"Don't lie to me."
It was all clearly a staged play, devised just to make fun of her. There was no way a person would die over something so trivial.
"Hurry and wake up, Jeremy."
Glessia pleaded.
But no matter how desperately she begged, Jeremy never opened his eyes, never called her name again.
She kissed his cold lips and felt the heart that no longer beat, yet Glessia could not bring herself to accept his death.
She even refused the funeral.
That didn't mean her guilt disappeared.
It felt as though everything was her fault.
'If only I had been more careful, Jeremy would never have left my side.'
Even without the imprint, the sense of loss was beyond words.
From that day on, Glessia closed her heart—just as her mother once had.
She entrusted the task of dealing with monsters to Lenox, while she locked herself away in the office, burying herself in paperwork.
Whenever the workload dwindled, she ordered more to be brought. As if, outside of that, she had no reason to keep on living.
Today felt the same as yesterday, yesterday was the same as today, and tomorrow would be nothing more than another yesterday.
One day, as Glessia mindlessly repeated her paperwork, she heard a maid scream.
But she paid no attention and kept moving her pen.
Soon, the surroundings grew noisy, and Lenox came in, hoisting her up onto his back.
When she was finally laid on the bed, she realized she had been bleeding.
Truly, it was nothing.
"...The office… I'm going back to the office."
"Sister, please."
Lenox, who had forcibly carried her to the bedroom, brought in a physician.
And then, they were given a shocking diagnosis.
"…You've had a miscarriage."
"What?"
Miscarriage.
That word struck her, sharp and clear.
"There's no way. I was never even pregnant—how could I have a miscarriage? Say something that makes sense."
"For those of Winteren blood, due to their strong constitution, it is very difficult to recognize early pregnancy unless they undergo a special examination."
"..."
"They say it often passes without any early symptoms. The chances of miscarriage are low as well, but…"
"So, it died?"
"..."
"I'm asking if it died."
"…I'm sorry."
Mis…
Glessia lowered her head.
Her eyes were open, but she saw nothing.
Lenox seemed to be saying something, but it only reached her ears as a dull, muffled hum.
It was as if she were sinking beneath the sea.
"Ahhh…!"
Glessia screamed.
She had protected nothing.
Nothing at all remained to her.
"Everyone. Get out."
Her bloodshot eyes burned as she gave the command.
Even Lenox, who hesitated, was forced out as she shoved him away and locked the door. Curling up on the bed, she shut herself in.
She didn't want to do anything.
To be precise—
'I don't want to live.'
But she didn't have the courage to die.
Nor did she have the courage to go on living.
That made her feel utterly pathetic.
To escape the cruel reality, to turn away from her own wretched self, Glessia lay there without moving an inch.
She had no idea how many days passed like that.
Amid the meaningless flow of time, one day Lenox came to her.
"Sister, Mother passed away today."
"So what?"
"…You've been shut away in this room for days. Please, get up now. We should hold the funeral together."
"Leave me alone."
Her voice, cracked and broken, escaped more like a scream.
"Please… just leave me alone…"
Lenox tried again and again to persuade her.
But Glessia closed her eyes and kept her mouth shut.
It was her firm declaration that she would not even bother to answer.
Having abandoned everything, she sank into endless sleep.
When she opened her eyes, the reality that awaited was unbearable, so she naturally closed them again.
Months passed. She neither ate nor drank, sleeping like a corpse, and yet she remained alive.
Because the blood of Winteren flowed in her veins.
'I was born under misfortune.'
No one could be happy beside a cursed being.
Had she not, in the end, driven even the one she loved to death?
Glessia shut herself away from meeting others, hiding in the darkness.
So that she would not be hurt.
And so that she would not hurt anyone else.
Thus, as always, Glessia concealed herself in the shadows.
Until the moment she heard words that felt so foreign.
"The Madam wishes to see Lady Glessia."
"Madam?"
"The Duchess of Winteren."
At present, the duke was Lenox.
Which meant…
'My brother… got married?!'
