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Chapter 2
“Good heavens! My son!”
No sooner had Sarah stepped out of Aiden’s room than someone burst into the hall, breathless and flustered.
A shrill, emotional voice, frantic gestures—
It was Olga, Aiden’s mother and the widow of the late Viscount. The moment she heard her son had been injured, she had rushed to the manor in the middle of the night without hesitation.
She had come so hastily that her hair was disheveled, and she hadn’t even managed to change out of her slippers.
When Olga spotted Sarah, her narrow eyes swept over her with disdain.
A scrawny body, an expressionless face, an unkind manner.
Not a single thing she liked about her son’s wife.
“…You’ve come, madam.”
Even that lifeless voice grated on Olga.
“Tsk, tsk.”
Her belated, half-hearted greeting made Olga click her tongue in disapproval.
Sarah hadn’t come to exchange pleasantries. So she quickly stepped aside, letting Olga pass to see her son.
Without hesitation, Olga marched straight into Aiden’s room.
Each step left faint, damp prints on the wooden floor.
Setting down her handbag, Olga rushed to the bed and repeatedly stroked her son’s pale face.
“How could such a terrible thing happen…?”
Her voice trembled as she looked at her unconscious son lying in the dark room, his eyes shut tight. Her chest ached unbearably.
A sudden carriage accident, on such a gloomy day—where had he been going to get caught up in it? Just the thought made her nose sting with grief.
“Stoke the fire more.”
She pointed to the fireplace, then pulled the blanket up to her son’s chin so his body wouldn’t grow cold.
“My poor boy… look at you. What am I supposed to do?”
Her golden-haired son, now pale as death.
“I’ll warm you up soon, my darling. What are you servants doing, can’t you hear me? Stoke the fire!”
Through the open door, servants scurried about.
Sarah neither entered nor left the room, only stood at the doorway and watched the reunion silently.
Even she could understand, if only faintly, the anguish of a mother seeing her son’s stricken face. Olga had already lost her husband, the late Viscount Spencer—her only son was all she had left.
Losing family was an unbearable pain, one you’d never want to endure twice.
Not that Sarah cared—if Aiden were to die today, she would feel nothing. There was no bond between them at all.
Who knew how long she stood there.
“Come. I need a word with you.”
Leaving her unconscious son behind, Olga summoned Sarah aside.
Before Sarah could even sit down, Olga dove straight to the point.
“Tell me, are you even trying?”
“…”
The sharp voice rang in her ears.
Of course Sarah knew what “trying” meant. She was talking about pregnancy.
Two years of marriage, and still no child. But then, how could there be—there had never been a real relationship between them. No love, no intimacy.
On their wedding night, Aiden had flown into a rage at her cold, unresponsive gaze.
“Failing to fulfill your duty, is that it?”
She hadn’t even had the chance to ask what duty he meant before he sneered and pointed crudely beneath his gown.
“Forgotten, have you? It’s a wife’s duty to rouse her husband below.”
He had hurled those humiliating words at her, as if she’d taken her dowry and refused her role as wife.
But Sarah thought differently.
“Then… surely a husband has duties as well.”
At her quiet retort, Aiden’s face had flushed crimson.
She hadn’t meant to provoke him, but her words cut deep.
He had grabbed her chin, eyes blazing.
“Do you take me for a fool who can’t handle his own wife?”
His blue eyes burned with the hunger to dominate her. His lips came so close she felt his breath, but Sarah didn’t move.
She had no feelings for him—no desire, no fire. Enduring his kiss, too, seemed part of the “wifely duty” he spoke of. That she felt nothing was only natural.
His grip on her jaw tightened, then with a twisted laugh, he let her go.
“Damn it. What a wedding night, one I can’t even speak of to anyone.”
That was the first crack in Aiden Spencer’s reputation as a celebrated womanizer. A pitiful night, one he would never forget.
The night he hadn’t even managed to touch his wife’s lips.
Bang!
