Everything between them had finally been resolved.
The pain. The silence. The misunderstandings. All washed away in the flood of truth, forgiveness, and love. Marquise Morgan had spent another day in the North, watching his daughter—once broken—slowly beginning to shine again. With a warm embrace and a tearful farewell, he departed, returning to the capital with a heart lighter than it had been in years.
Oliver, too, bid his quiet goodbye, leaving behind a chapter of his life that had taught him about love, pain, and letting go.
That night, silence filled the Duke's chambers.
Alex and Maria lay together in bed. No words were needed. Maria was curled into Alex's chest, her breathing slow, steady—finally at peace. She looked so fragile, like a porcelain doll that had endured too much but still refused to break.
Alex gently brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and simply… watched her.
There was something sacred in that stillness—something so achingly beautiful that he couldn't look away.
Then, as if sealing a vow only the stars could witness, he leaned forward and whispered something in her ear.
A whisper meant only for her heart.
He placed a soft kiss on her forehead and quietly slipped out of the bed.
When Maria woke, her fingers reached across the bed, searching for him—but the space beside her was empty.
"Alex…" she murmured.
She wanted more time. Just a little longer to feel his warmth. To be held.
A knock broke the silence.
A maid entered and bowed. "Madam, Miss Celestia has arrived and wishes to see you."
At the mention of the name, Maria's heart turned cold. Her expression tightened, but she drew a deep breath and composed herself. She couldn't afford to explode—not now.
She dressed with quiet determination and headed to the main hall.
Celestia sat elegantly, a soft expression of concern painted across her face—so carefully crafted it could almost fool the world.
Almost.
The moment she saw Maria, she stood and hurried over. "My dear little sister!" she exclaimed with perfect worry. "I heard you collapsed in the slums! Are you alright? You look so pale."
She took Maria's hand in hers, eyes glistening with practiced emotion.
Maria stared at her. She now knew the truth. Behind that sweet voice and gentle touch was the one who had tried to kill her unborn child.
But Maria smiled.
She tilted her head just slightly and replied, "Thank you for your concern, Sister. But I'm doing much better now… thanks to those who truly care about me."
Celestia's smile twitched—but only for a moment.
The two shared a brief, deceptively sweet exchange, cloaked in courtesies but laced with silent war.
After a while, Celestia excused herself and left, her presence like a perfume that lingered long after it should have vanished.
Maria remained still, eyes narrowed, voice quiet.
"I'm watching you now, Celestia," she whispered to the air. "And this time… I won't let you win."
Meanwhile, in the Royal Capital...
Marquise Morgan made his way through the palace, having completed a formal meeting with the Emperor. As he stepped out into the marble corridor, a small folded piece of parchment slid discreetly across the floor—its corner tucked beneath the heel of his boot.
He paused, picked it up.
"Come to the palace backyard. Alone."
His eyes sharpened.
He followed the instructions, moving through the maze of garden paths and ancient trees. But no one was there. The wind whispered through the leaves, brushing across his coat.
He waited… and waited.
Just as he turned to leave, something caught his eye.
A small leather bag, hanging from the branch of an old oak.
Marquise's heart beat faster as he retrieved it. Inside, there was a letter.
Sealed with a symbol he recognized instantly.
The sigil of the Northern Duke family.
He broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.
"Don't believe anyone. Look around you. See if they truly serve you… or if they serve someone else."
His hands tightened on the paper.
He couldn't make sense of it… yet something cold crawled up his spine. That night, as he sat down for dinner, the letter's words echoed in his mind. He glanced around the room—at the guards… the maids…
Then his gaze stopped on one servant, standing unusually stiff in the corner. His eyes… too alert. Too calculating.
And suddenly, the warning made sense.
The poison. The pressure. The manipulation.
He'd been surrounded… by traitors disguised as loyalists.
And somewhere in the shadows… something far bigger was moving.
Marquise Morgan couldn't sleep.
The letter burned in his mind like wildfire.
"Don't believe anyone. Look around you. See if they truly serve you… or if they serve someone else."
He had reread it more than ten times, each word digging deeper, clawing at his trust, turning his thoughts into chaos.
The servant from earlier—the one with the too-perfect posture and eyes that seemed to miss nothing—was now gone. He wasn't seen after dinner. No one knew where he'd gone.