Glessia's eyes flew open wide.
"Hello."
The room was dark, the curtains left unopened.
And in the middle of it stood a ghost—no, Glessia—her hair disheveled, glaring at Estelle.
Estelle forced herself not to look startled.
"My apologies for the belated greeting. I am Estelle Winteren."
She bowed politely.
Since Lenox had not returned even after dawn, Estelle had come to see Glessia early that morning.
Surprisingly, Glessia had permitted the visit.
Though it was hardly in a welcoming mood.
Click—
Her crimson eyes, void of any emotion like those of a doll, shifted.
Fixing her gaze on Estelle, Glessia's dry lips parted.
Her voice came out harsh, like metal scraping, from disuse.
"You married Lenox?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
She was asking in utter sincerity.
'He didn't tell her it was a contract marriage?!'
While Estelle was still reeling in shock, Glessia's gaze shifted past her, landing askew on someone else.
It was Duren.
Though frightened, Duren clutched tightly at Estelle's hem. Yet instead of hiding behind her, he stepped forward ever so slightly—almost as if to protect her.
In that moment, Estelle couldn't help but feel moved.
And as Glessia watched the scene unfold…
'What is that little peanut?'
she thought.
Sensing the mood, Estelle introduced him.
"This is Duren, your nephew. Duren, greet your aunt."
"Hewwo."
After a hesitant pause, Duren gave a polite bow, hands pressed to his belly.
"Nephew?"
They already have a child between them?
Was that why they decided to marry?!
"He's a child the Duke brought home."
Ah, right.
She vaguely remembered hearing something about that.
Because her waking hours were so few, she could no longer tell where dreams ended and reality began.
'Is this also just a dream?'
Even if it was, if that woman truly was Lenox's wife, then there was one thing she had to say.
Get divorced.
Lenox would end up killing her.
She might deny it, insist it was impossible—but for this cursed bloodline, the ending was already decided.
'The same tragedy must never repeat.'
She didn't want Estelle to die like Jeremy.
So Glessia resolved to play the villain, to drive her away from this hell.
"Divor—…"
she began to say.
"Ugh."
Light poured in.
Estelle had walked to the window and drawn open the curtains.
"It's bright now. You haven't eaten yet, have you? Why don't we talk over a meal?"
"Bread, yay!"
Duren's eyes sparkled.
But to Glessia, their voices didn't reach properly.
Blinded by the sudden flood of light, she was left reeling, like a demon dragged out by exorcism.
It was the first moment when, in the dark and endless tunnel of life she had been walking, the bomb called Estelle had suddenly fallen.
'Huh?'
By the time Glessia barely managed to regain her senses, a simple breakfast had already been laid out.
Munch, munch.
Duren happily devoured bread, crumbs sticking to his lips, while Estelle gently wiped his mouth clean.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, Glessia watched them—then slowly lay back down.
'This must be a dream.'
"Lady Glessia, please join us."
Estelle, smiling warmly, offered her some soup.
"I'm not eating."
"Ah…"
A glance showed Estelle lowering her eyes, her expression clearly clouded with disappointment.
When a beauty grows crestfallen, it unsettles those who see her.
Glessia hastily offered an excuse.
"I'm not hungry."
And it was true.
In fact, the very thought of eating repulsed her.
Last night, the emptiness had become unbearable, and in a frenzy she had stuffed herself just to fill the void.
After such a binge, her appetite would vanish for a long time.
"Still, it's best to have breakfast."
"Yesh! They say eating makes your day strong from the start!"
Duren chimed in, raising his spoon high.
Under the twin gazes urging her to take even a single bite, Glessia stared blankly at the food on the table.
I feel sick.
That thought struck her, and as refusal, she pulled the blanket up over her head.
The glaring light she could never grow used to, the sharp scent of food, the warm, cheerful atmosphere—
All of it felt alien, like a dream.
So alien that she could muster no will to do anything at all.
"Duren, shall we play a fun game?"
It was then Estelle made a suggestion.
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