Chapter 22

‘She’s going to find out today that I’ve been financially supporting Queen Gloria Sherita… She’ll hate me even more now.’

Rather than easing the tension between them, Enoch felt things becoming more tangled, more constricted—like he was being cornered with nowhere to turn. He tugged open the top button of his fully-fastened shirt and irritably raked his fingers through his hair. The style he’d carefully set to look neat and handsome before going to see Asla was ruined in an instant. His moonlight-colored silver hair fell messily over his clean forehead, partially blocking his view.

“Ah, damn it.”

A heavy sigh filled the room.

He needed to win points, and yet he was only digging himself deeper into trouble with her. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of control.

All the truths he had wanted to tell her slowly, gently—so she wouldn’t be overwhelmed—were now springing up unpredictably, like tightly coiled springs suddenly unbound.

He was sure of it.  

Asla had gone to see her estranged mother only to get answers about Lisette Grosset.

‘Asla…’

He tapped his index finger against the edge of the desk.

He could still see her face clearly—anxious, wary—as they arrived in the capital.

She’d looked uneasy, and yet Enoch had assumed she was just exhausted from the long journey. He thought she would sleep in, given how fragile her health was.

Lately, she seemed to fall asleep all the time.

She’d slept in the carriage from the Ventus estate, and again on the train.

Enoch had thought it natural—Asla, raised as a princess in the Holy Kingdom, had never known a proper night’s sleep.

Her life had been so difficult… no wonder she was always tired.

He pressed a fist to his brow, rubbing at his dry eyes.

‘I should have stayed with her.’

It had only been two days since they were finally together after two years of marriage—and already, being apart made him feel restless.

He needed her. His wife.

He told himself it was an obsession with family.

That was the only explanation he could allow.

Then he remembered—how Robert once teased him about falling for the young Princess Asla, and how Ian had confronted him, accusing him of loving her just like he did.

‘Love…’

Enoch’s brow furrowed and then slowly relaxed. He let out a dry, helpless laugh.

He couldn’t possibly be in love with Asla.

Yes, when he first saw her, he did think she might be the most beautiful woman in the world.

But that was it. Just pity—nothing more.

Her life had been a painful one, so unlike his.

He didn’t need unnecessary emotions that would only complicate his path.

Especially not with someone like Asla—someone who could never love him in return.

Blindly clinging to her, loving her, would be dangerous.

He was the kind of man who might end up resenting her, possessively binding her down.

No, his only goal had always been simple: protect the woman who had become his partner—keep her alive, no matter what.

That was it.

“…That’s why I can’t divorce her.”

Grinding his teeth, Enoch recalled the urgent business issue he’d spent the night resolving.

His frustration flared again.

Half a year ago, he’d started preparing for a large-scale land acquisition in the western region of the Empire, in Jemia Territory.

But just recently, the land value had plummeted to absurd levels, triggering chaos.

With the company now in a critical state and its leader suddenly off in the distant Ventus estate, the entire organization had been paralyzed.

But to Enoch, the divorce petition from Asla far outweighed the importance of some land purchase.

When word got out that he was returning to the capital on the early morning train, a group of executives had even waited for him at the station.

Their bloodshot eyes looked like demons risen from hell.

To put out the immediate fire, he’d formed an emergency delegation—including a few board members—to go investigate Jemia directly.

With that crisis temporarily handled, Enoch finally made time to come search for Asla.

Now, pacing nervously, he suddenly shot up from his seat.

‘It’s better to get the bad news over with quickly.’

He decided to wait for Asla in front of Lady Gloria Sherita’s residence.

He had been terribly foolish up until now, but from this moment on, he wanted—needed—to be the first one by Asla’s side.

He pressed the bell and summoned a hotel staff member.

“Your Grace?”

“Hurry. Now.”

The bewildered hotel worker had no choice but to restyle Enoch’s hair, which had already been groomed just ten minutes ago.

This time, even more perfectly.

The poor staff member had their soul practically wrung out by the Duke’s exacting standards, and as they finally exited the room, Talet burst in, breathless and urgent.

“Master. I know you’re busy, but there’s a document you absolutely must see.”

Enoch, who had been adjusting his hair in the mirror, sensed something was off in Talet’s demeanor and turned around, his expression hardening.

In Talet’s hands was a telegram filled to the brim with writing.

Having just dealt with the board executives, Enoch quickly surmised it wasn’t from the western Jemia Territory.

His thick brow twitched slightly as he took the document silently, and Talet swallowed dryly before continuing quickly.

“It’s a supplemental statement from the maid, obtained by the investigator.”

“…”

Enoch took the document without a word, and Talet paused briefly before pressing on.

“As you suggested, once we offered her money and promised protection for her family, she confessed everything. She’s currently being escorted to the capital, in case her testimony is needed.”

Enoch gave a short nod and walked over to the window with the investigator’s summary in hand.

But his black leather shoes came to an abrupt stop before he could even finish reading the first paragraph.

“…This wasn’t the first time?”

Talet, who had already reviewed the report beforehand, lowered his head with a look of deep anguish he couldn’t hide.

