She sat in the garden, quietly sipping her cup of tea as she read the newspaper. The yellow leaves had long given way to green ones, and the warmth of summer had finally settled in.
Seasons had passed, and years followed—seven whole years—until every newspaper now spoke of only one thing: the great victory of the Bernova Empire over the nation of Lethevia.
And the crucial role of the great Duke, Adrian von Dysshard, the Empire's war hero. His sharp mind and military brilliance turned the tide of war—discovering the enemy's supply lines, leading a small unit through a suicidal infiltration behind enemy borders, and destroying every supply point through unmatched courage and cunning.
It was said that Major Adrian von Dysshard not only crippled the enemy's entire frontline, but also assassinated the commander who guarded the supply routes. In doing so, he decided the war early and paved the way for the glorious victory of Bernova.
Nerys lowered the newspaper, silently thinking.
Because she had given them the information about the true supplier of the medicine Adrian had once bought, they were finally able to prove his innocence.
In her previous life, he was imprisoned for five full years. This time, it had been reduced to only four. The war still lasted three years, ending in the same victory.
The only difference was that, instead of joining the war two years after it began, he had participated from the very start—three full years—and emerged victorious.
Suddenly, a hand snatched the newspaper from her.
She looked up to find Henry. The years had truly passed; Henry had grown taller—now twenty years old, while she had turned nineteen…
She thought again.
That would make the Duke twenty-five now… he spent his last years between prison and war.
Henry snapped his fingers in front of her face.
"Nerys… I'm talking to you. You look pale these days."
"Maybe I'm just… a little tired."
He leaned closer, curious.
"Did Cecile do something to bother you again?"
She glanced sideways and thought to herself.
Cecile hadn't changed. Her status with Father hadn't changed either—she was still his beloved daughter. But at least Nerys had managed to salvage her debut party. No scandal stuck to her because she refused to let Henry accompany her.
Thanks to the information she'd obtained from the café in the past, she had slowly built some connections. Her relationship with the Deveraux family grew stronger, and she now shared a comfortable friendship with Franz Deveraux, the count's son—he was the one she'd asked to escort her during her first appearance.
They didn't meet as often anymore, but he kept in touch.
Even so, her presence in high society was still weak—because of Cecile. Her social circle was powerful, almost unshakeable.
And I don't even care to challenge it, she thought. She had built strong ties with a handful of influential people—enough for what she would need later. Controlling everyone would be pointless. And Cecile's attempts to suppress her socially were… harmless. It was better to let her believe she had won.
Pretending to be the weaker one made things easier. Resistance would only provoke Cecile further—and Nerys had no intention of wasting her time on something so trivial.
She looked at Henry and finally replied:
"Well… I'll admit it. Influencing others and maintaining a huge social circle is quite a skill. That's Cecile's strength. I'm terrible at that."
Henry sat beside her.
"You don't need a huge circle. Their loyalty wouldn't be real—most of them, at least. A few solid friendships are more valuable. Like your friendship with me, for example."
Nerys smiled softly and thought to herself.
One of the things that had changed this time was Henry's role in her life. They had truly become friends. She'd discovered a new side of him. Over the years, he drifted away from Cecile and grew closer to her. Even during her debut, he stayed near her and danced with her—something he had never done in her previous life.
He had even been furious with her after the party for refusing him as her partner. She had apologized for an entire week. But she kept her feelings controlled. Everything she felt for him now was nothing more than pure friendship.
The rural town of Eaton was bursting with celebration, and the beautiful streets weren't the only ones rejoicing. Inside one of the grandest manors of the region—the Dysshard estate—every servant had been preparing for over a month to welcome the new duke, the war hero.
With each passing day, their nervousness grew.
They hadn't seen this duke in seven years—not since his imprisonment.
And now, after winning the war with unmatched brilliance and bravery, strange rumors had begun to circulate, whispered by soldiers who fought beside him.
"They say he turns into a monster when he holds a weapon," murmured one young maid in the kitchen.
An older woman replied, "Lord Adrian has been followed by rumors all his life. Don't believe everything you hear."
The Dysshard family's long-serving chef—who had worked there for more than twenty years—nodded.
"She's right. I've known that boy since he was a child. He was always kind. Always gentle with his family. Don't believe every rumor."
At last, the butler entered, instructing everyone to prepare—the duke would arrive soon. The servants hurried outside, forming a neat line to greet him.
In the distance, a horse-drawn carriage approached.
It stopped before the grand white-walled mansion with its gleaming marble steps.
A tall man stepped out—broad-shouldered, dressed in his military uniform, which added an air of stern dignity to his lean but powerful frame.
Adrian stood before his grandfather, Duke Arthur, who had come to welcome him. Adrian saluted him, but the old duke immediately pulled him into a firm embrace, patting his now-taller grandson's back.
Behind him stood Duchess Lezaria, Adrian's mother. She pulled him into her arms with trembling gray eyes—eyes just like his.
"You've grown so much… and you're far too thin," she scolded lovingly.
Adrian pressed a warm kiss to her hand and gave her a quiet smile before asking in his deep voice:
"How have you been, Mother?"
"I'm well now that you're here, dear."
Adrian's gaze shifted to a young woman with brown hair and green eyes standing behind his mother. She smiled politely.
He extended his hand.
"How have you been, my brother's wife?"
Her smile faltered—no one had called her that in years. She had buried that title deep within her heart just so she could continue living. She hid her reaction gracefully and answered sweetly:
"I've been well, Adrian. Just call me Helen—it's more comfortable."
Adrian nodded, giving a brief glance to the surrounding servants before turning back to his grandfather. The old duke placed a hand on his back, encouraging him to step forward as they spoke about his health.
"This old duke is still alive and well," Arthur laughed.
Adrian entered his estate beside his grandfather, followed by his mother and Helen, while the servants watched the new master of the house with curious eyes.
After lunch, Adrian headed straight to the office with his personal aide, Edwin. Inside were Duke Arthur and Helen—ready to update him on everything he had missed. Helen had been managing the duchy's affairs under Arthur's guidance, and Adrian had continued issuing orders from prison through the trustworthy Edwin.
By evening, they left him to rest in his private suite.
A soft knock came at the door.
Adrian, relaxing in his velvet chair with his eyes closed, granted permission to enter. Edwin stepped in.
"My apologies for disturbing you, Your Grace. A reply has arrived… from that person. He agreed to meet you, but only if he chooses the time and place. Should I tell him to set it after the imperial celebration?"
"No," Adrian replied calmly, eyes still closed. "Arrange the meeting within two days."
"But that means you'll return to the capital—"
"We're going for the celebration anyway. We'll simply leave earlier."
Adrian finally opened his eyes—cold and indifferent—and stared at the dark sky outside the window.
"I must meet that man as soon as possible," he murmured, almost amused.
In the capital, Bern, celebration filled every street.
But inside a quiet room in the Marquis's estate, Nerys sat before her vanity table, staring at the letter that had drained her color for days.
It contained only one line:
"The Duke has returned. He wants to meet you."
One sentence.
Just one—yet it was enough to suffocate her with fear.
All her courage, all her wit… evaporated the moment she remembered those terrifying eyes. Why did she have to meet him? She could work with him perfectly fine through letters. They had completed many tasks that way.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror and whispered shakily:
"Are you… really going to meet Duke Adrian, Nerys?!"