Philip and I were led into the grand reception hall of the Duke’s manor.
“You grow more radiant by the day, Imeline. And Philip, you're becoming quite the handsome young man yourself. This must be your second visit to our estate, no? You didn’t get to explore much last time—I'll have the steward show you around properly.”
The Duke acted warm and affable, like a benevolent patriarch truly wishing to grow closer to us.
Philip, ever the shameless actor, put on a touched expression and spoke in an oily tone.
“Thank you so much. It truly feels like… like we're already family… I could cry...”
Cry, my foot. Didn’t I tell you to actually practice squeezing out tears?
I clenched my fists silently as I glanced sideways at Philip’s pathetic excuse for acting.
Family,
he says. As if I’d ever accept a man who clearly enjoys putting spiritual bullets through people’s skulls as my father.
While Philip’s overacting dragged on, Eric hadn’t once looked away from me.
His gaze clung to me, thick with unspoken grudges—clearly still bitter about the day I threatened him.
...Is there nothing going according to plan...
My mood sank. It felt like every last thread of my grand plan had unraveled into failure.
Once we sank into the plush cushions of the gilded sofa, the Duke finally spoke.
“...Imeline. There's something I must ask. Why did you strike Vivian?”
He wore the expression of a kindly father asking his troubled daughter to confess.
At his words, I shot a quick glance toward the door—where Lily waited outside. Had she kept quiet?
Philip, sensing my hesitation, jumped in.
“The Imeline I know would never lash out without cause. I'm certain Lady Vivian must have provoked—”
“I asked Imeline, Philip,” the Duke cut in sharply.
In that moment, his crimson eyes flashed with dangerous light.
Beneath the gentle tone, the Duke’s gaze turned sharp the moment he felt his authority challenged.
There’s his true face.
I met that gleam with my own defiance. The Duke frowned slightly, clearly unsettled by my provocative stare.
“Imeline?”
“Yes, my lord Duke.”
“I’m speaking to you. I would like to hear why you did it.”
I pressed my lips together.
They probably thought I was flustered, unsure of how to defend myself.
But in truth, I was simply calculating—*What could I say to make this whole situation descend into absolute chaos?*
As I lifted my head, my eyes met Eric’s.
I flinched slightly—his gaze was… anxious.
Anxious?
That didn’t fit the Eric I remembered—cold, menacing, ready to use my life as a bargaining chip.
I turned away from him. Then the Duke spoke again.
“Very well. If you don’t wish to speak, I won’t force you. But Imeline, you will apologize to Lady Vivian. I’ll arrange a suitable occasion tomorrow so you may resolve any misunderstandings—”
“I refuse.”
I said it flatly, without hesitation.
Philip pinched my thigh in panic. Ow. You brute of a brother.
Ignoring the pain, I stared directly into the Duke’s eyes.
“You asked me why I did it? I simply didn’t think Lady Vivian had much use for her hair. It’s purely decorative at this point—why burden her with more?”
The reception hall instantly fell into a heavy silence.
Even the maids preparing the tea set froze, exchanging horrified glances.
Their faces said:
Is she insane?
“Hah.”
Eric Orléans let out a soft scoff, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
My eyes met Eric’s in midair.
Eric looked at me as if he had stumbled upon a mythical beast — a gaze equal parts wonder and disgust. His eyes practically screamed:
“Yesterday you were out here threatening people, and today you beat someone and then brush it off like it was for fun. And this kind of creature lives under the same sky as me?”
Well, that sealed it. My words would now echo through the ducal household for a while. Alongside baseless rumors about the depravity of my upbringing, of course.
Although, let’s be honest — those rumors were probably already making the rounds whether I acted out or not.
I looked toward the Duke of Orléans and saw his expression twist ever so slightly.
Difficult, isn’t it? You want the coastal lands, so you
have
to marry my mother — but I’m busy dragging my reputation into the dirt.
Just give up already. Forget about marrying my mother.
You damn lunatic.
The Duke’s eyes turned frigid. He glared at me like he might slap me across the face at any moment.
That was when Eric began to rise, as if about to say something.
But Philip moved first. In a flash, he stood from the couch and knelt before the duke.
“Your Grace! There’s something I must say!”
