"Really?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
*What the hell is she talking about?*
Lennox stood motionless, his mind struggling to reconcile the woman's words with reality.
He had visited the Countess Montague's mansion for the first time in seven years, and only now—standing in this crumbling corridor, surrounded by faded wallpaper and the scent of dust—did he grasp the dire circumstances Juliet had endured all this time.
For Lennox, his mistress's title of "Countess of Montague" had been nothing more than empty words. A meaningless designation attached to a woman who warmed his bed.
All he had ever known was that she possessed an old mansion somewhere in the capital. And although Juliet always visited this house whenever they traveled south together, Lennox had never once accompanied her.
He was the kind of man who cared nothing for the purpose of his mistress's visits home, who she met there, or what burdens she carried. Taking interest in household servants? *Laughable.* He would never stoop to such trivialities.
But the old woman continued, her voice gentle and unperturbed:
"Yesterday you sent Miss Juliet to us along with the gold coins, did you not?"
*No. I did nothing of the sort.*
"Our mistress told us exactly this: 'This year the gentleman was very busy, so he couldn't come. But he made certain that everything would be well for you in the New Year.'"
Lennox's eyes darkened.
"Everyone at the mansion is deeply grateful to you for this kindness, Your Grace." The blind woman bowed her silver head once more. "It is a great honor to meet you and offer my thanks in person."
Lennox remained silent, turning over the implications in his mind.
Neither Juliet's nanny nor the young maid hovering at her elbow showed any sign of deception. Their gratitude was sincere—painfully so.
If their words were true, only one logical conclusion remained.
*Juliet had fabricated everything.*
"Is that what Juliet told you?"
His voice emerged colder than intended, edged with something he couldn't name.
The blind woman answered softly, apparently deaf to the ice in his tone.
"Yes, Your Grace. That is precisely what our dear Miss Juliet said." A fond smile curved her weathered lips. "She speaks of you often, you know. Just yesterday, she told us at length how caring and attentive His Grace truly is—quite contrary to all those dreadful rumors."
Lennox found himself without words.
It wasn't that he couldn't understand *why* Juliet might tell such lies. Rather, he struggled to comprehend why she felt compelled to do so at all.
The Juliet Montague he knew was not a woman given to fabrication. She faced unpleasant truths with that infuriating composure of hers, never flinching, never prettifying reality.
Yet here stood evidence that she had woven an elaborate fiction—for *him*. To protect *his* reputation among people who would never matter to anyone of consequence.
"Your Grace, please... take care of our dear mistress."
The blind woman bowed low once more, her movements stiff with age but graceful with sincerity.
"She is so shy and quiet, but terribly sensitive beneath it all. She has endured much grief in her young life, and deep in her heart lie wounds that have never healed." Yvette's sightless eyes seemed to pierce through him nonetheless. "Though she never shows how much pain she carries, that does not mean it isn't there. So please—*please*—take care of her."
Lennox offered no response. He simply stared at the blind woman, something shifting behind his impassive features.
*This nanny had recognized Juliet's lies from the very beginning.*
How could she not? In seven years, he had never once visited these people. Never sent word. Never acknowledged their existence in any way.
Yet Juliet had defended him anyway—desperately, clumsily, with lies that must have cost her dearly to maintain.
Even though his neglect wounded her pride. Even though the truth would have been so much easier.
She hadn't wanted to trouble these people who remembered her as a child. Who had watched her take her first steps. Who loved her still.
Lennox had never concerned himself with the dark reputation that clung to his name like a second shadow. But he knew, in broad strokes, what rumors circulated about his mistress.
And even setting aside society's whispers, his treatment of her had been obvious to anyone with eyes.
These servants—the nanny, the fumbling butler, all of them—must have guessed long ago how things truly stood. Their mistress's lover was a man renowned throughout the empire for his indifference and cruelty. Of course they worried about how she fared in the North, trapped in the precarious position of a kept woman.
