Her tone was monotone, like reading an instruction manual, so devoid of emotion that if it weren’t for her occasional breaths, it wouldn’t have felt like a human speaking.

She poured out her words in an endlessly dry voice.

“But I was still a small fish and still alone. I loved and loved and loved again, but no one was by my side. It was just me, as it had always been.”

She spoke incessantly, as if the only way to breathe was to pour out her words, no matter how pathetic.

“I would have been better off with the fish I liked beside me. I hoped that person would regret it, but look at me now.”

Suddenly, Helena stopped breathing. For a moment, it seemed as if all time had stopped with her.

In that infinitely suspended space-time, she slowly raised her head.

“In the end, I was the only one suffocating to death.”

Her eyes were unfocused and utterly void.

Ian felt an acute pain in his chest again. It was a pain he had occasionally felt since the moment he first saw her at the beach. It was as if bile was rising in his throat.

Swallowing the pain, he cleared away the soup bowl. Helena became silent again.

Ian did the same. Silence had become another form of conversation between them.

Returning after clearing the dishes, Ian took a small wooden box from his coat pocket. It was an ointment he had obtained by wandering the streets early in the morning.

Approaching Helena, who was still sitting blankly, he opened the ointment box. As he gathered her hair and moved it over her shoulder, the skin, mercilessly scratched and inflamed, was exposed.
He silently rubbed the ointment onto her. Helena, as if all her senses were severed, remained motionless, just staring blankly into space until the ointment was fully applied.

“……It’s done now.”

Finally, as Ian closed the ointment, she took a sip of water and then curled up in bed, escaping back into sleep.

The morning passed uneventfully.

‘Still the same.’

The first place Eugene visited was the Owen family’s mansion.

With Helena having left the ducal mansion penniless, her options for refuge were limited. She was bound to seek shelter with her family.

However, contrary to his firm expectations, Eugene couldn’t find Helena even after arriving at the Owen residence.

‘It’s been over a month now… Helena, you’re being too rebellious.’

Eugene soothed his strangely uneasy mind and pulled out a heavy pouch, tossing it onto the table.

“Contact me if Helena comes.”

The Owen couple, without a hint of dignity, hastily opened the pouch. A substantial amount of gold coins glittered inside.

Their faces stretched into a greedy smile.

“Of course. We’ll send a messenger as soon as she’s found.”

“We’ll make sure the duchess… no, Helena can’t escape again. Don’t worry.”

The Owens didn’t utter a word about the fact that Helena had already been and gone.

A man searching for Helena and her coincidentally mysterious disappearance suggested to them that she must have secretly eloped with the duke.

Therefore, covering up the truth was the best strategy to keep receiving money, especially since they constantly needed the duke’s aid to pay off gambling debts.

Moreover, the house was about to be auctioned off the day after the man’s visit, leaving them even more desperate to hold onto their financial lifeline.

Eugene was not unaware of their despicable intentions.

‘Greedy and clueless fools.’

He sneered inwardly and rose from his seat.

However, he felt something was missing. Midway through leaving, he turned back.

“Are you the only ones living here?”

Eugene scanned the silent interior of the house. The sudden glance made Lord Owen fumble.

“If you’re looking for the servants or my son—”

“No. There was a small boy, Helena’s brother.”

The always frail boy who sat in a corner waiting for his sister.

Helena’s only loved one in this household.

‘Was his name… Basil?’

Eugene’s expression turned curious, prompting Lord Owen to continue.

“Ah, that boy. Sadly, he died of pneumonia. No medicine could save him, he was always so frail…”

…Dead?

Eugene momentarily lost his ability to speak, feeling as though icy water had been poured over him.

He licked his dry lips and asked with difficulty.

“……When exactly did he pass?”

“Just two years ago… Is there a problem?”

The shock reawakened Eugene’s senses. He maintained his composure and inquired further.

“Was the funeral conducted properly?”

“Well… Matilda and I wanted to hold it here, but it ended up being in his old hometown.”

“His old hometown… you mean Pretterita?”

Eugene’s voice was tinged with a mix of shock and disbelief.
“Yes. The duchess insisted that Basil must be buried there, so we couldn’t stop her. It was definitely not our intention.”

Lord Owen repeatedly emphasized that it was not his decision.

That was understandable, as Pretterita was a poor village, quite unbecoming of a duchess’s dignity.

‘……Fooled again. Once again, it’s you that I didn’t know.’

Uncharacteristically, Eugene couldn’t hide his displeasure. His mouth felt as if filled with sand, extremely uncomfortable. His wife, with whom he had spent several years, felt incredibly distant.