Chapter 18

What had she been expecting?  

Had she really hoped he’d confess that he’d done it all because he loved her?  

But Enoch Ventus was never a man who lived a romantic life.

Realizing that her husband had simply pitied her left Asla feeling sorrowful… and yet, in a strange way, almost relieved.  

She thought, ‘At least it wasn’t indifference.’ At least he cared enough to feel sorry for her.

Lost in that thought, she turned her gaze blankly to the window.  

The train was now gliding past the dusky edge of a darkening forest.

Just as Enoch drew a deep breath, ready to speak, Asla opened her mouth first, her eyes still fixed outside.

“His Majesty Emperor Rosenberg, and you—what exactly are you two hiding from me?”

“……”

“Tell me. The way you keep saying you have to ‘protect’ me—it’s strange. Really strange. And the so-called measures you took to protect me? They were terrible. Useless, even.”

She lifted her chin slightly, her voice laced with restrained anger.

The mood dropped in an instant, turning cold and heavy.  

Enoch stiffened, then, in a hoarse and strained voice, finally said, “I’m sorry, Asla.”

“I’m not asking for an apology. I want to know *why* you tried to protect me, Enoch.”

Seeing that she wasn’t going to leave any room to evade the question, Enoch began to panic.  

He leaned over the table toward her, speaking hastily and anxiously.

“I was busy, really. And…there were several major incidents that made it impossible to return to the estate. Sometimes, you even replied to my letters. I thought you were doing okay.”

“Letters? What replies?”

Asla stared blankly at Enoch, who was once again giving her the same excuse—but then her eyes widened in shock at the mention of letters she had never received, let alone replied to.

Her sudden reaction made Enoch fall silent. His face stiffened with a grave expression.

“You… never sent me any replies?”

Asla forced open her parched lips and replied in a whisper.

“I never received any letters from you. Or the dresses you supposedly sent.”

Enoch’s dumbfounded expression quickly shifted to a deep scowl.

“Damn it.”

“You really are a fool,” Asla said coldly.

It was the second time she’d called him a fool, and Enoch covered his forehead with one hand and looked at her with a pained expression.  

But Asla remained calm as she offered her pointed remark.

“Maybe it’s time you reminded the servants of the Ventus estate who really owns that house. The new Duchess might manage things better, but right now, no one is on your side, Enoch Ventus.”

“…Asla.”

“You don’t know my handwriting, I can somewhat understand. But to be this careless—honestly, it’s disappointing.”

Enoch shot up in frustration at her remark.

“You think I’m that stupid? It was your handwriting—of course I recognized it. You think I wouldn’t recognize that distinctive script you used in the marriage vows?”

“……” Asla said nothing.  

Enoch assumed it was out of anger—but the truth was, she was simply stunned.

‘Wait. Does he really know my handwriting? He actually read the vow I wrote?’

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Asla returned to the issue at hand.

“Then… someone must have forged my handwriting.”

“They even managed to falsify official documents. This is serious.”

“It is,” she agreed.

As Enoch worked to calm his rising anger, Asla fell deep into thought.  

Her handwriting wasn’t something just anyone could imitate—it was unique to the royal family of the Holy Kingdom.  

It shouldn’t have been easy to forge, even with practice.

As she began to consider who could possibly have done it, Enoch addressed her again.

“Asla.”

“Yes?”

He clasped both hands tightly and forced himself to speak.

“It’s an excuse, I know, and I’m sorry—but you managed to get the divorce papers on your own, and you sent them to the temple without issue.  

I thought that meant… you were doing okay at home.”

“…I had those papers from before the wedding. My nanny prepared them for me.”

Asla replied flatly. Enoch, dumbstruck, let out a short laugh—then spoke with a cold edge.

“Lisette Grosset. Impressive. Sending divorce papers as part of your dowry.”

“Don’t speak ill of someone who’s dead.”

Asla’s eyes narrowed in warning, but to her surprise, Enoch didn’t back down.

“You cared so much about Lisette Grosset—that’s what made it harder for me to say anything.”

“What are you talking about?”

Asla’s irritation rose at his cryptic words. She snapped at him, demanding clarity—  

—but then froze.

She had realized who could have imitated her handwriting.  

Someone who had cared for her since childhood.  

Someone who had been close enough to know it intimately.

Her nanny. The priestess. Lisette Grosset.

‘No… that can’t be!’

Asla squeezed her eyes shut.

Inside the train hurtling through the pitch-black countryside, she felt utterly lost—as if she no longer knew where she was headed.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Enoch tried repeatedly to strike up a conversation with Asla under the pretense of offering her various things, but each attempt ended in failure.