“Philip…?”
What the hell are you doing, you idiot? Get up!
I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow while still glaring at the Duke.
This was our golden opportunity to expose his true colors and get this engagement annulled, damn it! But then Philip said something utterly ridiculous:
“In truth… my younger sister has long been emotionally scarred by Lady Vivian. This! This is the evidence!”
From his inner coat, Philip pulled out a small, crumpled slip of paper.
I glanced down at the bold writing on it:
‘You and your four-times-married mother should both drop dead.’
Red ink.
The moment I saw it, I knew.
Ah. One of those old notes Vivian Cavendish used to write…
…Or rather, a forgery made to
look
like one.
Obviously.
We barely brought anything with us when we left the south — no way a note like that made the journey. The handwriting and phrasing were
almost
close enough to fool even Vivian herself. Almost.
I frowned, realizing what Philip was trying to pull.
So that’s how you’re playing it, huh? Well, I had my own plan—
A forged letter was
not
part of it!
Ughhhh! What kind of family treats crime like a daily ritual?!
The Duke picked up the note. While he read it, Philip continued:
“Lady Vivian and Emeline used to attend etiquette classes together in the South. But in those classes, Vivian tormented my sister every single day… sob… It was agony. For our whole family. That’s why we moved away from the South…”
You liar! You left the South because you tried to seduce a wealthy commoner’s daughter and got exposed — and not just that, you were caught cheating on her with her
friend
! Then the loan sharks caught wind of it and hounded you for months!
I clenched my teeth.
By now the Duke had finished reading the note and set it down. Eric picked it up next, and his expression shifted slightly. But I didn’t have the bandwidth to care what Eric was thinking right now.
“I didn’t want to speak of it — it wounds my pride as a man — but if
I
had run into Vivian at the boutique… the memories alone would have been too painful to bear… sob… As a foolish older brother, I understand now why my sister acted the way she did… sob… sob…”
Philip’s wretched performance continued, full of tears and sniffles.
I wanted to shout that the letter was a complete fake. Vivian may be a vile person, but she doesn’t write in such
neat penmanship
, damn it!
But if I said anything now, it wouldn’t just be about breaking the engagement — I might have to start worrying for Philip’s
life
.
Moreover, outwardly, the Duke of Orléans appeared to be swayed by Philip’s tears. In his gaze lingered something akin to compassion—an emotion difficult to describe.
But I knew better.
What pleased the Duke wasn’t justice, or fairness, or even concern for us. It was simply that his betrothal to my mother would go on uninterrupted.
“How dreadful, Emelyn. To think you had to endure such a thing… It seems it is not you who owes Vivian an apology, but the other way around. I’ll personally send word to the Marquess of Cavendish to ensure a proper—”
Oh please.
As the Duke spoke those noble-sounding words, I met Philip’s tear-filled eyes—and watched as he mouthed smugly:
“Aren’t you grateful to me?”
I mouthed back an entire string of silent curses.
✵
✵
✵
Thanks to my desperate efforts to intervene, the Duke never sent a formal letter of protest to the House of Cavendish.
But it wasn’t because I’d suddenly grown merciful toward Vivian.
The truth was that the Marquess of Cavendish was deeply acquainted with the affairs of the southern territories. It was highly likely he already knew that the supposedly “Wedgewood-owned” coastal land was, in reality, riddled with disputed titles and hidden liens.
If communication between the two noble houses accidentally unearthed the truth about that land…
Bang!
We’d become offerings for the carrion birds again—without so much as a moment to flee.
In place of the letter, the Duke declared he would
comfort
Philip and me by inviting us to stroll through the famed hunting grounds deep within the Orléans domain.
Naturally, I had no desire for such a farce.
Feigning illness, I stayed behind to “explore” the estate, while Philip—still in his pathetic sob-story persona—followed the Duke out with big red eyes and puppyish antics.
Watching that mountain of a man pouting like a child… it genuinely made me nauseous.
In the meantime, Erik approached as though he wanted to speak with me.
I waved him off in a low voice only he could hear.
“Let’s talk business later, alright? Please. If you’re here to complain about the whole blackmail thing, just save it. My brain’s already melting from watching Philip’s dramatic act.”