Enoch’s dark eyes trembled—like a lone tree stripped bare in the face of a bitter winter wind.

<According to the maid’s testimony, all incidents involving coal tar being smeared inside the garments were instigated by Lady Margo Ventus, the Dowager Duchess.  

This wasn’t the first time—it has happened approximately twenty times since Lady Asla Ventus began residing at the Ventus estate.  

The maid insisted that she merely carried out the orders and harbored no personal ill will toward the Duchess.  

To prove her emotional detachment, the maid confessed the precise methods used, and the consistency and detail of her explanation made the testimony highly credible.  

She claimed the coal tar was usually applied to the inner lining of the clothes, targeting the back, abdomen, chest, and upper thighs.  

As evidence, she testified that upon examination, the Duchess’s body would show repeated burn scars—some old, others more recent—consistent with these claims.  

<The following pertains to the tampering of the Duchess’s meals.>

By the time he reached the end of the never-ending report, the horrific testimony was crumpled tightly in Enoch’s fist.

His eyes were bloodshot.

“They say they’re awaiting your approval to begin the investigation. As soon as you give the order, they’ll proceed immediately. But… given that the person in question holds the title of Dowager Duchess of the Ventus family, everyone’s treading very carefully.”

“A widowed woman without children—especially one married for less than ten years—should return to her family of birth. That’s the tradition.”  There was not a single trace of warmth left in his voice—it was cold as frost.

“Then… shall we—”

“It was nothing more than an act of leniency extended by the head of the family.”

Enoch paused. As if shedding the last remnants of emotional attachment, he exhaled a shallow breath before speaking again.

“From this moment forward, strip her of the title of Dowager Duchess and the Ventus name. She is to return to her birth family, the Count of Leslie.  

Once they appoint a lawyer from the Leslie household, report back to me immediately. As for the incidents regarding Lady Asla Ventus—begin a formal investigation at once. The matter is far too grave for hesitation.”

Talet bowed deeply at Enoch’s swift, unwavering orders.

“Yes, understood, Master.”

“This won’t change the past… I know that.”

Enoch placed the now-tattered report weakly onto the desk, murmuring to himself.

He wasn’t confident.  

Could he stop Asla, who wanted a divorce from him?

He bit down on his lip as the image of her jewel-like eyes—brilliant, unknowable—flashed in his mind.

He didn’t know what to say to her.

But one thing was clear: he had to see Asla. Now.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Having escaped the dream of the divine and returned to reality, Asla opened her eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling, blinking slowly.

Sensing someone seated by her side, she turned her head without much thought—and there sat Gloria.

In her daze, Asla murmured in surprise at the unexpected sight.

“Mother?”

“You woke up sooner than I expected.”

Gloria, too, hadn’t anticipated such a meeting and stood up abruptly in surprise.

She adjusted the silver shawl draped over her shoulders and turned away, startled. Asla slowly sat up, watching her mother’s back.

The moment felt deeply foreign to Asla.  

To wake and find her mother as the first person she saw—

She had never emotionally considered Gloria to be her “mother,” despite their biological bond and Gloria’s position as Queen of Sherita.  

In times of sickness, hardship, or even moments of vulnerability—like just waking from sleep—Gloria had never been there.  

It had always been her nanny.  

Not this stern, cold queen who had never offered a shred of warmth to her daughter.

‘But… no. That’s not the whole truth.’

Before, Asla would’ve simply let Gloria walk away.  

But she couldn’t do that anymore.  

She had realized—although only through a dream—that the nanny had deliberately driven a wedge between her and her mother.  

She’d glimpsed just a sliver of Gloria’s true feelings.

As Gloria’s figure began to recede, Asla gathered all the courage she had and spoke.

“Please… don’t go.”

Her frail voice echoed within the quiet bedroom.

When Gloria turned and saw Asla’s face, her legs nearly gave out, overwhelmed by a strange tightening in her chest.

A longing, pitiful expression—

Gloria had never seen her daughter look like that before.

‘Even coming to find me was strange enough.’

A daughter who had never once reached out—not before the wedding, and not after.

Gloria had assumed Asla was still grieving the fall of the Holy Kingdom, but had also been relieved to see she seemed to be adapting well to life in the Empire.

As the last queen of the Holy Kingdom, Gloria had committed herself to a life of etiquette and ritual.  

But she had never wished the same for her daughter.

Recalling Lisette Grosset’s reports that Asla was pathologically obsessed with the fallen kingdom, Gloria had even insisted on addressing her daughter as “Your Highness.”

But instead, Asla had reacted with frightening anger.

“The Holy Kingdom is gone. Let it go,” she had said.

Shocked, Gloria had complied—and strangely, she’d felt lighter.

Then, as Asla slept, Gloria had started reflecting.

Something didn’t sit right.  

Her mind ticked and grated like a misaligned gear.  

Before she even consciously arrived at the conclusion, Lisette Grosset’s face rose unbidden in her thoughts.

Before she could say “why,” Asla spoke the name aloud.

“Mother. Lisette Grosset—my nanny. How is she doing?”