It was a question he shouldn't have asked at all.
And yet, he did.
Lennox tried his best not to seem petty. But every little thing she did—every movement, every word—grated against him like sandpaper on raw skin.
Juliet, who had been studying the card intently until that moment, slowly turned her gaze toward him.
"No."
She snapped the fan shut. The answer was direct, without a shadow of doubt.
"Why not?"
*She has no conscience at all.*
At that moment, Lennox almost hoped to hear, *"Because of you."* At least something.
Even if it were evasive. Even if it were merely for the sake of propriety.
He would have forgiven her for an outright lie, even a flimsy excuse about feeling unwell. He didn't expect a declaration of feelings—only compliance with the formalities of their six-month contract.
"I'm a bad match."
The words pierced him like a dagger.
"If I were a diligent bride, I would choose a diligent groom."
It was said flatly, without emotion. Juliet didn't even glance in his direction.
"The ladies may worry about me," she added, lowering her eyes modestly. "But I know my place."
She began counting off items on her fingers, as though tallying a bill.
"There are rumors about me. I have no living parents. Only an old estate. And everyone is certain a respectable family won't take me in."
"If I so much as ask someone to dance, the same Marquise Schnabel will be displeased. Just like everyone else."
And suddenly, Lennox Carlisle... wanted to weep.
Even now, even half-asleep and drunk, it was as though she were deliberately driving him to despair. A few simple phrases, and he was already teetering on the edge.
"Juliet."
"Yes?"
Her eyes widened—naively, sincerely.
"What could possibly be wrong with you?"
The words stuck in his throat. He had no right to ask this question.
Ever since Juliet's unexpected departure, he had tormented himself imagining her with someone else—laughing, happy. It had been excruciating. But at least then, he could hate his rival.
*Now... seeing her belittle herself is unbearable.*
She shouldn't bow her head. She should walk forward proudly and take everything she wants. But instead—almost carelessly—she pushed him into the abyss again and again.
*It wasn't supposed to be like this.*
*What do these people think of themselves? How dare they?*
But he knew. He knew perfectly well who was to blame for Juliet speaking about herself this way.
*It was me. I was the one who didn't protect her. Who allowed all of this to happen.*
"Lennox..." she whispered softly.
He clenched his jaw.
The next moment, Juliet pressed herself against his shoulder and, frowning slightly, asked:
"Are you angry?"
"I'm furious."
Their eyes met. He smiled wryly.
*Lennox vowed silently: he would find everyone who had plied her with drink tonight. And he would spare no one.*
---
## — The Return —
By the time the carriage arrived at the Duke's residence, Juliet was already dozing.
"Your Grace? We—"
"Quiet."
Servants came out to greet them, but Lennox, careful not to wake her, lifted Juliet gently into his arms and carried her to the bedroom.
He laid her carefully on the bed. He hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to summon a maid. Her shoes were easy enough to remove, but her elaborate hairstyle, with all those pins...
"Your Grace."
"What?"
It turned out she wasn't asleep. She was looking at him with wide eyes, something unreadable shining in her gaze.
"Damn, how do you even remove all of this?"
He muttered in frustration, but Juliet made no move to help.
Suddenly, she laughed quietly.
"I know."
"Know what?"
"I know where what you're looking for is."
It was said as though in a dream.
Lennox, focused on the hairpins, didn't immediately register her words.
"If I tell you... you'll let me go, won't you? You'll bring *her* back."
"*Her?*"
"And then you'll give me poison again."
"What?"
He froze.
"Say that again. What did you just say?"
"It's all right. I know that, too."
"Juliet..."
She giggled, as though it were all part of some distant dream.
Then, with surprising ease, she pulled out the hairpin he'd been struggling with and slipped out of her heavy dress.
She wore only a thin chemise beneath. Juliet's cheeks were flushed, and she smiled absently—more openly than ever before.
"Even if it all happens again..." she murmured, barely audible. "It's all right. This time, everything will be different."
She smiled faintly and slipped beneath the covers.
Lennox no longer doubted anything.
*I could never stop loving a woman who smiles like that. I could never force her to drink from a poisoned cup. Never.*
Soft strands of her reddish hair lay scattered across the pillow in disarray.
Juliet turned onto her side, burying her face into the fabric. The next moment, her slender neck and graceful back were exposed.
And suddenly, Lennox remembered something that had been haunting him.
That *other* Juliet he had seen in the past—she hadn't had a single unblemished place on her body.
She had been brutally beaten.
The image of that scarred, broken Juliet appeared before his eyes with such vivid clarity that it stole his breath.
"Juliet."
"Mm?"
"The scars on your back... where did they come from?"
*Perhaps she'll answer now.*
This question had been tormenting him for days.
He had only glimpsed her briefly in those fragmented visions—but that other Juliet had been covered in old, agonizingly deep scars. The kind that would make even a stranger's heart clench with pity.
*As though she'd been beaten with a whip... obsessively, maniacally.*
He had seen only fragments, flashes of a past that shouldn't exist. He didn't know why Juliet had been in such a state.
But remembering how cruel he had been to her in that dream, Lennox began to fear.
*I'm terrified it was me. That I could have done this to her...*
He couldn't bear it. He would never forgive himself.
He had summoned the spirit of the black panther, calling to it with his sword—again and again, hoping for a response. But the demon remained silent.
*The safest thing would be to simply ask Juliet.*
But—unlike earlier, when she had calmly answered any question he posed—now she was silent.
*Perhaps she fell asleep?*
When the pause stretched too long, Lennox carefully leaned over to adjust her position, make her more comfortable.
And then...
"Lennox..."
Without looking at him, Juliet suddenly spoke.
"Then... why did you save me?"
"What?"
"Out of pity?"
*Saved?*
He froze.
*What is she talking about?*
*Our first meeting...?*
If so—yes, he had felt then that she had no one else to rely on. He had liked that.
Her face had been cold, composed even after her parents' funeral. But something about her had caught his attention.
"I fell in love at first sight," he said quietly, as though recalling a cherished memory.
But Juliet's next words shattered that illusion entirely.
"I wish I hadn't fallen in love," she whispered. "I probably looked disgusting."
*Disgusting.*
She pulled the sheet up sharply, covering herself to her shoulders.
As though she were afraid to show her back.
There was fear on her face. She looked at him from beneath lowered brows, as though terrified of what he might see.
"It doesn't hurt anymore," she whispered. "But the scars remain... It's better if you don't see them."
Lennox understood everything in that moment.
*Juliet... is confusing reality with her memories.*
*She's talking about those scars. Scars from a past life.*
*She still acts as though she has them.*
*Sleep? Alcohol? Or something more?*
"Juliet."
Almost desperately, Lennox took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes.
He had to get an answer. But if he asked her directly, she would close herself off again—retreat behind that impenetrable wall.
*Think. You need to ask it differently...*
"Listen," he said softly, almost as though speaking to a child. "If you guess correctly, you'll get a reward."
"A reward?"
"Yes. Tell me... where did I first see you?"
Half-drunk Juliet blinked in confusion, clearly not understanding why he was asking such a question.
Then she whispered quietly:
"In the Marquis of Guinness's punishment room..."
The words were barely a breath—but Lennox felt as though he'd been struck in the chest.
---