if it was all made up – his eyes looked innocent, as if he had done nothing wrong.

That expression only made Isabelle feel more miserable. Tears streamed down her face.

“She’s pregnant…”

To say such words with her own mouth – to speak out loud about her husband’s affair, and worse, that he had fathered an illegitimate child – it was utterly humiliating.

Isabelle didn’t even look him in the face. She just covered her mouth and ran out into the hall.

“Madame!”

Marie, who had been watching from a distance, ran after her – but that was all she could do.

No one panicked. No order was given to follow Isabelle.

No one called out or ran after her on their own.

Everyone just went about their business as if nothing had happened.

Everyone except Arnaud, who stood frozen, speechless, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

She ran and ran until she reached Héréthique’s garden.

She didn’t dare go back to her room.

She did not want to give Arnaud an excuse to come looking for her.

That’s why she fled there.

The garden was shabby and offered few places to hide, but there was one place thick with vines-better than the inner chambers.

She could feel Marie’s presence, but that was all. Whether out of consideration or something else, the maid let it be known that she was there, but did not come any closer.

Isabelle didn’t bother to look where the maid was standing.

It would have been better if she’d just walked away, but the light stayed behind her – so she gave up on that hope.

Instead, she moved to the colonnade that bordered the garden.

It was the place where Laurent said he had buried the seed for her.

It was dark, so she couldn’t see clearly, but she tried to lean in to get a better look.

Just then, the light behind her began to brighten.