The day I learned the truth about my husband, Duke Alistair, and his adopted sister, Liana, I left. I abandoned my title, my home, and returned to my father's palace.

A year passed. Then came news of chaos in the duchy.

The servant Alistair sent spoke with desperation, “Your Highness, the Duke and your son are lost to reason. If you don’t return, I fear they will burn everything to the ground.”

I looked at the blood I'd coughed onto my handkerchief. I nodded.

"Fine. I'll go back."

The doctor had already given me my diagnosis. Consumption. I had only a month left to live.

So I went back. And I played the part of the perfect duchess.

I no longer demanded Alistair's loyalty. I even found him three new mistresses who looked just like Liana and sent them to his bed after he had sent her away for me.

I no longer made Damian study the arts of statecraft and not forced him to master his courtly duties. Instead, I supported his ridiculous dream of joining the Expeditionary Force.

I took the pain they gave me. I wrapped it in the "understanding" they always craved. And I served it back to them cold.

But it drove Alistair mad.

He threw out the mistresses. He crushed me in his arms. His kiss was a punishment. He bit my lip, drawing blood.

"I sent Liana away! What more do you want from me? How can I earn your forgiveness?"

Damian cried and clung to my arm.

"I'll never call Aunt Liana 'gentle' or 'beautiful' again! Mother, please. Just stop."

They didn't understand. I wasn't making a scene. I just wanted to live out my last month in peace. And then, I wanted to die.

The day I learned the truth about my husband, Duke Alistair, and his adopted sister, Liana, I left. I abandoned my title, my home, and returned to my father's palace.

A year passed. Then came news of chaos in the duchy.

The servant Alistair sent spoke with desperation, “Your Highness, the Duke and your son are lost to reason. If you don’t return, I fear they will burn everything to the ground.”

I looked at the blood I'd coughed onto my handkerchief. I nodded.

"Fine. I'll go back."

The doctor had already given me my diagnosis. Consumption. I had only a month left to live.

So I went back. And I played the part of the perfect duchess.

I no longer demanded Alistair's loyalty. I even found him three new mistresses who looked just like Liana and sent them to his bed after he had sent her away for me.

I no longer made Damian study the arts of statecraft and not forced him to master his courtly duties. Instead, I supported his ridiculous dream of joining the Expeditionary Force.

I took the pain they gave me. I wrapped it in the "understanding" they always craved. And I served it back to them cold.

But it drove Alistair mad.

He threw out the mistresses. He crushed me in his arms. His kiss was a punishment. He bit my lip, drawing blood.

"I sent Liana away! What more do you want from me? How can I earn your forgiveness?"

Damian cried and clung to my arm.

"I'll never call Aunt Liana 'gentle' or 'beautiful' again! Mother, please. Just stop."

They didn't understand. I wasn't making a scene. I just wanted to live out my last month in peace. And then, I wanted to die.

...

"Seraphina, what in God's name are you doing?"

Alistair stood in the center of the room. His eyes were a storm of confusion and barely contained rage. "Are you trying to torture me, or yourself?"

I sat at my vanity, listening quietly to his questions.

The woman in the mirror was a ghost. But a careful touch of rouge had painted life back onto her cheeks.

Perfect. As always.

Torture?

My dear husband, I'm just playing the part you always wanted. The perfect duchess.

The one who no longer fights with him over Liana. The one who no longer questions Damian's decisions.

The one who always wears a gentle, elegant smile.

So why aren't they happy?

"It's nothing," I said softly. "I just feel I was being difficult before. I want to be better to you and Damian now."

Alistair's expression softened instantly.

He strode toward me, arms open for an embrace.

"Seraphina, I knew you—"

"Your Highness, the women you requested are ready," a maid called from outside the door.

I rose, a picture of grace. I sidestepped his outstretched arms.

"Let them in."

The door opened. Three dancers entered, their gowns luxurious and their presence sensual.

Chestnut curls gleamed in the candlelight. Emerald eyes stared back.

They all had that helpless, fragile air I could never fake.

Every one of them looked just like Liana.

"A gift, Your Grace," I said with a gentle smile. "Specially for you. I hope you like them."

The three dancers curtsied in unison. "Your Grace."

Alistair went rigid. The color drained from his face. Fury turned his features to stone.

I could see him fighting to contain an explosion.

