As the hour of dinner drew near, Elena remained in her room, carefully tidying the clothes she had set aside for the evening.
She smoothed the fabric again and again, as if delaying the moment itself, her thoughts drifting toward the long table, the quiet clink of cutlery, and Damian's familiar presence across from her.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Before she could respond, the door opened just enough for Damian's exclusive butler, Ken, to step inside.
His posture was impeccable as always, his expression unreadable, but the message he carried weighed heavier than his calm demeanor suggested.
"Due to unavoidable circumstances," Ken said with a slight bow, "the Count and young Master Damian will not be able to attend dinner tonight."
Elena paused, her hands stilling on the fabric.
"Ah. I see," she replied after a brief moment, forcing a small, polite smile. "Thank you for letting me know, Ken."
Ken inclined his head once more before quietly excusing himself, closing the door behind him without a sound.
The room fell into silence.
Elena exhaled slowly and sank onto the edge of her bed, her gaze unfocused. She would be lying to herself if she said she wasn't disappointed.
She had been looking forward to dinner with Damian all day, even if neither of them had spoken of it outright.
Still, more than disappointment, a dull ache of understanding settled in her chest.
She knew why they could not come.
There was no way Damian—or Count Kraus—would simply ignore what had happened at the Isilia Pavilion earlier that day. The incident was far too serious, and the ripples it caused would not fade overnight.
As her thoughts returned to the pavilion, another face surfaced in her mind.
A young boy.
Alphonse.
Elena's fingers curled slightly in her lap as she recalled him.
Unlike Damian, whose features were a near-perfect mirror of Count Kraus, Alphonse bore a striking resemblance to Arwen Kraus—the woman in the portrait Elena had seen that same day.
The same gentle lines. The same eyes that seemed far too perceptive for a child so young.
The realization sent a faint chill through her.
Just like Damian, Alphonse Kraus was someone she had known in her previous life.
A child bound to her by threads of fate she had never asked for, yet could not escape.
In the first life, because of Damian's twisted possessiveness, Elena and Alphonse rarely crossed paths. Even though they lived within the same territory, their lives never truly overlapped.
However, after Elena broke off her marriage with Damian, she finally met Alphonse—by then, a young man who had been forced to grow up through a certain incident.
At that time, Alphonse was a man worthy of being called a hero.
He sought out those who had lost their homes and met them one by one, offering words of encouragement where despair had taken root.
As the successor of the Kraus family, he could have chosen safety. He could have remained behind fortified walls, protected by his status and name.
Instead, he ran toward the collapsing Southern Front and stood at its forefront, personally leading the army despite being only seventeen years old.
The situation was so dire that even children were forced to lend a hand. Yet carrying the weight of tens of thousands of lives on his shoulders at such a young age was not something an ordinary person could endure.
Every command he gave, every step he took forward, determined whether countless people would live or die.
The seat left vacant by Damian's sudden disappearance was not an easy one to fill.
The pressure of becoming the successor in such chaos must have been suffocating.
Still, Alphonse rose on his own, standing tall amid ruin and fear. In those days, he was undeniably a hero.
But fate is rarely kind to heroes.
Because he took that position—because he stood where Damian once had—Alphonse Kraus's story began to shift.
Ken's voice was gentle, professional as ever.
"If you'd like, I can bring your meal to your room."
At his words, Elena shook her head without hesitation.
"No. Will Young Lord Alphonse still be eating in the same place as yesterday?"
"Yes, but—"
"Then I should go there as well." Elena's tone was calm, yet firm. "As Demian's fiancée, I will be the hostess of this place in the future. I can't miss a family meal. And above all…" She paused, her gaze steady. "I can't leave the young lord to eat alone."
For a brief moment, Ken simply stared at her, caught off guard by words that carried both kindness and responsibility. Then the stiffness in his expression eased, and he offered her a small, sincere smile.
"You're right. Since you will one day become a Kraus… I spoke out of turn. Please forgive me." He bowed his head slightly before continuing. "The meal will be ready before six o'clock. You may head to the dining room once the bell rings."
Not long after Ken left, the bell announcing six o'clock echoed through the castle halls, its clear sound rolling over stone walls and high ceilings.
Unlike someone who had only arrived the day before, Elena navigated the corridors without hesitation.
Her steps were confident, as though the castle had already begun to recognize her presence.
Behind her, Haily followed closely, still trying to memorize the labyrinthine structure of the estate after spending the entire day doing just that.
Watching her master move so naturally through unfamiliar halls filled her with a strange, bittersweet admiration.
When they reached the dining room doors, Haily knocked twice and pushed them open.
The room was the same as yesterday—long table, high-backed chairs, and an air of restrained grandeur—but it felt noticeably emptier.
The main seats at the head of the table were vacant, and the place where Demian should have been seated beside Elena remained untouched.
At the far end, Alphonse sat alone.
The boy was seated properly, just as he had been taught, yet his small figure seemed swallowed by the oversized chair.
His hands rested neatly on his lap, his eyes fixed on the table as though he were guarding the empty space in front of him. The servants stood at a careful distance, none daring to disturb him.
When Alphonse noticed Elena entering the room, his head snapped up.
His eyes widened, and in an instant, the loneliness on his face melted away. A bright, almost fragile joy bloomed in its place, lighting him up from within.
"Lady Elena!" he exclaimed before he could stop himself.
Elena smiled back at him, warm and unguarded. As she approached, she couldn't help but see him not as the future Alphonse Kraus she remembered, but as a child—quiet, isolated, and desperately longing for someone to sit beside him.
She knew Demian had gone to speak with the Count about Alphonse. She also understood why Demian preferred to resolve matters swiftly and decisively.
Yet that efficiency came at a cost. Once again, Alphonse had been left behind, waiting alone in a vast room meant for family.
Elena took the seat beside him without hesitation.
"You waited for me," she said softly.
Alphonse nodded, gripping the edge of the table for a moment before relaxing. "I thought… maybe you wouldn't come today."
"I promised, didn't I?" Elena replied, meeting his gaze. "A family meal should be eaten together."
At that, Alphonse's shoulders loosened, as if a weight he hadn't known how to express had finally lifted.
The servants, sensing the change in atmosphere, quietly began to move again, setting the dishes in place.
Demian might have been absent, and the Count might still be distant, but for this moment, Alphonse was no longer alone.
And now—he had Elena.