“…No, that’s not what I was going to say—”
“Sure, sure. I’m sure it wasn’t.”
Waving off his protests, I casually turned my back and followed the steward to tour the manor.
Erik didn’t follow. He simply stared at my retreating figure in silence. Then, from behind, I heard him call out:
“It seems an urgent letter arrived. I’ll return to the estate ahead of you, Father.”
The steward began introducing me to the interior of the grand ducal residence. How valuable
this
statue was, how ancient
that
candelabra, and how
that
chandelier was tied to some grand tale…
I nodded politely, listening to the well-rehearsed lines of a thoroughly trained servant.
But my mind was focused on one thing only:
What kind of explosion… could shatter this marriage completely?
While I remained trapped in that thought, the steward excused himself briefly.
Left alone, I wandered deeper into the ducal residence—its structure all too familiar to me.
The same halls I’d seen in my dream.
Now that the steward was gone, every object became clearer—every detail of the chandelier, the sculpture, the placement of the silver candleholders.
Yes. It was right over there… where I lost my life.
In my mind’s eye, I saw the second-floor door of the Duke’s private study—sealed tightly.
One week after the wedding, I had walked through that door, clutching the documents Mother gave me… and never walked out.
Now that I thought of it—the documents…
Where exactly had Mother
gotten
them?
They were filled with damning evidence—records of the Duke’s corruption and cruelty. A treasure trove of misdeeds.
So where would such valuable information be hidden?
Only one place came to mind.
Even before the thought finished forming, my feet had already started moving—toward the staircase that led to the second floor.
“
The Duke’s study!
”
Yes. There’s no need for a reckless rampage. As long as I can get my hands on those documents…
Before the steward returned, I hurried down the staircase.
The second-floor corridor was eerily empty — not a soul in sight.
In an instant, I slipped through the slightly open door into the Duke’s study.
With those documents as evidence, I can expose the Duke’s entire scheme to the Royal Court. Then we’ll finally be free!
Family? Don’t make me laugh. The only family that matters is
us.
I scanned the Duke’s study, walls lined with densely packed books.
I had to move fast, before any retainers showed up — and find where he might’ve hidden his secret scrolls.
I started with the fireplace. Then the picture frames. Then beneath the desk.
Documents this vital wouldn’t be stashed just anywhere. They’d be hidden with care — in a place that doesn’t draw attention.
Every time I thought I heard footsteps in the corridor, I froze, holding my breath.
By the time I’d counted three different maidservants passing by the door, my eyes landed on one of the bookshelves lining the wall.
That shelf…
Compared to the others, it looked slightly closer to the wall behind it — almost like the wall extended just a little farther.
Which meant… there was likely a concealed chamber behind it.
I knew this trick. My
biological
father also had a fondness for creating hidden cultivation chambers and secret vaults just like that.
Without hesitation, I pressed my hands against the shelf and pushed.
Click-clack.
It slid open easily at first… but then stopped, stuck at a certain point. I pushed harder.
“Urgh…!”
Sweat beaded on my forehead, but the shelf refused to budge. It had cracked open by just a hand’s width — enough to show that it
should
move further!
That’s when I heard a voice from the hallway.
“Lady Emelline? Lady Emelline has gone missing! Where did she go?”
The steward.
Damn it. He’s noticed I’ve disappeared. What now? Do I pretend I got lost and just wander back out?
As I considered my next move—
“Huh? Why is the study door open? Hey, someone left the study door—”
Click…
The bookshelf — which hadn’t moved no matter how much force I used — suddenly slid open with a low
grrrrk
.
And from within the dark space behind it, a face appeared.
Hair as black as obsidian. Skin pale as snow. Crimson eyes sharp as a prowling jaguar.
The moment I met those eyes, I froze where I stood.
Eric Orléans was standing inside.
He stared at me and murmured, voice cold and commanding:
“Come here, Emelline Wedgwood.”
“……?!”
Before I could respond, his hand reached out — and pulled me into the darkness behind the shelf.
Chapter 8
Translator's Note:
🎧 Check out the audio versions on my YouTube channel:
https://youtube.com/@novel-tube-w2f?si=UqMphhId_8DH80Ns