Eugene left the mansion with heavy steps. As he departed, Lord Owen bowed deeply, his head almost touching the ground.

It was a pitiful sight, but at that moment, Eugene’s mind was entirely occupied with thoughts of Helena.

‘Foolish woman… Why didn’t she say anything about it? Why did she hide it?’

Was his presence in her life so insignificant? Was their relationship too shallow to share even a family matter?

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Eugene prepared to ride his horse. He couldn’t return empty-handed and planned to visit Pretterita.

However, he didn’t leave immediately. His hand holding the reins slowly loosened.

A fact so obvious he had missed it suddenly struck Eugene.

‘She didn’t hide it on purpose.’

Helena always approached him first. It was he who didn’t listen.

Frozen like a statue, Eugene’s mind was suddenly invaded by a past memory.

Tap, tap, tap. The irregular sound of heavy rain hitting the windowpane.

He sighed lightly at the small knock, knowing that on such a day, there was only one reason for her visit.

As expected, Helena appeared, more downcast than usual, wearing a nightdress. Her long red hair swayed with each step.

She must have been tossing and turning for hours before deciding to come.

“Uhm… Eugene.”

After hesitating several times, she finally spoke.

Eugene, without taking his eyes off the documents he was reviewing, interrupted her.

“I’m sorry, dear, I’m quite busy right now. Unless it’s something important, can we talk later?”

“It’s important to me. About Basil…”

“We already concluded that matter, Helena,” he replied, his voice low yet firm.

Helena eventually fell silent.

Eugene rubbed his face roughly. He couldn’t understand why she was so persistently foolish.

He didn’t have time for a prolonged argument over an endless problem. Engaging in pointless debates was the last thing he wanted.

Nor did Eugene wish to be a fool, like a certain foolish woman.

“Helena. I understand you, but I really can’t afford to right now. Due to the ongoing storm, several ships couldn’t sail. The losses are tremendous. It’ll take nights of work just to manage this crisis.”

A thick stack of documents was thrown onto the desk’s edge with a thud, followed quickly by another pile capturing Eugene’s attention.

It seemed impossible for Helena’s words to reach him.

“If you really understood me, I wouldn’t feel so alone in this world.”

Her barely audible voice, suppressed to its limit, failed to shift even a wrinkle on his brow.

Helena eventually retreated.

“Excuse me, then.”

She turned away, her thin negligee fluttering slightly with the movement, like fragments of emotions she couldn’t contain.

But Eugene never picked up those fragments.

He had always been the one to receive, never to gather.
Eugene wasn’t the type to pick up the foolish emotions left behind by his wife, but rather, he was someone who would drop crumbs of his own indifference for her to follow.

Unaware of the deeper stains he was leaving on someone’s heart, Eugene returned to his work, busily shifting between the ink bottle and paper. It wasn’t until he knocked over the ink, staining the paper black, that he exploded in frustration.

“Damn it, nothing’s going right!”

He was clueless about the more profound impact of his actions.

‘Helena grew up in such a place.’

The dry sound of horse hooves echoed through the barren streets of Pretterita.

From the moment he entered, Eugene’s brow remained furrowed. Poverty and hardship seemed to roll through the streets.

Disgusted yet realizing that this was one of the reasons Helena could not help but love him, he felt indescribable.

To shake off this feeling, he took a deep breath and opened his eyes again, recalling her constant confessions.

⌜Because of you, I can breathe.⌟

It was pure affection, free of any impurities. Whenever Helena looked at him with love, Eugene knew her sincerity, despite everyone’s attempts to drag her down because of her family and background.

So the atmosphere of a village like this should have meant nothing to him.

Eugene straightened his back with more force.

‘Is it the next street?’

Entering a somewhat decent street, he saw a few respectable shops. He dismounted near a small flower shop by the cemetery.

The shop owner, sensing his importance, quickly approached.

“Welcome. Are you looking for any specific flowers…?”

“I need to pay respects. What kind of flowers are usually preferred?”

As the owner spoke, Eugene’s jaw tightened. Of course, he had no idea about the preferences of a frail boy like Basil.

He was here purely because of Helena.

In hope of meeting her there, or at least making her smile with flowers for her brother.

With this singular thought, Eugene stepped into a village he had never bothered to notice before.

The shop owner, sensing Eugene’s unease, quickly changed his approach and offered a bouquet he was preparing.

“…However, if you’re not sure, how about these? They’re marigolds, recently chosen by another customer too.”