In a rage, he had stormed out of the room.
From that night onward, a strange wind blew through the manor. Aiden, resentful of their ruined wedding night, openly flaunted other women before Sarah.
“Greet her properly.”
“Hello, madam. I’ll be coming here often. Let’s be friendly, shall we?”
He even introduced his mistress to her face.
“Shall I teach your wife how it’s done?”
“Don’t bother. She’s nothing but a block of wood.”
He mocked Sarah, bringing up their unspeakable wedding night, while his mistress moaned in his arms.
Maybe it was revenge for that first night. But Sarah hadn’t cared what kind of nights he spent with other women.
What mattered was that once his mistress began frequenting the house, Sarah lost her rights as his wife. Even the servants’ attitudes toward her had changed.
Sarah shut her eyes at the memory. Two years had passed already.
She had tried to dismiss it as nothing, yet her nails had dug so deep into her palms they broke the skin.
Love or not, it was still a wound that shook her very existence.
Olga, seeing Sarah’s silence, shook her head.
“Your silence says it all. Tsk, tsk.”
“…”
“Do you want your place stolen? What if his mistress bears him a child first?”
Olga clutched her chest, forcing herself to calm down. She had only now noticed the servants hovering nearby.
But her cooled reason didn’t stop her from aiming her arrows at Sarah.
“Is there something wrong with you?”
“…”
“How else could there be no news even now?”
“…”
“Did they teach you nothing where you came from?”
Sarah’s lips quivered faintly.
Did she mean the Earl of Dorsen and his wife, her former guardians? Or the orphanage where she had spent her childhood? Perhaps both.
Olga didn’t care. She continued her scolding.
“What on earth did you learn, I wonder. Tsk.”
It almost seemed she was venting her grief over her son’s injury onto Sarah.
“If only you had given me a fine grandson by now—Aiden would have leapt up at the sight of his child!”
Sarah could only fumble for words, but before she could answer—
“Madam!”
A servant burst in, breathless.
“He—he’s awake!”
“What?”
“His lordship has opened his eyes!”
Olga leapt to her feet, so quickly she tripped on her skirts but didn’t notice.
Perhaps Sarah’s desperate wish—that her husband would not wake—had never been as fervent as Olga’s hope that he would.
Biting her lip hard, Sarah followed after her.
Inside the room, with the Viscountess at her side, Aiden was struggling to sit up.
The fire blazed warmly in the hearth, just as Olga had ordered.
“Lean on your mother, my son.”
She reached out anxiously, but to her surprise, Aiden refused her touch.
His blue eyes moved between Olga and Sarah. Not with the usual contempt or scorn—this was a look Sarah had never seen before.
And then came the greater shock.
“You say… you don’t remember anything?”
“…Yes.”
He had lost all his memories.
Though conscious, Aiden did not know who he was, how old he was, or even whose room he lay in.
Except for the faint memory of being in an accident, everything was gone.
“Not even me, your mother?”
“No. I don’t know.”
At his words, Olga sank down before him.
Grasping at straws, she pointed to Sarah.
“And your wife?”
Aiden blinked. His eyes were utterly blank.
Sarah, unable to meet his gaze, remembered the words she had whispered earlier—
“…Don’t wake. Please.”
She hadn’t even realized she’d spoken them. A wish unfulfilled.
“Think carefully, my son.”
Olga, forgetting her earlier harshness, nudged Sarah forward with a smile.
“She’s your wife.”
Wife. The word rasped in Sarah’s mouth.
Could she call herself that, when she had wished for his death?
Would his lost memory suddenly make her his wife in truth?
Would it erase the wounds he had carved into her?
Her mind swirled in confusion.
“…Wife.”
Aiden’s lips moved, testing the word, with no warmth in it at all.
He repeated it awkwardly, as though struggling to remember.
“So… you are my wife.”
“…”
Watching him frown in concentration, Sarah suddenly felt a pang of injustice—because she alone still remembered everything.
