"Come in." (The Count)

She knocked on the door and heard an icy voice from inside. Molitia felt her shoulders shrink unwittingly. No matter how hard I tried, my father was an overbearing man.

Once he tried somehow to get attention from him. But after realizing that the look on the Count's face changes when he sees her face compared to when the Count sees her brother's face was distinctly different, Molitia stopped trying.

When she opened the door, the noble Count's expression was slightly distorted.

"For someone that is getting married tomorrow, you don't look so good." (The Count)

The relentless click of the tongue made her ears uncomfortable. Although he was worried about the termination of the wedding ceremony, Molitia's remained silent

"Fortunately, the Duke is very tolerant, so you should know that there will be no problem with the schedule." (The Count)

"Are you aware that I'm sick?" (Molitia)

"By the time the banquet ended, rumors already spread around like wildfire that you were carried away from the banquet by a man. Did you know how worried I was when I heard that rumor? I thought the Duke would cancel the wedding once he heard those rumors! Keep in mind that the Duke is meeting like this because he wants to proceed with this wedding without a hitch." (The Count)

The Duke had never taken a step toward the Count's house, even though she was ill, so she had a vague idea of the Duke's character.

The Duke was probably someone who valued their schedule more than his fiancé. He was just like Count Clemence. Molitia saw a glimpse of her future looming.

Molitia had thoughts of running away, but she was as weak as glass. Even if she managed to escape, there was nowhere for her to escape. Had it not been for the Count's talent in the first place, she might have died a violent death at an early age.

'She's the perfect child to abandon.' (The Count)

She felt very uncomfortable when she remembered the sentence that the Count used to say like a habit. Tragically, Molitia never thought of a way to refuse his remark.

She sat down in the parlor. There were always light refreshments prepared in advance for simple occasions. Molitia picked up the warm tea and brought it to her mouth. Her pale cheeks turned slightly rosy from the warmth of the tea.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door of the drawing-room. Molitia stiffened when she suddenly heard a knock at the door.

"Countess, Duke Linerio has arrived." (Servant)

"Lead him here." (The Count)

"Yes." (Servant)

Her arm trembled as the footsteps outside the door disappeared. Seeing the shaking teacup made the Count's tongue click.

"Don't make any mistakes. If you miss out on this marriage, then it'll be hard to find someone else willing to marry you." (The Count)

"…Yes, sir." (Molitia)

"Since you are unable to have children, I highly doubt there will be anyone else willing to take you in as their wife." (The Count)

At the count's words, Molitia's head dropped bitterly. She was too weak, so having children was very dangerous for her.

Molitia's presence began to fade when she heard his words. She was a child who couldn't do anything right nor could she do anything to help her family. The feeling of uselessness dragged her mood into a bottomless pit.

"Count." (Duke Linerio)

Molitia heard a voice different from earlier.

"I'm the Duke of Linerio." (Duke Linerio)

"Come in." (The Count)

The Count's annoyed expression quickly changed into a kind and benevolent one as he sprang from his seat to personally greet the Duke.

It was finally time for her to meet the rumored killer and her future husband. Molitia curled up her lips as she hurriedly drank the tea to moisten her dry throat.

"Oh…?" (Molitia)

"I didn't know you'd be so hospitable. It's an honor." (Duke Linerio)

"What do you mean by that? We'll become much closer once you marry my daughter. After all, you'll soon become my son-in-law" (The Count)

Molitia opened her mouth blankly at the sight of the man who appeared before her. If she hadn't gone crazy, the person who greeted the Count was the man she spent the night with.

'Why?' (Molitia)