No one… or no one willing to say.
Marquise stood at the window of his estate, staring at the moon above the palace. His instincts as a noble, a general, a father—they all screamed one thing now:
Something was about to happen.
And this time, it wouldn't just be Maria or Alex in danger. It would be the entire North.
The central nobles had gone too quiet.
Someone had pulled back their wolves… but wolves only wait when there's a bigger kill.
Maria had resumed her duties in the Finance Department, just as she used to. Within the office walls, she and Alex behaved like nothing had ever happened between them—no lingering glances, no lingering touches. To everyone else, they were nothing more than Duke and subordinate. But deep down, both longed to throw everything aside and simply fall into each other's arms. Yet neither spoke a word.
That evening, after a long and exhausting day, Maria left the department and boarded her carriage. As it passed through the main gate, she leaned back against the seat, tired from work and the weight in her heart. Soon, her eyes closed, and she slipped into a light sleep.
But when she awoke—the scenery outside was completely unfamiliar.
Dense trees loomed over the narrow forest path. Panic set in.
She sat up straight, calling, "Driver? Driver!"
No answer.
She tried to open the door, but it was locked from the outside. Her hands trembled.
Meanwhile, back at the Marquise Morgan mansion, Oliver arrived, intending to visit Maria. When he asked the staff about her, a servant bowed and replied, "Lady Maria hasn't returned yet."
Oliver's brows furrowed. "What? She left work before me."
Without wasting a second, he dashed into the Marquise's office, slamming the door open. "She's missing."
Marquise Morgan stood, startled. "Missing? What do you mean?"
"I saw her leave in her carriage… but she never came home," Oliver said, breathless.
The Marquise's face paled. "Get the guards," he ordered.
Here in the forest, the carriage came to a sudden stop.
A masked man yanked the door open, and Maria barely had time to react before she was dragged out. "Who are you?! Where are you taking me?!" she screamed. No one replied. They tied her hands and pulled her deep into the woods.
Back at the capital, the Marquise had deployed every available guard to search for his daughter. Hours passed with no lead—until a young villager spoke up. "I saw a carriage marked with the Marquise's crest heading into the Eastern Forest."
Without delay, Marquise Morgan, Oliver, and a small squad of elite guards mounted their horses and galloped east.
They found the carriage abandoned near the forest's edge.
"Search every inch!" the Marquise barked.
He and Oliver ventured deeper into the woods, their breaths sharp in the cold air, their swords drawn.
And then—a sound.
From behind the bushes.
The blades rose, ready.
But what emerged wasn't an enemy.
It was Alex.
His face scratched and bruised, his sword dripping with blood—he held an unconscious Maria in his arms.
"Maria!" the Marquise cried, rushing forward.
Without a word, Alex gently passed Maria to her father. "Take her back. Keep her safe."
The Marquise looked at Alex. "What about you?"
Alex managed a faint smile. "Tell her… I'll come to see her when I can. She needs rest now."
The Marquise hesitated—but then nodded, understanding that Alex had no intention of leaving the forest just yet.
He took Maria to the carriage.
But Oliver… he stayed.
He turned back and walked toward Alex.
"I'm staying."
Alex looked at him, surprised. "You should go with them."
Oliver's gaze didn't waver. "I heard everything… when you told her the truth about the past. I get it now. I used to envy you—because you had her love. But seeing her happy with you… that envy turned into something else."
He drew his sword.
"I made a promise to myself… to protect that smile. That means I have to protect you, too."
Alex stared at him—and then, slowly, nodded with gratitude.
The forest grew quiet.
Too quiet.
And then, from the shadows—they came.
Dozens of masked men, swords drawn, emerging from the dark.
The ambush had begun.
Alex stepped in front of Oliver. "Stay behind me. Follow my lead."
The first wave charged. Alex moved like a blur—parrying, dodging, and countering with surgical precision. "Watch your left!" he shouted, and Oliver ducked just in time.
"Don't swing too wide—tighten your stance!"
Oliver listened, adjusting his footwork. He blocked a strike and countered with a clumsy but effective jab.
"Good," Alex said. "Now go for the legs—don't waste time on the chest unless you're sure."
More enemies closed in.