And every year, they had pretended to believe her transparent falsehoods. They played along with her desperate performance, allowing her to protect them from worry in the only way she knew how.
*Neither Juliet, who lied, nor her servants, who pretended to be deceived, seemed contemptible to him.*
Lennox's thoughts turned calculating.
During her time in the North, Juliet had possessed only the status of mistress—not Duchess. She controlled no funds of her own. True, she never lacked for beautiful gowns or expensive jewels, and certainly she never went hungry. But that was the extent of it.
The problem now crystallized: she had abandoned every gift he'd ever given her.
So where had Juliet obtained the gold to preserve what remained of her pride? How had she managed to send coins to her servants when her financial situation was already so desperate?
After a long silence, Lennox finally addressed the old woman.
"...There is too much work here for so few hands. I will send someone to assist you."
---
## — Aboard the Eastern Express —
"You said you were going to see your husband, right?"
The girl who brought the tea—Angie, she'd introduced herself—leaned closer, eyes sparkling with barely contained curiosity.
Instead of answering directly, Juliet offered only a gentle smile.
On the ring finger of her left hand glinted a simple gold band. No precious stones adorned it, no elaborate engravings marked its surface. Just plain, humble gold—perfect for maintaining her carefully constructed fiction.
*Mrs. Helena Ashford. A young wife traveling to meet her husband at the eastern gate.*
"I believe your husband works at the eastern gate? I've heard there are many beautiful places in that region." Angie continued chattering amiably, apparently interpreting Juliet's silence as confirmation.
*It's fortunate I thought to create a false identity,* Juliet mused.
Travel aboard the mana-stone train was prohibitively expensive for most citizens. A young woman who rented a single compartment and journeyed alone without even a maid would inevitably attract unwanted attention.
Angie appeared barely out of girlhood herself, likely new to her position as a train attendant. Her excitement at meeting a "married young lady" suggested she hadn't yet developed the discerning eye that came with experience. She seemed entirely unaware that the pleasant passenger before her was actually a noblewoman of ancient lineage.
This obliviousness suited Juliet perfectly.
Another crucial reason she'd chosen the train: few aristocrats traveled this way.
The primary passengers consisted of wealthy merchants and prosperous commoners—people who needed to cover vast distances quickly but lacked access to more exclusive means. High-ranking nobles and senior clergy preferred magical transportation gates, which harnessed concentrated mana stones to fold space itself.
Gates were undeniably faster. They were also absurdly expensive and required explicit permission from the imperial palace for each use.
When Juliet entered the dining car, she counted fewer than ten fellow passengers scattered among the polished wooden tables.
She didn't know precisely which carriage housed the kitchen, but the magical mana stones that powered the train also made cooking aboard possible—a marvel of modern enchantment.
The cafeteria was small but inviting, all warm wood and brass fixtures. Breakfast proved surprisingly delicious.
Juliet found herself genuinely startled by the freshly baked croissants—golden, flaky, still steaming from the oven. The butter melted on her tongue.
After the meal, Angie returned with a fresh cup of tea, setting it before Juliet with obvious pride.
"This is Quinn tea, ma'am."
Juliet's heart clenched as she caught the subtle aroma rising from the cup. Her late father, the Earl of Montague, had adored Quinn tea. He would have loved this journey—the gentle rocking of the carriage, the passing scenery, this particular blend served with such care.
"Could I have some more?" Juliet asked softly, her cup already empty.
"Of course!" Angie exclaimed, practically bouncing as she hurried toward the kitchen.
She returned moments later bearing an entire teapot, and with her came a warm, sweetish fragrance that made Juliet's nose twitch pleasantly.
"They're still baking buns in the kitchen," Angie announced.
At the word *buns*, several other passengers raised their heads simultaneously—like a colony of meerkats scenting something delicious on the wind.
"If you wait just a little while, I'll bring some out."
Despite the steep price of passage, Juliet found herself deeply impressed by the train's service. *It was worth choosing this over a ship, expensive as it is.*
She regretted nothing. The luxurious accommodations, the comfortable private compartment, the attentive staff—all of it exceeded her expectations.
