FWTR Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A sudden chill washed over Estelle, and she suddenly snapped back to her senses.

‘I’m sure…’

The image of crimson blood flashed in her mind, and instinctively, Estelle looked down at her palm.
Her hands were so pale they looked almost white, as if she had never bled.

After blinking several times, she slowly lifted her head and surveyed her surroundings.

The familiar structure met her eyes. It was definitely her room. But for some reason, all the furniture was covered with white cloth.

Her late mother’s room had looked just like this.
Suddenly, an eerie sensation gripped Estelle, and she moved towards the mirror to see her reflection.
She tried to pull the cloth off the mirror but couldn’t get a hold of it.

That was when she finally accepted the truth. She was no longer alive.

‘…Though my mind remains, the spring I’ve been waiting for will come, and I can still look at the world, but I will never feel the warmth I long for.’

That made her even more miserable.
Helplessly, Estelle looked at her hands, then left the room as she heard a loud noise from outside.
Downstairs, the hall was filled with a crowd dressed in dark attire.

“I heard the rumor that Lady Estelle took her own life.”

“Oh my, really? How terrible.”

Following their sympathetic gazes, Estelle saw her own body, beautifully dressed and lying in a coffin.
All traces of her painful death were erased.
It seemed like her funeral was underway.

The Duke of Winchester, looking tired, Melody, wiping her tears, and Lucas, with an expression of boredom, were seated in the front row.

‘Did Rahelrn not come?’

Though he disliked her, Rahelrn had always at least acknowledged her, unlike Lucas, who remained indifferent.

‘He must have hated me enough not to attend my funeral.’

Perhaps he thought she had tarnished the family’s honor.
From Rahelrn’s perspective, she was probably the one who had caused Winchester to be the subject of gossip.

At that moment, Leonov, who had been standing expressionless, walked up to the coffin and placed a single lily on it.

In that fleeting moment, Estelle saw it.
The look in his eyes as he gazed at Melody was filled with worry.

‘Leonov. I should never have loved you.’

He truly whispered his love to Melody while holding her in his arms.
She regretted being forced into the engagement.
It must have been a relief to him that she died so he could be free of it.

Her funeral ended without a single person genuinely mourning her.

* * *

The next day, Duke Winchester was in his office, reading documents.

Estelle, suppressing the rising sorrow, wandered around the office.

Every corner of the office displayed items: a painting Rahelrn had gifted when he was young, a knight’s commission given to Lucas by the emperor, and a framed portrait of Melody.

Estelle held on to a glimmer of hope.
Could there be, perhaps, a brooch she had given him somewhere?

Had he ever kept one of the letters she had sent, even though she had never received a reply?
But there was no trace of Estelle anywhere.
Rahelrn’s painting was still carefully kept, Lucas cherished his commission, and Melody was always by his side.

‘But I’m his daughter, too.’

Meanwhile, Estelle wasn’t treasured, admired, or loved.

Even when she was in the same room, Duke Winchester didn’t acknowledge her presence.
No matter how many times she called out to him, he never looked in her direction.

Of course, she was already dead.
Filled with disappointment, Estelle slumped her shoulders.

“Maybe it was murder!”

A desperate-looking aide rushed in.

“…What do you mean?”

Duke Winchester furrowed his brow.

“They say Miss Estelle may not have taken her own life.”

“But didn’t her personal maid confess to bringing out a poisoned drink at her command?”

She momentarily became excited. This could be the perfect opportunity to reveal that Melody was the culprit.

“We didn’t find a suicide note, and it’s suspicious for a suicide. Maybe it would be worth investigating.”

“…She was always a weak child. She must have drunk the poison in a fit of rage, which is why she didn’t leave a note.”

Duke Winchester snapped coldly.

“The part where she was going to leave with Melody gives me the chills.”

He muttered under his breath. Estelle, who could hear everything, was overcome with despair.
To think her father would dismiss her death as the result of weakness and rage.

It felt as if her entire life, spent trying to win his favor, was being negated.
How much must he have hated her for him to be so indifferent to her death?
Would he have reacted the same if Melody had died instead?

A flood of thoughts overwhelmed Estelle, and she became unexpectedly overwhelmed with sorrow.
If only, for just a moment, he had looked at her with a warm gaze. If only he had regretted not loving her while she was alive.

If only I could have found solace in knowing I was loved, even just a little, and let everything go.
What Estelle wished for wasn’t so grand. Yet, even that remained unfulfilled.

‘Father feels ashamed of the daughter who only ever wanted to make him proud.’

