Chapter 44
That Night, in Bed
Hearing Mary’s words, Luke lowered his gaze.
A warm, fragrant soup. Soft, white bread. Beside them, a glass of water and a small blue pill—likely something prescribed by the duchy’s physician.
He asked, “Did she seem very ill?”
“Well, actually…”
Mary hesitated, shifting the tray slightly in her hands.
“I went looking for the young lady earlier when she suddenly disappeared, and… I found her asleep in front of Miss Hilton’s door.”
“…Bonita?”
Luke’s eyes widened.
He knew Bonita loved Aria deeply, but sneaking out in the middle of the night to find her—alone—was something he hadn’t expected.
“I didn’t get to open the door since I was carrying the young lady back,” Mary continued, “but Miss Hilton’s voice sounded quite hoarse…”
“I see. And Bonita is in her room now?”
“Yes. She’s fast asleep.”
“I see…”
Even so, Luke wouldn’t be at ease until he saw her with his own eyes.
He was about to move when his gaze flickered back to the tray in Mary’s hands.
It bothered him.
Annoyingly so.
After a brief pause, he extended his hand.
“Give it to me.”
“…Pardon?”
“The tray.”
Mary, still caught off guard, handed it over without thinking.
Luke took the tray with both hands, then gave her a pointed look.
“You may go.”
“Um… Are you going to deliver it yourself, Your Grace?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
His crimson eyes gleamed coldly.
With his naturally fierce expression and the shadows of the dimly lit hallway, he looked like a devil who had crawled straight out of hell.
Mary, realizing she was out of options, bowed and backed away.
Still, she couldn’t help but think—
…Surely, he’s not planning to take the food away just because he doesn’t like Miss Hilton?
It sounded ridiculous.
But then again, after seeing how he had looked just now…
It almost seemed possible.
But oh well.
A mere maid had no right to question the duke.
****
Luke stared silently at the tray in his hands.
The soup was still steaming, the aroma of warm broth filling the air. The soft, white bread lay beside it, and next to that, a glass of water and a small blue pill—likely prescribed by the duchy’s physician.
He frowned.
…Am I out of my mind?
He had taken the tray on impulse, but now that he stood there holding it, the absurdity of his own actions hit him.
What am I even doing?
Was he really about to carry this to her, like some kind of servant?
Me?
Why?
His expression darkened, growing even more severe than usual.
…I must be exhausted.
His responsibilities had already been overwhelming—the usual duties of a duke, managing the absence of a proper duchess, investigating Bonita’s past.
With so much to handle, he hadn’t even stepped foot in his bedroom yet.
His sleep deprivation was catching up to him.
Yes. That had to be it.
Lack of sleep clouds judgment.
Letting out a slow breath, Luke turned and walked toward Bonita’s room.
Aria’s quarters were on the way—he could drop off the tray as he passed.
When he reached Bonita’s door, he carefully set the tray down on the floor.
Then, with deliberate caution, he opened the door, mindful not to wake the sleeping child.
The well-oiled hinges made no sound as the door slipped open.
There she is.
A small figure lay curled up in the dark, breathing softly.
The steady rhythm of her tiny breaths reached his ears.
Luke’s expression unconsciously softened.
…She’s adorable.
Come to think of it, this was the first time he had seen Bonita asleep.
The way her blanket rose and fell with each breath—it was almost comical how much it charmed him.
If he had any less self-control, he might have stepped inside and stroked her hair.
But waking a sleeping child was an unforgivable sin.
With a reluctant sigh, he quietly closed the door.
At least seeing her safe and sound eased his mind a little.
Retrieving the tray, he took a few steps before glancing back.
Then a few more steps. Another glance back.
With each step forward, his expression grew heavier.
His pace slowed.
He deliberately dragged his feet, yet somehow, the hallway felt too short tonight.
But his hesitation didn’t change the fact that the distance between him and her door was shrinking.
Finally, he reached it.
And stopped.
For a long moment, he just stood there.
Then, exhaling sharply, he raised his hand.
Knock, knock.
A composed, deliberate knock.
Clear enough that she should have heard it.
But there was no answer.
…Did she fall asleep?
The strange tension he had been carrying drained out of him.