And she particularly appreciated how few passengers shared her journey.
---
**Knock, knock, knock.**
Raindrops began tapping against the window glass.
"Oh, it's started raining."
The morning had dawned gray and overcast. Shortly after the train passed through a mountain range, a light drizzle descended from the heavy clouds.
"Is a typhoon really approaching?" one passenger murmured behind her.
"A typhoon? This season?" his companion scoffed. "It's just a passing shower. It'll end soon enough."
Juliet's fingers tightened around her teacup, a flutter of anxiety stirring in her chest. But she forced herself to breathe slowly, watching the tiny droplets trace paths down the glass.
*Just a light rain. Nothing more.*
Relief washed through her, gradual but genuine.
She still found it difficult to believe her current circumstances. Sitting alone on a train during a rainstorm, sipping aromatic tea, watching snow-capped mountains drift past the window like a painted scroll.
And soon—freshly baked buns.
*Oh. So this is what happiness feels like.*
A sweet sigh escaped her lips. For the first time in longer than she could remember, peace settled over her like a warm blanket.
---
The dining car remained sparsely populated, voices hushed and respectful of the tranquil atmosphere.
Then Juliet felt it—a prickling awareness at the back of her neck. Someone was watching her.
She raised her head, scanning for the source.
It didn't take long to identify the culprit.
A little girl sat in the front section, two rows ahead, peering at Juliet with round, curious eyes. Her rosy cheeks looked impossibly soft, like risen bread dough begging to be touched.
*Oh, what a darling!*
Juliet bit her lip, fighting back an involuntary smile. She failed utterly.
When she beamed at the child, the little girl returned a shy grin and waved one tiny hand.
"Hee-hee!"
"Oh my, who are you laughing at, sweetheart?"
The child's mother, seated beside her, leaned down with an indulgent smile. Juliet quickly averted her gaze, pretending sudden fascination with the rain-streaked window.
*A child.*
Something she had never possessed in either of her lives.
The warmth faded from Juliet's expression, leaving something hollow in its wake.
*No. That isn't entirely true.*
Once—just once—she had almost known that joy.
Not long before her death in her first life.
Back then, Juliet had been nothing remarkable. A small, insignificant creature whose existence could be snuffed out at any moment. But when the physician confirmed her pregnancy, something had shifted inside her. For the first time, she had felt *special*. Important. Capable of anything.
Hope had bloomed in her chest like the first flower of spring.
It hadn't lasted.
*"You don't even have to marry me. You could simply claim the child as yours. Lennox... this will be* our *child..."*
*"I don't care, Juliet."*
All she had received in return was indifference. Coldness hard enough to shatter bone.
*"Haven't you figured it out yet? I want nothing to do with what's growing inside you."*
If not for those words—if not for that devastating dismissal—she might have held her child in her arms.
Even now, in her second life, those frozen syllables echoed through her solitary moments. They surfaced unbidden, sharp as broken glass.
Juliet turned the cooling teacup between her palms, watching the dark liquid swirl.
---
**Boom.**
A sudden jolt broke her reverie. The train had stopped.
Juliet glanced out the window, orienting herself. Throughout the journey eastward, the train had paused at several stations along its route. Passengers disembarked upon reaching their destinations; new travelers boarded with fresh luggage; the great iron beast departed again toward the next stop.
The rhythm had become familiar, almost soothing.
But then—a commotion erupted from the rear carriages. Juliet flinched at the unexpected noise.
"Loaded!"
She turned, peering toward the back of the train.
The final three carriages served as cargo holds, she recalled. She didn't know what they'd just taken aboard, but it sounded *massive*—heavy enough to make the carriage shudder beneath her feet.
Moments later, movement caught her eye.
Several figures dressed entirely in black leaped onto the train with unsettling agility. They moved like shadows given form—quick, purposeful, wrong.
*...Hmmm.*
Juliet's eyes narrowed to suspicious slits.