The battle turned brutal.
But Oliver moved in sync with Alex, striking when told, guarding when needed. Every command Alex gave, Oliver followed.
And slowly, they carved a path through the chaos.
But as the blood-soaked leaves rustled underfoot, Alex's expression darkened.
"This isn't all of them," he muttered. "Something's wrong."
Suddenly, the ground shook—an explosion in the distance. Smoke billowed through the trees.
Oliver turned, alarmed. "What was that?!"
Alex narrowed his eyes toward the horizon.
"The real battle… hasn't even started."
The thunderous explosion had barely faded when Alex and Oliver sprinted toward its source. Thick smoke spiraled into the air, the scent of burning wood and ash stinging their nostrils. As they broke through the trees, they saw the remains of a hut—engulfed in flames, charred debris crumbling into glowing embers.
Oliver gasped. "What… what is this place?"
Alex stood still, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched.
"This is where they kept Maria," he said, voice hollow. "They burned it… to destroy all evidence."
Oliver's heart pounded. "Did you see who did it?"
Alex didn't answer. He just stared into the fire, eyes burning with rage deeper than the flames before them.
Just then, Northern knights arrived, weapons drawn and tense. Alex turned wordlessly and headed toward his carriage. But as he passed, Oliver's gaze dropped—and froze. Blood soaked the back of Alex's coat, seeping down his spine.
"Your back!" Oliver shouted, rushing to him. "You're bleeding!"
He caught Alex just as his steps faltered.
"Someone get the doctor—now!" Oliver barked at the knights.
In the Marquise Morgan Mansion
Maria stirred beneath soft sheets, opening her eyes to a familiar ceiling. Her body ached, but her heart pounded with urgency. A maid gasped at the sight of her awake and sprinted to inform the Marquise.
He came rushing in, sitting beside her and gently brushing her hair from her face. "My dear… thank the heavens you're awake. Are you alright?"
Maria blinked, then grasped his arm. "Where is Alex? Father—where is he? How did I get here?"
Her father exhaled, relieved she could speak. "The Duke rescued you from masked attackers. When we arrived in the forest, he was holding you in his arms. You were unconscious."
Maria's eyes widened with realization. "He's hurt."
She tried to get out of bed.
"Maria—wait," her father tried to stop her.
But Maria's fear for Alex outweighed everything. "Father, he got injured protecting me. I need to see him—now!"
The Duke's Mansion
Maria arrived at the Duke's mansion with Marquise Morgan by her side. In the hall, they found Oliver pacing.
"Maria!" Oliver rushed toward her. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
Maria shook her head. "I'm fine. Where's Alex?"
Oliver led her toward his room. "The doctor is stitching his wounds right now."
Maria didn't wait—she rushed in.
Inside, the doctor was just finishing, gently pressing gauze to the gash on Alex's back. Blood still stained the sheets.
Maria knelt beside the bed, eyes filled with worry.
Alex opened his eyes slowly—and smiled faintly upon seeing her. He reached out, fingers grazing hers.
"Don't worry," he said in a soft, raspy voice. "This wound… It's nothing. I've faced worse."
Maria clutched his hand. "You shouldn't have fought alone…"
Just then, Marquise Morgan entered the room. "Your Grace… did you see who was behind this?"
Alex's eyes moved to Maria.
She took a deep breath and nodded. "It was Celestia. And… other central nobles."
Marquise's eyes darkened. "Did they see you?"
"No," Maria said. "They didn't know we were watching."
Alex sat up, wincing slightly. "But they weren't alone. Someone helped them. Someone inside your mansion."
Marquise stood frozen for a moment… and then his eyes widened.
"I think I know who."
He turned and stormed out of the room.
Alex motioned for Oliver to follow. "Go with him. Quickly."
In the Marquise Morgan Grounds
The estate courtyard was filled with tension. Under a darkening sky, every servant, guard, and stable hand stood in a straight line—summoned by the Marquise's wrath.
The Marquise stepped onto the dais, his presence thunderous. "Someone in this house betrayed my daughter. Someone leaked her schedule. And nearly cost her life."
His sword was already in hand.
"I'll give you one chance. Step forward… and confess. Or I'll drag the truth out myself."
Murmurs spread among the gathered crowd.
