"Dahlia…" Lennox said slowly, the name settling on his tongue like something foreign.
"How does Juliet know Dahlia?"
*Your Lordship, please—I don't want to die.*
The image of Juliet clinging desperately to him flashed through his mind, blood spilling from her lips, her voice raw with terror.
Perhaps she had only spoken those words because she was unconscious. But there was something deeply unsettling about them—something that refused to let him simply dismiss what he had heard.
*Lennox, I'm so sorry.*
Watching Juliet die before his eyes was a nightmare he never wanted to experience again.
After a long moment, Lennox opened his eyes. His gaze had turned fierce, sharp as a blade's edge.
"Hardin."
"Yes?"
"Send someone to Lucerne. There's something I need to find out."
---
Juliet climbed into the carriage, desperate to leave the Duke of Carlisle's mansion as quickly as possible.
In truth, she was furious about this entire visit.
"Why does he behave like this toward someone who was worried enough to come see him?" she muttered under her breath, clenching her fists in her lap.
But beyond Lennox's maddening ambiguity, there were other matters weighing on her mind—the rumors about what she had done in Lucerne, and the troubling disappearance of the butterflies.
Still simmering with anger, Juliet didn't notice her missing hairpin until she stepped into the living room of her own mansion.
"…My hairpin."
Before visiting him, she had carefully arranged her hair, pinning it up with elegant precision. But now her long chestnut waves tumbled freely down her back.
"That must have been when it happened."
She recalled the moment he had thrown her onto the bed—swift and sudden, like a predator striking.
"It probably fell somewhere beneath the bed. Or beside it. In his bedroom."
The leaf-shaped hairpin, adorned with delicate pearls, was her favorite piece of jewelry. But she had absolutely no intention of returning to his mansion to retrieve it.
With a soft sigh, Juliet settled into a chair by the table and gazed out the window overlooking the garden. As her eyes wandered absently across the grounds, she noticed something strange.
The garden looked immaculate—as if it had been tended by professional gardeners. The round fountain, which had long since dried out and become choked with weeds, had been carefully restored. Clear water now bubbled gently at its center. And in the maze-like garden beyond, lush new rose bushes bloomed in vibrant clusters.
*Did Grandfather arrange all this?*
But Juliet quickly remembered that only a week had passed since her return to the mansion.
*There's no way he could have accomplished all this in just one week…*
Besides, Lionel had left the capital only yesterday.
"Miss Juliet."
Juliet turned at the sound of her name and saw her elderly nanny, Yvette, standing at the entrance to the living room. She carried a tea set balanced carefully on a silver tray.
"Why did you bring it yourself? It's dangerous."
Juliet rose immediately and took the tray from Yvette's weathered hands.
"It's quite all right, miss," Yvette said with a gentle smile. "The layout of this mansion is imprinted in my mind. Even though I can no longer see, I remember by heart where everything stands."
"I see," Juliet replied softly, her gaze lingering on Yvette's silvery-white eyes—clouded and sightless, yet somehow still warm.
As she sat down to drink her tea, Juliet examined the living room more closely. It wasn't just the garden that had been transformed—the entire mansion had undergone thorough renovations. Fresh paint brightened the walls, the wooden floors gleamed with polish, and even the old furniture looked restored.
*But how is that possible? I wouldn't have enough money to hire even a single gardener.*
She looked around again in bewilderment, wondering where the funds for such extensive repairs could possibly have come from.
"Do you like how the house has been transformed?"
Before Juliet could even voice her question, Yvette spoke, a knowing smile playing at her lips.
"While you were away, a gentleman came to the mansion."
"What…?" Juliet's teacup froze halfway to her lips. "Who was this gentleman?"
"The one you've told us about every year."
Juliet nearly dropped her cup.
"The Duke of Carlisle…?"
"Yes."
"……"
She was rendered completely speechless the moment Yvette confirmed it.
And then heat flooded her cheeks.
Since Juliet had gone north with the Duke of Carlisle, she had returned to her family mansion only once a year—during the New Year's ball. She treated the servants like family, for they had cared for her since birth, and she never wanted to burden them with her troubles.
For this reason, Juliet had always told them she was doing well in the North—even when the truth was far different.
It was a harmless lie, she had told herself. She wasn't hurting anyone. And the Duke of Carlisle wouldn't have cared one way or another what she said about him. She had been certain he would never say anything, even if he somehow found out.
And so this small, gentle deception had been born…
"As you always said, he truly is very kind."
*Kind? Him?*
Juliet blinked in utter confusion.
"I couldn't see his face myself," Yvette continued, "but I could tell from his voice. And just as he promised, he sent gardeners and craftsmen to help maintain the mansion."
Juliet sat in silence for a long moment, turning the empty teacup over in her hands.
"…Yes," she finally answered, a bitter smile curving her lips. "That's absolutely true. He really is very kind."