"Mother!" Damian burst in, his face frantic. "What are you doing? You're back, can't we just be a family again? I don't want any dancers, and Father won't either!"

I looked at my son. This was the same boy who once told me, "A man of Father's station is expected to have mistresses." Now he was panicked over a few dancers.

"What kind of duke doesn't have a mistress?" I said with a light laugh. "I must see to your father's needs, after all."

I turned back to Alistair, my perfect smile still in place. "Your Grace, which one will you be spending the night with?"

"Get out!" Alistair roared. "All of you, get out!"

The dancers fled in terror. He shoved Damian out behind them.

The door slammed shut.

The next second, Alistair lunged for me.

He pulled me into his arms, his mouth crashing down on mine.

I struggled, pushing against his chest.

His teeth cut my lip. The taste of blood filled my mouth.

He finally released me. He stared at the blood on my mouth, his eyes full of pain and despair.

"Tell me, Seraphina," his voice trembled. "What do I have to do for you to forgive me?"

I just stared back at him. I said nothing.

"I sent Liana away!" he shouted, his voice rising. "What did I do wrong? Why are you torturing me like this?"

In his fury, he slammed his fist against the mantelpiece.

A crystal figurine flew through the air, shattering against the floor.

He lost his temper and shoved me. I fell hard.

My hand landed on a sharp shard of crystal.

Pain shot through me.

Blood soaked through my white silk glove, dripping onto the floor, one drop at a time.

"Seraphina!" Alistair cried, rushing to help me.

I flinched away from his touch.

"Amy," I called calmly.

My personal maid immediately entered and carefully helped me to my feet.

Alistair stood frozen, watching me refuse his touch.

His eyes grew bloodshot. A low, pained growl rumbled in his throat.

"You won't even let me touch you anymore?"

"You misunderstand, Your Grace," I said softly, as blood continued to seep from my glove. "I'm just afraid of staining your hands."

Alistair's face grew even darker.

"Bring the dancers back in," I told Amy.

The three women re-entered, terrified. One of them spoke meekly. "Your Grace, my father and I used to gather herbs. I could help heal the cut on your hand..."

"That won't be necessary," I cut her off. "Taking care of the Duke is your only priority."

I lifted my chin, motioning for them to approach him. "Help His Grace undress for his bath."

The closest dancer reached out a trembling hand for the buttons of Alistair's shirt.

"Get away from me!" Alistair swatted her hand away. The woman stumbled back.

He turned to me, his eyes burning with rage. "If you insist on this charade, why bother with pale imitations? Why not just bring back the original!"

A sharp pain lanced through my heart.

Then I smiled.

That flawless, perfect smile of a duchess.

"Of course. Anything you desire, Your Grace."

Alistair stared, stunned. He clearly hadn't expected me to agree so easily.

He held my gaze for a moment, then spun around and stormed out of the room.

"Father! Father!" Damian shouted, chasing after him from the doorway, but Alistair didn't stop.

His footsteps faded down the hall.

Damian returned, dejected. He was holding a small, ornate pastry box, which he handed to Amy.

"It's the peach mousse Mother used to love," he said, his voice choked with tears. "Mother, why are you pushing him away? You're going to destroy our family!"

I glanced at the box and let out a cold laugh.

Peach mousse. I had loved it once.

Until Liana had an allergic reaction after accidentally eating some.

Alistair had furiously thrown every single ingredient for it out of the kitchen.

"As long as Liana is in this house, Seraphina is not to touch a single thing with peaches in it!" he had roared at the head chef.

And now Damian was bringing it to me, trying to win me over.

"Get out," I said flatly.

"Mother..." Damian looked at me, wounded. "Don't you want this family anymore? The duchy needs you! Father and I know we were wrong! We'll do anything to make it up to you, I'm just begging you, please don't do this to us..."

I ignored him and waved to the guards outside my door.

"Young Lord, it's time to leave. The Duchess needs her rest."

"Mother!" Damian tried to protest, but the guards were already escorting him out, politely but firmly.

The room was quiet again. Amy had led the dancers away.

I was finally alone.

A cough rattled through the room.

I raised my handkerchief to my mouth. It came away stained with blood.

Damian had asked if I still wanted this family.

I could never have it. Not anymore.

I just wanted to die in peace.

If I wasn't so afraid of Alistair starting a rebellion and threatening the stability of the kingdom, I would have stayed in the palace, in the home where I grew up, and waited quietly for the end.

