IGBD 03

Chapter 3

“It might make for an amusing spectacle, but that won’t happen, Lady Inoheter.”

Leaning casually against the doorway, Yuan spoke as his gaze fixed on Serret.

The traces of blood that had been scattered across his face were now completely wiped away, and his injured forehead bore marks of salve.

“Your Grace, the Duke.”

Hanna glanced nervously at Yuan, but Serret’s expression was filled only with hostility.

“There will be no such thing as our engagement breaking. How is your foot?”

Striding toward her, Yuan cast a quick look at her bandaged foot and asked.

“What do you mean by that?”

Serret asked sharply, working hard to mask her surprise.

After everything that happened, he still refused to end the engagement? She lifted her eyes toward Yuan, who had come so close.

The wound marring his smooth forehead looked oddly out of place. On Duke Yuan Frektuester’s flawless face, even the smallest blemish felt unnatural.

“I asked how your foot was. Is that such a difficult question for Lady Inoheter to answer?”

Though spoken with a smile, Yuan’s words dripped with sarcasm. He even seemed to be enjoying himself.

“Not exactly a simple question, is it? Do you even realize what your face looks like right now as you say that?”

Serret retorted coldly. That he would insist on maintaining an engagement with the fiancée who had marred his face—it seemed Yuan Frektuester was no less mad himself.

Yuan gave a short laugh, then looked at Hanna.

“Would you give us the room?”

“Pardon? Ah, yes, Your Grace.”

Hanna responded anxiously. Though she obeyed, she looked uneasy about leaving her lady alone. What if her mistress tried to do something reckless to the Duke again? Unable to shake her worry, Hanna kept glancing back at Serret until the very moment she left the room.

As the door closed, Yuan raised a hand and traced the wound Serret had given him. Slowly, he spoke.

“I already checked the medal you engraved upon my face in the mirror, Lady Inoheter.”

“And it wasn’t just that medal, was it?”

“You spat at me, too.”

Yuan’s tone was unnervingly casual, as though it were nothing.

“And yet, despite such humiliation, you refuse to end our engagement. How generous of you, Your Grace.”

Serret rose, gathered her nightgown in hand, and curtsied in exaggerated politeness.

“In respect for you.”

Placing his hand to his chest, Yuan bent slightly in reply.

Mockery for mockery.

Serret glared at him, then sat back down on the bed.

“I mean it sincerely. I want to end this engagement, Your Grace.”

Her voice was calm, her hands folded neatly on her lap. Unlike moments before, she now embodied the perfect image of a noble young lady. To any observer, the contrast would have been absurd.

Yuan himself was taken aback. A moment ago, she had flared with rage like a rabid dog. Now she appeared every inch the dignified daughter of a baronet’s family.

“You are very different from before, Lady Inoheter.”

With his hands in his pockets, Yuan looked down at her.

“I realized something.”

Serret’s ice-blue eyes glimmered. To rage over events that hadn’t yet happened would only make her look like a madwoman. No one would believe her, no matter how much she said.

Truthfully, she wanted nothing more than to slap Yuan across the face again. But she restrained herself—he was, after all, the formidable Duke of Frektuester.

And the Inoheter family had long served his house. Further disrespect could only bring ruin upon her own kin.

“And what realization might that be?”

“That I am suffering from madness.”

Serret looked directly into Yuan’s eyes. No man in his right mind would wed a woman afflicted with madness.

Yet, though his betrothed had just declared herself insane, Yuan’s expression did not shift in the slightest.

He merely gave that signature sardonic smile and answered evenly.

“An intriguing affliction. The Frektuester house contributes generously to the Academy of Psychiatry.”

“So, you mean to say, it would be no trouble to have me confined in an asylum?”

Serret smiled faintly as she met his gaze. Lock the wife away and live happily with Lydia—better than outright killing her, wasn’t it?

“Your imagination is excessive, Lady Inoheter.”

“Is it really?”

I know your future.

When your first love, Lydia, became a widow, you used her convalescence as a pretense to invite her to your estate. And in the very house where I lived, you shamelessly reveled in your love affair.

Serret gripped the hem of her nightdress tightly, her forced smile trembling at the corners of her lips.

“My father, the Baronet, requests you stay for lunch before departing.”

Yuan withdrew his hands from his pockets as if to say enough nonsense and turned toward the door.

“I know you feel indebted to the Inoheter family. But you need not repay that debt through marriage.”

Serret spoke to his back.

It was true. Duke Charlie Frektuester—Yuan’s father—owed his life to her father, the current Baronet Inoheter.

In their youth, both men had been in a carriage accident. The driver had been killed, the horses scattered. Despite his own injuries, the young Baronet Inoheter had carried the gravely wounded Duke Frektuester on his back, walking an entire day to reach the ducal estate.

