The sky was drowning in the colors of dusk, and inside the study, the warm light spilling from the lamp washed over Adrian's face as though it had been carved from cold stone. He sat quietly behind his broad desk while Edwin stood before him, observing his master with the gaze of someone who had known him longer than anyone else — even before the imprisonment.
Edwin spoke in a low voice:
"Do you… believe Miss Holsten's story, my lord?"
A silent moment passed before Adrian lifted his eyes.
The look in them was unbearably cold.
Adrian replied in a tone that sounded almost amused by the absurdity of it all:
"Some of what she said… is difficult to believe."
Then he tilted his head slightly, as though admitting something first to himself:
"But she did not lie. Not about anything. Even her murder… if I had been the one who killed her—"
His words paused for the briefest moment.
He wasn't hesitating… he was choosing accuracy.
"—I would have entered the marquis's estate with a dagger, not a sword.
And if anyone had appeared unexpectedly… I would have killed them.
Without hesitation."
Edwin felt the familiar sense of disorientation — disbelief, yet unable to refute a single thing Miss Holsten had said, because time itself had proven her right. If she was truly telling the truth… then why would his master need her?
Edwin knew better than anyone that Adrian had never needed Nerys. Not in the past, and not now.
He asked cautiously:
"So… will you work with her because she might be useful?"
But Adrian did not answer immediately.
His gaze drifted away — toward a distant place only he could see.
As if opening an inner door and stepping inside it alone.
Then he said slowly:
"No."
Edwin looked up in mild surprise, but Adrian continued:
"But she will be… entertaining."
To Edwin, this was not a light remark.
It was spoken by a man who had returned from war only to find it nearly impossible to accept ordinary life — a life he had abruptly discovered to be unbearably dull.
They say war drives a man mad…
Had it marked his master in some hidden way? For the first time since his imprisonment, Adrian showed a reaction that was strange… unexpected.
Edwin stared at him for a long moment.
Adrian was silent, but not still.
There was a presence around him — a dense, sharp aura, like the lingering shadow of someone who had walked through fire without burning out.
And suddenly—
It swept over him again.
That old flicker that returned without knocking.
The faint glow of a lantern over the stone floor of a prison cell.
The footsteps of the officer in charge of torturing him, approaching with a cold smile.
A thick, suffocating stillness — as if even the air conspired in the torment.
That was when Adrian learned that pain could become a weapon… and an absolute solitude.
He returned to the present as someone knocked gently on the door.
Nothing appeared on his face…
But the atmosphere shifted — heavier… deeper… more dangerous.
Edwin barely moved before the door opened quietly, and Helen stepped in.
She wore a simple evening dress, looking slightly hesitant as her gaze lingered on him — the man who had returned after years completely changed. No longer the spoiled, social butterfly she once knew, but a man stronger, more handsome, more enigmatic… and farther out of reach.
With a delicate smile, she said:
"How are you, Ady? I came to check on you. I was worried you might have some difficulty diving straight into ducal affairs."
Adrian lifted his face toward her.
A polite smile… perfectly measured.
The kind of smile that closes doors instead of opening them.
"I'm fine. Thank you for your concern, Helen."
His tone was gentle… yet offered her no foothold.
Not harsh, not warm — exactly in the middle, where no one could cross.
She tried making small talk —
about the weather,
the preparations for the imperial celebration,
life in the capital…
But he answered as one might respond to a stranger asking directions on the street:
with precision,
with courtesy,
and with absolutely no interest in continuing the conversation.
She smiled…
then smiled again, a little wider, to hide the sting that shot through her despite her efforts.
Adrian wasn't ignoring her.
But he wasn't paying her attention either.
He was simply polite.
Bound by etiquette — nothing more.
When Helen eventually left, a question followed her:
Is he truly calm… or is there a volcano beneath that silence?
***
At the imperial palace, the capital buzzed with celebration.
Banners of Bernova fluttered in the wind, white candles lined the entrance, and the entire empire had dressed itself in the glory of victory.
The aristocrats whispered among themselves:
"He's returned… and with him, the prestige of House Dyssehard."
"He walks with the pride of the old Dyssehards — that arrogance we haven't seen since he was imprisoned. His return will shift the Empire's balance again."
"That's right… and the accusation of assassinating the Second Prince was proven fabricated. There are those who won't sleep easily anymore."
"Guilty or not, he demonstrated unmatched brilliance. Even the Emperor is now trying to attach himself to the duchy. Hosting a celebration in Dyssehard's honor!"
"Man, it's undeniable that the Dyssehard family will remain glorious forever, and their new Duke seems extremely difficult to deal with. Nevertheless, we must humor them; our business won't run smoothly if they are angered."
As for the ladies of society, they had fallen hopelessly in love with the handsome duke splashed across every newspaper.
"Oh, heavens…"
"Truly…"
"I think I've fallen for that beautiful face."
At Cecile's tea party, the atmosphere was sweeter than sugar — and twice as poisonous.
One of her friends asked:
"So, Cecile… what do you think of the new Duke?"
Cecile answered with a perfectly balanced smile:
"He is an ordinary man. But we cannot deny he is a hero — that is the honor of a soldier, and recognition he deserves. Yet he isn't the only hero; everyone who fought in the war is."
Another girl leaned in curiously:
"Such wisdom from Miss Holsten. I'm so curious — who will you marry, Cecile? You don't seem like someone who'll settle for an ordinary man."
Cecile laughed softly:
"My father wishes to see me wed as well, but he is not in a rush. He does not want just anyone for me. We're both waiting for the right one."
"The marquis treats you like a rare jewel."
Another young girl with red hair asked with a cunning tone:
"And what about Count Henry? I heard he only appears with Nerys these days."
Cecile's smile froze — just for a second.
Then she restored it flawlessly… like someone slipping back into a beloved mask.
Another friend added:
"Miss Nerys hasn't been appearing much lately, especially after her debut beside Count Devereux. She was stunning as well."
A burning sensation twisted deep in Cecile's stomach — fury, sharp and ugly.
But she kept her beautiful smile firm.
The red-haired girl continued, studying Cecile carefully:
"Even if Nerys doesn't appear often… she's surrounded by powerful friends. She's not someone easily approached."
Silence settled.
A silence sharp enough to slice jealousy in half.
At the marquis's estate, the night was still… except inside Nerys's chest.
Ever since she received that message — The Duke wants to meet you — and after actually meeting him, her heart had not returned to its normal rhythm.
She hadn't left her room since returning two days ago. She couldn't even answer Mary's worried questions — she had questions of her own, and no answers.
Her thoughts spiraled, anxious and frantic.
Had she made a mistake meeting him?
Had she been reckless?
For the first time, she was completely powerless before something she couldn't explain — all of it revolving around the only variable:
Adrian Dyssehard.
She whispered to her reflection:
"He promised… promised he wouldn't kill me or harm Father… That should be enough… right?"
But she wasn't sure.
When someone knocked on her door and said her father wanted to see her… a cold shiver rushed through her limbs.
She entered the marquis's study.
He set down his papers when he saw her, then spoke in a quiet but unmistakably serious tone:
"Nerys… do you know Count Hayden?"
Time stopped.
Her heart clenched.
Her chest contracted.
And the invisible scar inside her — the one no one could see — tore open again.
The hand that gripped her arm every night.
The words sharper than blades.
The blows that bruised her skin.
The voice that killed her slowly… for four entire years.
Her breath trembled uncontrollably.
Her fingers shook against her dress.
Her eyes widened — only slightly — but enough for her body to betray her.
Because she knew Count Hayden.
Knew him far too well.
Knew him in ways she wished she could forget for as long as she lived.