Two days later, a familiar laugh echoed from the courtyard.

I sat by the window and watched Alistair himself help a woman down from a carriage.

Liana was back.

She was as beautiful as ever.

Her chestnut curls shimmered in the sun. Her green eyes were filled with tears.

She leaned against Alistair's chest, looking as helpless and fragile as always.

The memory hit me like a physical blow.

It was a year ago. I was pregnant with our second child. I had returned early from a royal hunt.

I wanted to surprise Alistair. I slipped quietly into our rose garden.

He had built it just for me. Every rose was planted to my liking.

In the center was a white bench, carved with our initials.

But what I saw was Alistair and Liana, kissing on that very bench.

Their clothes were disheveled. I could see the marks of his passion on Liana's neck.

I stormed out, screaming at them, exposing their ugly affair.

The shock sent a sharp pain through my stomach. I felt a warm liquid run down my legs.

The baby... my baby...

"Alistair..." I instinctively reached for his hand, for help.

But he stepped right past me. He rushed to catch Liana, who had "fainted from the shock."

"Get a doctor!" he roared at the servants who came running. "For Liana!"

Blood. So much blood.

As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I felt life draining away. My child was leaving my body with the blood.

The doctor came too late.

I had hemorrhaged. I had miscarried.

The doctor's final verdict was even crueler: I would never bear another child.

For two weeks, I slept in a haze.

In my waking moments, I heard the maids whispering outside my window.

"The Duke sent Miss Liana away in the middle of the night..."

"Sent her to that beautiful estate in the south. He wouldn't want her to suffer the slightest discomfort."

"Sigh, it was bound to happen. Ten years. Did they think no one knew?"

"Ever since that ball ten years ago, Miss Liana has had him wrapped around her finger. At first, he worried because she was his adopted sister, but then..."

"Then they started sleeping together almost every night the Duchess was away. The whole staff knew. Only Her Grace was kept in the dark."

Ten years.

An entire decade.

I wept until I couldn't breathe, my tears soaking my pillow.

When I was strong enough, I went to a remote corner of the garden and planted a small sapling.

It was the only grave my lost child would ever have.

Then I confronted Alistair.

"I want a divorce," I said. My voice was calm. "And I'm taking Damian with me."

"Mother!" Damian burst in, his face a mask of disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

"It's normal for a duke to have a few mistresses," he said. His words were like a knife in my heart. "Aunt Liana has always been good to me. She grew up here, it's normal she wouldn't want to leave! Mother, don't be so dramatic. Your position is not threatened."

I froze.

I couldn't believe those words came from my twelve-year-old son.

"Damian! Do not be rude to your mother!" Alistair pretended to scold him. Then he turned to me. "Seraphina, a divorce is impossible."

My voice trembled. "Damian... you knew. About your father and Liana. You knew all along, didn't you?"

Damian fell silent.

But I already knew everything.

Even my own son had chosen their side.

I fled back to the palace that night.

After that, I was never the cheerful girl I once was.

I became quiet, withdrawn. I would sit in the garden for a whole afternoon in the snow, letting the cold wind chill me to the bone.

Pneumonia.

Then, consumption.

The day the doctor confirmed it, my father held me and wept.

"Seraphina, my poor girl. You've suffered so much."

I only agreed to return when news came that Alistair's madness was threatening the kingdom's stability.

I was going to die soon anyway.

This was the last thing I could do for my father.

Now, the flood of memory receded. I was back in the present.

Liana was standing on the balcony of the "Morningstar Wing." It used to be my chambers.

I had been moved to the desolate North Tower.

She saw me passing below and called out loudly, "It doesn't matter what tantrums you throw, Seraphina. Alistair and I grew up together. He'll always choose me."

She stroked the sapphire necklace at her throat. A deliberate display.

It was supposed to be mine.

It was my wedding gift from Alistair.

A cramp seized my stomach, but my face remained a calm mask.

I ignored her and kept walking.

"Seraphina!" Alistair's voice called from behind me.

I stopped.

He walked up to me, pointing at the paintings and rare books I had packed away in the North Tower.

"Why are you throwing these away?" he demanded, his voice laced with pain. "These are our memories!"

I turned to face him, my eyes empty.

"Your Grace," my voice was pure ice. "Some memories are a burden. Too heavy to bear."