He eventually realized that ever since their conversation about her nanny, Asla’s expression had darkened considerably and she had fallen completely silent. Accepting that, he stopped trying to engage her.

Later, as he watched her sleeping with her seat fully reclined into a bed, Enoch quietly rubbed the corner of his eye.

‘Had she figured something out?’

But judging from her reaction, it was clear Asla still believed her nanny, Lisette Grosset, to be dead.

‘Then… it must have been about the forged handwriting.’

In the darkness rushing past the train, Enoch narrowed his eyes.

That distinct script—elegant and refined—was something only a princess of the Holy Kingdom could use. With its delicate strokes and intricate twists, it was notoriously difficult to imitate.  

But Lisette, who had cared for Asla since childhood, could have done it.  

After all, she wasn’t just a nanny—she had been one of the twelve high priestesses of the Holy Kingdom.

Enoch’s concern deepened.

To him, Lisette Grosset was more treacherous than a snake.  

It wouldn’t even be surprising if she had forged Asla’s handwriting without permission.  

But the real question was—how had she intercepted the letters that he, the Duke of Ventus, had sent?

The answer was obvious: Margo.

The fact that Margo had conspired with someone like Lisette Grosset made Enoch feel even more suffocated.  

What possible reason could she have for hating and tormenting Asla so thoroughly?

To clear his tangled thoughts, Enoch turned to the pitch-black scenery outside the train window.

All the gifts he had sent Asla over the last two years—dresses, shoes, jewelry, flowers, letters—All stolen.  

His sister-in-law had intercepted every single one.

Not a thing had reached Asla.

He had fallen straight into Margo’s trap.  

Given what had happened, it made perfect sense for Asla to resent him and file for divorce.

Asla had been right: Enoch Ventus was a fool.

‘I won’t overlook this any longer.’

Thinking of his foolish sister-in-law, who had allied herself with Lisette, he clicked his tongue in disgust—and naturally, his thoughts drifted to his late older brother, Aren Ventus.

He could see his younger self again, standing by his brother’s cold, lifeless body.

As that old fear wrapped around him once more, Enoch felt a chill spread across his skin. His breathing quickened.

Trying to steady himself, he inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled.

“I am… okay.”

It was the basic mantra he had been taught during the year and a half of therapy: ‘I am okay.’

Though he had made significant progress, the current situation—having to expel Margo from the family—was beginning to cause his condition to relapse.

‘But Margo has crossed the line.’

As Enoch organized his thoughts and came to a decision, his eyes glinted coldly even in the darkness.

‘What matters most in my life… is, of course—’

His gaze rested on Asla, her delicate face barely visible above the blanket pulled up to her chin.

He stared at her for a long moment—then leaned back against his chair and closed his eyes.

Once they arrived in the capital, he would tell Asla everything.

Honestly.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The capital’s train station, which they arrived at just before dawn, was a strange mixture of silence and commotion.

Still half-asleep, Asla looked up blankly at the night sky, where the pale moon still hung.

“Milady! Over here. Master has reserved a hotel that’s directly connected to the station.”

“All right.”

Pulled along by May, who was as energetic as ever despite the early hour, Asla moved through the crowded station. As they walked, she glanced back briefly over her shoulder.

Enoch was following behind, speaking stiffly with Talet.  

It was likely about the forged letters in her handwriting.  

Since Enoch had called it a serious matter, an immediate investigation must have gone underway.

Asla turned back around and leaned closer to May, whispering softly.

“When we get to the hotel, I’ll need you to run an errand right away. You must be exhausted.”

“I’m fine, Milady.”

May’s spirited reply made Asla feel grateful. She nodded in thanks, then continued.

“Just like last time, it’ll be troublesome if the Duke finds out. I’d be grateful if you could do this quietly.”

“Understood, Milady.”

Having given May advance notice, Asla hesitated for a moment before speaking again, reluctantly.

“Go visit Lady Gloria Sherita. I’ve heard she’s currently in the capital. Ask the hotel staff—they should know right away. Tell her that I wish to meet her tomorrow morning.”

May’s eyes widened in surprise but she quickly nodded in understanding.

Gloria Sherita—she had once been the last Queen of the Holy Kingdom. May assumed that her lady must be feeling nostalgic and wished to see her mother again after a long time.

But Asla’s expression was dark.

Gloria was someone she would have been fine never seeing again.

Still, something inside her—a sharpened instinct awakened after everything—was telling her that only her mother would speak the unfiltered truth she needed to hear now.