Though the cup was empty, it still held the lingering warmth of the tea.
"He was kind and… always took care of me."
*She already knows everything.*
The realization struck Juliet like cold water. Her humble lie had been exposed—perhaps long ago.
In truth, everyone in the mansion must have known far more than they ever let on.
The fact that Juliet Montagu was the Duke's mistress for a limited time—that she could be discarded at any moment—was common knowledge throughout the empire.
And yet…
For some reason, this situation struck her as absurd.
She had thought that the moment she chose to stay with a man who would never love her, she had already cast away her pride. So why did she feel so strange now?
*Knock-knock.*
A soft rap at the door interrupted her thoughts. The old butler entered the living room, his expression troubled.
"Miss Juliet, could you come with me for a moment? There is something I must discuss with you."
"Yes, of course."
Juliet followed him out of the living room and found a maid and two servants standing anxiously by the front door.
"What's happened?"
"The cart with groceries didn't arrive today, miss."
This meant dinner would be difficult to prepare.
"Why didn't it come?" Juliet asked calmly, already turning over possible solutions in her mind.
But nothing came to her—except perhaps feeding her unsuspecting guests nothing but potatoes.
"Forgive me, miss. The thing is…"
Juliet's expression hardened as she listened to her servants' explanation.
In short, servants from other noble households had been systematically blocking their access to shops and workshops for some time now. It had started with carriage and harness repairs, but had since expanded to purchasing food, medicine, and other essentials.
From what they described, Juliet understood that a servant from one particular household had initiated the campaign.
But the most shocking part was the *reason* behind this humiliation.
"Because I declined their invitations?"
"……"
Juliet's expression grew distant, her eyes cooling to chips of ice.
*A childish warning.*
At last, she understood what was happening—and why.
*So, they want to gawk at a pathetic abandoned lover. They want me to present myself for their amusement.* She exhaled slowly. *That's exactly what this is.*
"You mustn't give in, miss!" The old butler's voice was urgent, pleading. "I'll find other ways—the open market, private vendors! Please, don't subject yourself to public humiliation—"
But Juliet already sensed this was not a problem that would resolve itself so easily.
The servants of noble houses maintained their own powerful networks of connections. Disrupting even one of those networks would inevitably affect the others.
Today, it was only groceries. But who knew what they would target tomorrow?
*Unless I move to the mountains, this will keep happening again and again.*
"It's all right," Juliet said quietly. "I'll handle it."
She had no intention of abandoning her parents' mansion—or driving away the loyal servants who had nowhere else to go.
---
Juliet found a box of unopened mail collecting dust on one side of the old porch. She carried it into the living room and emptied its contents onto the table.
"Goodness! Are all of these from your friends?"
A cascade of envelopes spilled across the surface—so many that some tumbled onto the floor. Ethelid and Theo, who happened to be passing by, stopped to stare in amazement.
"Miss Juliet, are you truly that popular in high society?"
Theo settled comfortably into a chair, his eyes wide as he surveyed the mountain of correspondence.
"I thought you had no friends at all, but… it seems I was mistaken."
"……"
Juliet sighed softly before answering.
"These letters aren't from friends."
They were invitations—to tea parties, salon gatherings, and social events.
Juliet began sorting through them slowly, methodically.
This was something of a custom in the capital. Socialites, endlessly fascinated by the Duke of Carlisle's every move, took perverse delight in observing what became of his former lovers after he discarded them.
*That lady was just rejected, and her spending keeps increasing! At this rate, she'll be bankrupt within the year!*
*You mean the theatrical prima donna who always held her nose so high? Now they won't even cast her in supporting roles! Ha!*
*Oh my, such an ignoramus—she knew nothing of substance, yet she carried herself as though she were a princess…*
And so it went.
Such people would never abandon their time-honored ritual—a spectacle designed for one purpose only: to vent their petty cruelties. And this time, Juliet was meant to be their entertainment.
*They want to see me so they can laugh at the collapse of my hopes.*
The capital was full of such people. Those who delighted in ridiculing others' misfortunes, who derived genuine pleasure from watching someone fall.
Juliet drew a deep, steadying breath.
"If this is what you want," she murmured, her voice low and edged with steel, "then I will also do as *I* please."
There was no way to run from this, nowhere to hide. This outcome had always been inevitable.
*Since I'm here, it's time to show them exactly what a scorned lover can be.*
Juliet regarded the pile of letters with cold, calculating eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"Though, if I had known it would come to this, perhaps I should have been nicer to them," she muttered under her breath.
But even as the thought crossed her mind, she felt no real regret. She had no intention of playing the innocent victim—and even less of becoming the tragic heroine of someone else's drama.
"Well then." She squared her shoulders. "Let's begin."
After careful deliberation, Juliet finally selected a single invitation from the pile.
---