No one moved.
The Marquise's gaze swept over them. "No? Then so be it."
He stepped down slowly, his boots crunching the gravel. Every servant stiffened as he passed, the blade in his hand gleaming.
He walked past a man—who exhaled in visible relief.
But without pause, the Marquise turned and slashed.
A clean, brutal strike.
The man collapsed to the ground, lifeless—his blood soaking the earth.
Everyone froze. Even the birds seemed to stop singing.
Oliver came running. "We didn't know who sent him—"
"I do," the Marquise growled, breathing heavily. His voice shook with fury and betrayal. "I know exactly who sent him."
The mansion had fallen quiet.
The doctor had left. The servants had withdrawn. Only the golden flicker of the lanterns remained, casting a soft glow across the grand room. In the stillness, Alex lay in bed, wounded but awake—his eyes never leaving Maria.
Maria met his gaze.
Those eyes… they didn't say a word, yet they spoke volumes.
Don't go anywhere. Stay. Please.
She didn't need to hear it. She understood.
Maria stood up from her chair and silently crossed the room. Sitting beside him, she slowly brushed her fingers through his hair, her touch gentle and comforting. Alex closed his eyes for a moment, as if that simple act alone soothed every pain in his body. Then, without a word, he reached out and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close—holding her tightly, as though afraid she'd vanish.
"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered. "I'm right here. With you."
And she stayed like that all night—his protector, his solace.
Sunlight spilled into the room the next morning, painting golden lines across the bed.
Maria stirred slowly, finding herself cradled in Alex's arms. His breathing was steady, peaceful. She looked at his face—his lashes, his quiet expression, so vulnerable in sleep. She reached out and gently traced her hand across his cheek, then leaned in, her lips just a breath away from his.
But just as their lips were about to meet—
BANG! BANG!
A sharp knock jolted them apart.
Maria blinked and quickly sat up, heart racing. Alex's eyes fluttered open, confused and half-conscious.
"What… happened?" he mumbled.
"Nothing," Maria said softly, standing. She paused at the door and looked back, her eyes soft.
"Goodbye… for now."
And then she left.
The grand hall of the Morgan estate was filled with tension.
The Central Nobles had gathered at the invitation of Marquise Morgan himself. They arrived dressed in their finest robes, voices murmuring beneath heavy chandeliers, but something about the atmosphere was… wrong.
The air was thick—charged with suspicion and unease.
Some nobles chatted politely. Others sat in silence, their eyes darting to and fro. A few looked particularly uneasy, as though they knew what was coming.
Then the doors opened, and Marquise Morgan entered.
He didn't greet anyone.
He walked calmly to the head of the long table and sat. The nobles fell silent as he scanned each of them—one by one. His gaze was sharp, cold, and deliberate. Like a blade being drawn.
Then his voice broke the silence.
"Count Willox."
The noble flinched.
"Y-yes, Marquise?"
"You've been quiet. Unusually so. Did something happen?" The Marquise's tone was calm, but underneath was a current of steel.
"N-No, my lord. Everything is fine."
"Fine?" Marquise leaned forward, his voice still low. "Then why are you sweating?"
Willox opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Knock-knock.
The Marquise rapped the table twice. The sound echoed through the tense hall.
"There's something you all should know," he said, voice steady. "Two days ago, someone attempted to kidnap my daughter."
The nobles erupted in murmurs and gasps.
"What?!"
"Who would dare—?"
"Is she alright?"
Marquise raised a hand. Silence fell.
"She is safe, thanks to timely intervention. But that is not all."
He stood, slowly circling the table, his eyes never blinking.
"Not only was my daughter targeted… but someone sent a spy into my own home. Into my house. Right under my nose."
The hall went dead silent.
One of the nobles whispered nervously, "Who would be bold enough to do that?"
Marquise stopped walking and looked directly at Count Willox again, his gaze burning through him.
"I do not know who yet. But I will. And when I find out…" He drew a dagger from his coat and stabbed it into the table, the blade quivering upright.
"They will learn what it means to betray the House of Morgan."
No one spoke.
Everyone in the room suddenly remembered that Marquise Morgan was not just a noble with power. He was a father, and someone had dared to harm his daughter.
And fathers never forget.