꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦THERE IS NO WAY YOU LOVE ME꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦
“Your Grace? Why are you here…?”
A startled voice echoed through the room. The stark white light pierced her eyes, which had grown accustomed to the darkness.
He slowly approached. The crisp sound of his footsteps sliced through the heavy silence.
This was neither an illusion nor a dream. He was too vivid to be mistaken for either.
“How…?”
Countless questions swirled in her mind. But after hastily uttering those words, she didn’t know how to continue.
“I was passing by when I noticed a room I had never seen before. Curiosity got the better of me… but it seems I made the right choice opening the door.”
Kieran smiled, a hint of amusement in his voice, then stepped forward. He followed the path of light spilling through the open doorway, moving closer.
“Were you trapped in here?”
The distance that had felt immeasurably vast to Alyssa was closed in an instant. His deep green eyes settled on her.
The flood of unanswered questions suddenly quieted down. Alyssa gave a small nod.
“…Yes.”
That single word was enough to define the tangled emotions she had been unable to articulate.
Alyssa had been trapped. And she had desperately waited for someone to come to her.
Sometimes, coincidences come so perfectly that they feel like miracles. To her, Kieran had always been just that.
She felt like she might cry. Or perhaps she might laugh.
With a twisted expression, she smiled.
Surely, you have no idea. And even if you did, it would mean nothing to you.
But still, I waited for you. And this—this is the first miracle I’ve ever known.
“I missed you.”
That was the only thing she could say.
Her voice, fragile and trembling like shattered glass, made Kieran smile slowly. The corners of his lips curled, his eyes crinkling in a way that carried an unmistakable warmth.
He extended his hand toward her.
Alyssa hesitated for a moment before placing her hand in his.
The warmth of his touch reached her skin, and then, gently, he clasped her hand. With a soft tug, he pulled her toward him. Before she realized it, she was standing in the light.
As she lingered on the warmth of his touch, Kieran’s voice broke the silence.
“…This room, does it hold portraits?”
Alyssa instinctively lifted her head to answer, but then she stopped.
His expression was strange. A mix of bewilderment and shock flickered across his face. But his gaze wasn’t on her.
Following his eyes, Alyssa turned around.
And in that moment, she understood why Kieran looked the way he did.
When she first entered, the room had been cloaked in darkness, its contents obscured.
But now, the scene before her was clear.
Behind her stood a large portrait—of a woman with jet-black hair.
The intricately painted portrait was breathtakingly beautiful, yet at the same time, utterly ruined. It had been slashed to shreds, as if the canvas had been brutally torn apart.
“Why is it that only this painting…?”
Kieran murmured, his voice cold and rigid. Staring at the portrait with a complicated gaze, he let out a sigh before asking,
“Was it someone else who did this, or…?”
“…”
“Did you do it yourself?”
His voice was heavy with uncertainty. It was as if the idea of Alyssa tearing apart her own portrait was something deeply troubling to him.
In truth, Alyssa wouldn’t have cared even if it had been her actual face that had been slashed instead of the painting.
And yet, his concern—though unfamiliar—was strangely comforting.
“No. It was already like this when it was completed.”
She shook her head with a faint smile. The worry on Kieran’s face eased slightly, but in its place, confusion settled in.
Understandably so. Who would commission a portrait only to demand it be torn apart?
Alyssa offered an ambiguous smile. It was a long story.
In truth, this portrait had not been her commission at all. It was the work of an unknown painter who had once passed through the North many years ago.
A reckless man who had dared to sneak a glimpse of a monster hunt once.
Having been rescued by the knights in his frail condition, the moment he saw Alyssa, he had insisted on painting her portrait.
She had refused, not wanting any trace of her image to remain.
But after his persistent pleas, she had agreed—under one condition.
She would not stand as a model while the painting was being made, and her face was not to be included in the portrait.
Despite these conditions, which made painting a proper portrait nearly impossible, the artist readily agreed.
A wandering painter who traveled the country creating art, he was both an eccentric and a genius.
He vividly recalled the moment that had inspired him. He had never needed a model in the first place—only the lingering image in his mind, which he then poured onto the canvas.
And once the painting was complete, it was the artist himself who tore it apart with his own hands.
He was utterly obsessed with his art. Even Alyssa’s demand that her face remain unseen became another element in his vision of the final masterpiece.
As a result, the painting was violently slashed, fully capturing the emotions he had sought to convey.
A lone woman standing in a snowstorm atop a frozen mountain. Her black hair whipping in the wind, hands gripping a sword as if in prayer.
The painting was composed entirely in shades of blue, its surface tattered with intentional slashes, leaving no part of it intact.
