90.

Erika moved quickly to shut the carriage door, but Lady Seymour, as if sensing the conversation was far from over, rattled off a few last words before the door could close.

“In my eyes, you’re not so different from the Lady. You try to wrap it up in pretty words, calling it convenience, but all I see is someone running away, afraid because you know it won’t last forever.”

“Mother.”

“Of course, thinking about the future is wise. But if you let yourself get tied down by every possible ‘what-if,’ you’ll never accomplish anything.”

“Ah—Mother.”

“A Seymour doesn’t coddle cowards.”

“……”

“Well then, I’ll see you in a week. Take good care of the Lady while I’m gone.”

“…Yes, ma’am. Have a safe—”

Before Erika could finish her formal farewell, the door closed with a decisive *thud*, signaling Lady Seymour’s refusal to hear another word.

Watching the carriage roll away into the distance, Erika let out a long, heavy sigh. She felt like her very soul had been thoroughly shaken during their brief exchange.

Erika’s mother, Lady Seymour, had learned of Erika’s eight-year-long relationship with Harry Forn due to one of Aisa’s teasing remarks. Since then, every conversation seemed to circle back to him. No matter how much she tried to steer things in other directions, the topic always landed on Harry Forn in the end.

Even Erika, known for her iron will, found herself unable to withstand such constant nagging. She had resorted to dodging Lady Seymour for the past few days, but as her only surviving child, she couldn’t avoid today’s farewell.

Though Lady Seymour wasn’t one to easily reveal her inner thoughts, Erika had been taken aback by just how much her mother had been mulling over these matters.

“There’s no need to remain trapped by what happened over a decade ago. You should enjoy life while you can.”

Her mother’s words held no falsehoods. Erika understood them better than anyone, even in the depths of her mind.

But that understanding didn’t stop her from shying away from the idea of marriage. It wasn’t just marriage she feared; it was the thought of having someone by her side, only to lose them.

Once again, her mother had been right.

‘Honestly, the real devil here isn’t Nyx. It’s Mother.’

Those who had survived the tragedy in the West often lived with a peculiar kind of guilt. They devoted themselves to avenging those who had died rather than seeking out their own happiness.

At the time, that drive for vengeance was what kept them alive, but now, it had become ingrained—an unshakable habit.

If they found themselves happy, a pang of guilt would creep in. If joy came their way, a sense of remorse would follow. Aisa wasn’t the only one who pushed herself relentlessly, as if punishing herself, while building her trading network and expanding the McFoy estate.

And although time had somewhat dulled the sharp edge of those emotions, they hadn’t disappeared. Time didn’t undo what had happened on that day.

Erika recalled the start of her relationship with Harry Forn. It wasn’t some romantic or heartwarming story.

Back when the desire for revenge was at its peak, Erika had felt the same burning rage. Vengeance was a powerful motivator, but it could also wear down the mind.

Erika had wanted a way to release her accumulated stress. And the person who caught her eye was none other than Harry Forn, a young man barely past his coming of age. That was all there was to it.

 

“B-but, Lady Seymour…”

Harry Forn, who was usually so composed, had been quietly crying in a corner, looking utterly heartbroken. Erika had stumbled upon him by chance and couldn’t bring herself to walk away.

With his handsome face streaked with tears, Harry looked utterly pitiful. His tear-filled eyes were like a lake, and he resembled a puppy caught in the rain. As a loyal retainer of McFoy, Erika had a soft spot for good looks.

A little tipsy at the time, Erika had impulsively kissed Harry. That was how it began.

“B-But, Erika… no, Lady Erika, you can’t!”

Sir Harry Forn, who had been so innocent back then, found himself helplessly swept up in a relationship with the older Erika. What had started as a passing fling turned into months, then a year.

 

“Erika, this isn’t right—!”

Before either of them knew it, a year had turned into eight.

That was why Erika couldn’t entirely refute accusations that she’d toyed with the naïve young noble. After all, her initial intentions had indeed been to have a bit of fun with a handsome face.

But now, if anyone were to ask her, “So, does that mean you don’t love Harry?” her answer would be an unequivocal “No.”

Harry Forn had long become an important part of Erika Seymour’s life.

Erika had always been meticulous, more so than Aisa. Yet, somehow, Harry had become precious to her in a way she had never planned, and it left her feeling bewildered.

Marriage, though—marriage was something she shied away from entirely. She had no desire to risk gaining someone precious only to lose them again. She didn’t want to add anything more to the list of things she could potentially lose.

‘But then again, feelings don’t follow logic, do they?’

She had come to accept, with a certain coolness, that it was only natural to fall for Harry. She couldn’t control her heart, but she could control her decisions.

And thus, marriage became her final boundary—her last line of defense.

‘Damn it. Let’s say I go through with it and we get married. Harry becomes my family. But if something happens, if I end up losing him, I’d be the only one left to…’

When Erika and Lady Seymour had rushed back to McFoy without even completing her coming-of-age ceremony, they were met with countless bodies. Properly burying their loved ones among the mass of corpses had been nearly impossible. Even after all these years, that trauma hadn’t faded.

The thought brought Erika to a halt, and she rubbed her face roughly with her hands.