She had tried so hard, pushing herself to the brink just to earn a word of praise. But her efforts had always been in vain.

Not once in her life had she been a priority to him. Unlike her siblings, she never had a day, even just one, where he gave her his undivided attention.
The Duke of Winchester had refused to spend time with her.

‘Was there ever a moment when I was truly his daughter?’

She had lived, deceiving herself into thinking he cared for her, if only a little.
Perhaps she had clung to the hope that he loved her, even just slightly.

Fueled by the shallow hope that he might one day see her, she had endured until now.
If she had known things would turn out like this, she wouldn’t have worked so hard to win his love. Instead, she might have indulged herself once—cried, thrown a tantrum, refused to yield.
Would she have felt less regret if she had defied him, even once, rather than always pretending she was fine?

All those years of suppressing her emotions had left her with a deep-seated bitterness in her heart.

“Melody is already in shock as it is. Let’s put an end to this matter.”

Even now, as he dismissed any concern for Estelle, the Duke worried about Melody.

The aide, defeated by his firm tone, pressed his lips together and remained silent.

“What about Rahelrn?”

“The young duke says he is overwhelmed with responsibilities in his territory and won’t be able to come.”

“Well, the funeral’s already over. No need for him to make the effort.”

To the very end, the Duke remained cold and unkind to Estelle, cruel in his indifference.
His tone was far too calm for a father who had just lost his child.

As if Estelle had never been his child to begin with.
Her last shred of hope was crushed, extinguished entirely. There would be no rekindling it—not even a trace of its fleeting warmth remained.
It had been such a lonely life.

‘I regret not stopping her from having that child. If it weren’t for her, Alicia would still be alive….’

Estelle recalled the Duke’s bitter remark on her birthday.

‘I’m busy right now. I don’t have time to play with you.’

And then there were Rahelrn’s hateful, disdainful gazes.

‘Hey, you made Melody cry again. What did you do to her this time?’

Lucas had never even treated her as family, constantly hurling verbal abuse.

She had sought love from these people, who wished for her death, and loved them despite everything.
Estelle’s death was quickly forgotten.

As the seasons passed, Leonov ascended the throne. Melody became pregnant, and he was overjoyed, making her his empress.

Watching Melody cradle her belly with a triumphant smile, Estelle’s seething anger gradually faded, giving way to a deep, consuming sadness.

Why had she become a mere shadow, unseen by anyone, endlessly stuck in this existence?
In an empty room where no one ever visited, Estelle poured out her grief.

She spent her days curled up in a corner, consumed by solitude. Just like her life, she was entirely alone.
Her emotions dulled as time passed—an inevitable consequence of her isolation.

Looking out at the fierce snowstorm outside, Estelle felt a familiar, gut-wrenching pain in her chest.

‘Winter has returned.’

The vivid memories etched into her mind refused to fade.

Hoping to escape the biting coldness of those memories, Estelle closed her eyes.

Just then.
“Ahhhh!”

“P-please spare me!”

Sudden, blood-curdling screams pierced the air.

‘What’s going on?’

Sensing the unusual atmosphere, Estelle stood and left her room.

Outside, royal knights were ransacking the estate.
Each time their swords glinted, one servant after another collapsed to the ground.

‘Why are the royal knights here?’

Startled, Estelle took a step back, freezing as a man approached with measured footsteps.

“Such a ruckus.”

His voice was cold and devoid of sympathy.
With long lashes, sharp eyes, and a perfectly chiseled nose, he looked like a masterpiece sculpted by the gods.
Even at a glance, the man exuded overwhelming authority.

The knights, who had been swinging their swords moments earlier, lowered their weapons and bowed deeply toward him.

The man had golden eyes, as if sprinkled with stars.
Golden eyes, the blessing of Aion, the god who protected Valderman, belonged to only one person.

‘Prince Michael…?’

He was Leonov’s half-brother and the second prince of the Valderman Empire—Michael Valderman.

“Your Majesty, it seems the Duke of Winchester has already fled!”

The commander of the knights reported as he emerged from the Duke’s office. Michael curled his lips into a relaxed smile.

“Find him, no matter what it takes, and bring him back alive.”

“As you command, Your Majesty!”

The commander addressed him as emperor, and Michael accepted the title without hesitation.
Hearing him called “Your Majesty” and the news of the Duke’s escape, Estelle pieced together what had happened.

‘The second prince has staged a rebellion.’

Suddenly, Michael turned his head.
His golden eyes landed squarely on Estelle.