He suddenly felt foolish for standing there, hesitant like an uncertain guest.
Still, the medicine had to be left somewhere. She could take it when she woke up.
Reaching for the doorknob, Luke slowly pushed the door open—
And froze.
“…!”
Aria lay slumped against the bed.
Her pale throat, streaked with blood, caught his eye first.
Then the sheets—stained with crimson.
His heart lurched.
Without thinking, he shoved the tray onto the nearest table and rushed to her side.
“What the—”
What had happened?
Why was her neck like that?
His hands hovered uncertainly as he examined her body.
The wounds on her throat were deep, as if they had been deliberately torn.
His gaze sharpened.
“Who the hell—”
Who dared to do this inside the duchy?
But just as he was about to curse the culprit, something else caught his eye.
Aria’s hands.
Her long nails, stained with blood.
Flesh caught under them.
Luke took a step back, his breath catching in his throat.
He didn’t need anyone to tell him what had happened.
It was obvious.
She had done this to herself.
Clenching his jaw, he pressed a hand against his face.
Checking for any other injuries, he found nothing aside from her ruined throat.
It should have been a relief.
And yet—
Was there really anything fortunate about this?
Luke sat down beside her, careful not to disturb the bed.
His crimson eyes studied her face.
Was she unconscious?
Or had she simply collapsed from exhaustion?
Should I call a doctor?
But if he summoned the physician, the entire household would know.
That couldn’t happen.
Because—
…Because…
Ah. Right.
I can’t have people whispering that my daughter is following a lunatic.
That was a perfectly reasonable explanation.
Yes.
That was why he didn’t want the news to spread.
Luke exhaled and turned his gaze back to Aria.
If she didn’t wake up soon, he’d have no choice but to rouse her himself.
After a minute of silence, he gently shook her shoulder.
“Miss Hilton.”
Her long, pale lashes fluttered.
Luke found himself momentarily mesmerized, as if watching a butterfly slowly unfolding its wings.
And then—
A hand.
Warm—no, cold fingers pressed against his cheek.
Before he could react, she smiled faintly.
“…Oh, Luke is here.”
His face twisted in irritation.
“What are you—”
“Am I dreaming?”
And with that, her other hand rose to cup his other cheek.
Smack.
Luke stiffened.
He was completely trapped between her bloodied hands.
For a brief second, his mind went blank.
…What the hell is happening?
This wasn’t even infuriating—just utterly ridiculous.
Was she feverish?
Her hands were far too cold.
Clearly, she wasn’t regulating her body temperature properly.
Luke sighed.
“…Let go.”
“Mm.”
Her response was completely unconcerned.
Only Elodie had ever touched him like this.
Was this woman simply reckless?
Normally, something inside him would have snapped.
He would have been furious, demanded to know what game she was playing.
But…
He wasn’t the kind of man to lash out at someone who was clearly unwell.
Besides, judging by the vacant look in her eyes, she wasn’t even fully conscious.
As he reached up to pry her hands off, Aria suddenly murmured—
“I was sad when you weren’t there when I died…”
Luke’s breath hitched.
Then, dazed, he watched as her delicate fingers brushed beneath his eye.
A ghostly touch.
And then—
“I love you, Luke.”
Luke’s entire body tensed.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
Because.
Because the way she whispered it—
The way her fingers trailed down his face—
It was exactly like—
Elodie.
In bed, before they made love.
She would always touch his face first.
Always.
And in the final moment, before their lips met—
She would say his name.
“…!”
Luke jerked upright, breaking away.
Her icy hands slipped from his skin.
“…Luke?”
Confused, half-lidded blue eyes gazed at him.
Completely unaware of what had just transpired.
His fingers curled into fists.
Something burned inside him.
What the hell was I about to do?
And yet.
And yet.
Aria, oblivious, reached for him again.
“Don’t go. Please…”
Luke flinched away like she had burned him.
He turned sharply, his breath unsteady.
Ignoring her weak voice calling after him, he strode out of the room.
Bang.
The door shut behind him, sealing off the warmth of the room.
Cold air seeped into his skin.
But it wasn’t enough.
Nothing could extinguish the fire raging inside him.
With a low growl, he slammed a fist against the wall.
Unforgivable.
He hated himself for that moment of weakness.