‘This is ridiculous. I know I’m just hurting myself by thinking like this.’

She realized all too well that she was the coward her mother had described, avoiding happiness out of fear of a future that might never come. It stung all the more to hear it spoken aloud by Lady Seymour.

“Damn that Nyx, with that miserable face of his, tormenting us for over a decade.”

Watching Aisa’s clumsy attempts to deny her feelings for Norma Diazi, Erika often thought her master resembled a stubborn eight-year-old. It seemed absurd that Aisa would go to such lengths to reject her own heart, and Erika would shake her head in disbelief.

“So this is how the Lady must have felt. Maybe I should ease up on her.”

But now that marriage had become an issue in her own life, she finally understood just how terrifying it was to open herself up to the possibility of loving someone new.

* * *

Today, all was peaceful at the McFoy estate. Deep in its central quarters was a study that Aisa McFoy often used for her official duties.

Two guards stationed near the study’s back, closer to the flowerbeds, were stifling yawns. It was a quiet post, and with their shift nearing its end, they were beginning to slack off a bit.

So, when someone approached silently right up to their noses, they failed to notice.

“Are you dozing off on duty?”

“Gah! Wha—? No, sir—!”

Norma clamped his hand over the mouth of the guard who had raised his voice.

The guard, now silenced, blinked in shock, momentarily stunned by the fresh scent and stunning face of the man standing in front of him.

His fellow guard was equally captivated, though he managed to keep quiet, his mouth hanging open in awe.

With a finger pressed to his lips, Norma met the bewildered gazes of the guards, one by one. His behavior, though unintentional, had a beguiling charm that seemed to cast a spell over others.

“Keep your voices down,” he whispered.

The two guards nodded eagerly, prompting a faint smile from Norma as he released his hold on the startled guard and stepped back.

“What brings you here, sir?” the newly silenced guard managed to ask, still dazed. His words revealed his status as a rookie, unsure of how to address the unexpected presence of the esteemed guest—Lord Consort, Lady’s Husband, Sir Diazi, Lord of McFoy, or simply Norma.

The more experienced guard beside him jabbed the rookie in the side with his elbow and whispered.

“Can’t you see? He’s here to see the Lady.”

This guard prided himself on his insight, having encountered Norma sneaking around like this a few times while on duty.

“But why wouldn’t he just use the main entrance…?”

“It’s so he doesn’t disturb the Lady. He’s only here to catch a glimpse from afar. And keep it a secret from the Lady.”

Norma raised a finger to his lips again, smiling as he whispered his request to the guards.

“Yes, sir.”

“And next time, try not to fall asleep. You’re McFoy guards, after all.”

With that, Norma brushed past them, his expression still gentle, though his tone had turned cold. The guards swallowed hard, understanding the true message behind the angelic face.

He meant, “There’s someone in that study whom you’re supposed to be protecting—are you out of your minds, dozing off?”

The guards couldn’t help but think that they might have preferred facing Glen Dogman’s fiery temper instead. They bowed deeply as Norma walked away, not daring to straighten up until he was out of sight.

When he was gone, the rookie guard glanced nervously at his companion.

“Um, Sir Witton.”

“What is it?”

“Isn’t the Lady supposed to close all the curtains when she works in the study? How’s he planning to catch a glimpse?”

“How should I know? I’m sure he has his ways.”

Witton had encountered Norma like this three times now, each time guarding different areas around the estate. It was clear that Norma made a daily habit of seeking a glimpse of the Lady’s face.

‘He probably just saw her this morning, too, but it’s like those rumors the maids whisper about—a love that could last a thousand years.’

With those thoughts, Witton could only hope that today’s encounter wouldn’t put him on Norma’s bad side.

The McFoy study, especially the one in the innermost part of the estate, was where Aisa handled sensitive matters. The room was equipped with heavy curtains over every window to prevent anyone from seeing inside, and it even had hidden compartments for secret meetings and documents.

“…”

Unaware of these particulars, Norma found himself surprised by the tight security. The drawn curtains meant that even he couldn’t catch a glimpse of Aisa’s face.

If asked what he considered the best part of marrying into the McFoy family, Norma would quickly answer that it was the ability to slip away whenever he wished to see Aisa. It was precisely this opportunity that had drawn him to the role of Lord Consort.

Norma often used his swordsmanship and sacred power to discreetly visit her. Although he pretended to lament not being able to see her during the day, monopolizing her nights, in reality, he sought her out whenever he pleased.

Today, as usual, he had eagerly anticipated seeing her face, but the heavy curtains dashed his hopes. He found himself staring forlornly at the drawn fabric.

However, Norma lacked any ability to see through barriers. From the faint sounds, he could tell there were three people beyond the curtains, but that was all.

Then, two of the presences moved away, leaving only one. The remaining presence felt familiar and, to him, infinitely endearing.

‘Aisa.’

Norma’s eyes lit up, and he focused all his attention on that presence to confirm it was truly her.

To his surprise, the presence drew nearer. Norma, despite having snuck over, made no attempt to hide. As the presence approached, his confidence grew.

‘Please… let it open.’

His heart pounded faster as he silently wished for a miracle.

And as if answering his unspoken wish, the curtain and window were drawn open with a flourish.