The artist had completed the piece in the most audacious and irreverent way possible—by defacing the portrait of a noble.
Having handed the painting over to Alyssa, the artist left the castle without another word, as if he had no further business there.
Alyssa had intended to throw the painting away.
But after seeing the finished work, she had chosen instead to hang it in the room where the portraits of past dukes and duchesses were kept.
Among the commissioned portraits of the ducal lineage, this one stood out in stark contrast.
Its composition was closer to a character study than a formal portrait, its color palette devoid of warmth, dominated by deep, dark tones.
Among a collection of dignified and affectionate faces, it stood alone—somber, distant, and chillingly lonely.
There had never been, nor would there ever be, another portrait of her.
No other painting could capture her as perfectly as this one.
Finishing her explanation, Alyssa let out a quiet breath. She had nearly forgotten about the portrait herself.
“Do you truly despise showing your face so much that you’d rather leave behind a slashed painting?”
Before she realized it, Kieran was no longer looking at the portrait—he was looking at her.
Feeling self-conscious, Alyssa averted her gaze.
Ever since she had cut her bangs and started wearing a mask, she had been able to see his face clearly.
And even though she knew her own face was hidden, meeting his gaze made her feel as though he could see right through her.
“What is it that makes you so reluctant?”
There was no reprimand or mockery in his voice—just pure curiosity.
It was a difficult question to answer, but she couldn’t remain silent.
“……Everyone who sees my face flinches as if they’ve seen something horrible.”
No one had ever asked her why before. And she had never explained it to anyone.
“But you…” she hesitated, struggling to find the words, “I like it when you smile at me.”
She spoke hesitantly, as though navigating through an unfamiliar forest, carefully choosing each word.
“When our eyes meet, you greet me. We eat together. And… just like this.”
“……”
“I’d like you to keep doing that.”
A laugh slipped out as she spoke. But it wasn’t a laugh of joy.
It was the only way she could hide how lost she felt in this moment.
Yet, in the end, her answer had strayed away from Kieran’s question.
She did hate showing her face.
To everyone—except for one person.
Realizing this, her face burned with heat, and she quickly lowered her head.
How shameless.
Someone like me—what am I even thinking?
Even as she thought that, the final words she hadn’t dared to say lingered in her mouth.
She couldn’t swallow them down.
And so, they escaped.
“Is that… not allowed?”
Her voice trembled with vulnerability.
Kieran remained silent.
Alyssa didn’t have the courage to check his expression.
A moment passed before he finally answered.
“I will.”
His voice was no different from before.
When she lifted her head, she saw him looking at her as if nothing had changed.
“But that would remain true,” he continued, “whether I see your face or not.”
His tone was steady as always, yet his once smooth expression was now slightly creased.
As if he found his own words unfamiliar.
After a brief pause, he went on, somewhat awkwardly.
“Even if others who see your face despise you…”
“……”
“I will not.”
When he finished speaking, his expression was strangely unreadable.
As though even he wasn’t used to the words he had just spoken.
Alyssa found herself staring at him, unable to look away.
And then, she asked.
“Why?”
Her own mother had called her a monster.
Had said she should never have existed.
Everyone had wanted to erase her, to hide her away.
So how could he be different?
Kieran had no answer.
Because he had only just realized it himself.
When had it begun?
Eyes like the morning stars gazed up at him.
Pure emotions shimmered like snowflakes bathed in sunlight.
That gaze stole his breath away.
It was the kind of look one would have when beholding the rarest, most beautiful thing in the world.
Alyssa always looked at him that way.
When standing before her, he forgot he was an illegitimate child who was sold away.
She constantly made him feel like someone precious.
“…You.”
How could he possibly despise someone like that?
Just as Kieran was about to continue speaking, the sound of hurried footsteps rapidly approached.
“My lord! So this is where— Huh? Your Grace?”
With a loud exclamation, Akhim poked his head in.
At the same time, both Kieran and Alyssa jolted as if cold water had been thrown over them.
“Uh, so… what exactly were you two doing?”
“Nothing.”
With the sudden disruption, Kieran pressed his fingers against his temple.
The thoughts that had momentarily consumed him quickly dissipated.
“What’s the matter?”
“Ah! Right. A carriage is approaching. It seems to have come from the capital. But…”
Akhim clapped his hands together as he hurriedly relayed the news.
After taking a deep breath, he finished his report.
“It’s bearing the crest of the House of Count Albrecht.”
Thank you so much, I really love this novel 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷
Hii thank you Vesta🫂🩷
Thanks for the tl! ✨
Also, who’s count Albert? 🤔
He is Kieran’s father🫶🏻
I’m sorry i realized it was a typo, thanks for pointing it out😅