The Duke survived thanks to him. But the baronet had been left with lingering damage to his left arm.

At the doorway, Yuan turned back. His frosty eyes locked on Serret, his lips curved with cold disdain.

“That is not for Lady Inoheter to concern herself with.”

“Just repay it with money, Your Grace.”

At her words, Yuan stared at her intently, then crossed the room in a few strides, standing once more before her.

“Money alone could never express the depth of such gratitude.”

“Your Grace.”

“Not long ago, you so easily called me Yuan.”

Lifting her chin slightly with his fingers, Yuan bent and brushed his lips against her cheek.

The sudden contact made Serret flinch. His lips against her skin felt so vivid that her body stiffened instantly.

In her past life, Yuan had embraced her nearly every day. A cold husband by day, a shockingly passionate man by night.

But Serret had known his true heart: unable to embrace Lydia, he merely used his wife to slake his desires.

“Until later, Serret.”

Yuan smiled in that uniquely his way—polished yet domineering, courteous yet unbearably arrogant.

As soon as he left, Hanna hurried back inside, scanning her mistress anxiously.

“My lady, are you all right? Did nothing happen?”

“I’m fine. Just tidy up the room.”

Serret answered weakly and lay down on the bed. That brief touch had dredged up memories of nights with Yuan.

For a time, she had believed she was truly loved. But once she learned the truth, those nights had been nothing but hell.

‘The Duchess is just a substitute. Who doesn’t know that?’

‘Hush! The Duchess might hear you.’

It had been at a tea party hosted at the ducal estate. Stepping out of the room briefly, she had overheard their gossip as soon as the door shut—followed by cruel laughter.

Even now, that mocking laughter echoed in her ears. Serret pressed her hands hard against them.

Never again. She would never return to that dreadful time.

Serret lifted a bite of veal to her lips, her eyes studying Yuan across the table.

Every movement he made as he dined was refined, like a living painting. His face, perfectly proportioned as though painted by a master who had devoted years to the canvas.

That face—so flawless—suddenly irritated her all over again.

“Your Grace.”

Wiping her lips after swallowing, Serret addressed him.

“Serret.”

Her father, the Baronet Inoheter, called to her with an anxious look. She gave him a reassuring smile before turning her attention back to Yuan.

Their eyes met. Setting down his fork and knife for the moment, he waited for her to speak.

“Yes, Lady Inoheter?”

“Thank you for escorting me to the capital. I couldn’t refuse the Imperial invitation, but it troubled me greatly. With your Grace showing me such kindness, I hardly know how to express my gratitude.”

“It is only natural. Lady Inoheter is my fiancée.”

He sipped his water elegantly as he spoke.

“You spend more than half the year in the capital, so I imagine you’ll see many of your acquaintances at the Imperial ball.”

“Many are eager to meet you.”

His eyes scanned her as though probing for something. His intent was so transparent it almost seemed uncharacteristic.

“How curious they must be—that the future Duchess of Frektuester is a country bumpkin.”

“Cough—! Serret.”

The baronet choked on his food at her words, coughing as he called to his daughter.

“I would be curious too. The great Duke of Frektuester marrying the insignificant daughter of a mere provincial noble? The gossip practically reaches us out here.”

Indeed, in her previous life, Serret had heard it all. Country bumpkin. The unremarkable daughter of some backwater lord.

She remembered the women hiding behind their fans, whispering and laughing.

At the center of it all—Lydia.

Lydia Elliot. Though officially the daughter of Count Elliot, her true father was the Emperor.

Her mother, once a courtesan, had been the Emperor’s mistress. He even arranged her marriage to an aging vassal.

The Emperor adored her mother so much that people joked he lived beneath her skirts. After multiple miscarriages, she finally gave birth to Lydia.

Perhaps because she was the long-awaited child of his beloved mistress, the Emperor treasured Lydia more than even the crown prince.

When Lydia’s mother died, the Emperor doted on her all the more.

Thus, Lydia lived in luxury and power, little less than a princess.

She was the jewel of high society, admired and praised by all. From the beginning, a provincial girl like Serret had never stood a chance against her.

“Capital society is always full of gossip. A noisy place. Best to hear with one ear and let it out the other.”

Yuan cut another piece of veal as he spoke.

“I don’t know. I think I’ll hear many stories too entertaining to ignore.”

Serret lifted her shoulders lightly.

“Is that so?”

Yuan’s reply was nonchalant, as though it hardly concerned him.

It seemed he truly didn’t care what others said about his fiancée.

“Even here, far from the capital, the rumors reach us. Imagine how much more I’ll hear once we’re there.”

“And what rumors are these?”

“Trivial tales. For instance…”

“For instance?”

“That Yuan Frektuester’s first love was Lydia Elliot.”

Serret’s gaze held his steadily as she spoke.