Shortly after Elliot departed from the Duke's bedroom, Juliet appeared in the hallway.
The moment he glimpsed the determined expression carved into her features, he felt a sudden wave of nausea roll through him.
Even on the brink of death, Lennox had maintained complete composure—and he had given crystal-clear orders that his condition be kept an absolute secret.
In truth, this directive had only one purpose: to prevent word from reaching Juliet about how gravely ill he truly was.
Elliot moved swiftly to block the bedroom door with his body.
"Miss Montague! I don't know what's brought you here, but—"
"I came to see His Grace."
"Even so, you cannot enter—!"
"Get out of my way. *Now.*"
Juliet's voice—cold as winter steel—caught not only Elliot but also Hardin, who stood guard at the door, completely off balance.
Taking advantage of their momentary shock, Juliet slipped past their frozen forms and slammed the bedroom door open.
***Bang!***
"Miss!"
As soon as the door flew wide, Elliot jolted back to awareness and followed her inside.
He had absolutely no idea how to stop her now.
*The doctor is still in the bedroom! If Juliet sees him, she'll understand everything—!* Panic screamed through Elliot's mind as he struggled to formulate a plan.
"What's the matter?"
But when Elliot's frantic gaze swept the room, he saw only the Duke standing alone in the bedroom, leisurely changing his clothes as though nothing were amiss.
"Ah… well…"
Elliot glanced discreetly toward the door leading to the adjoining sitting room.
Only then did he realize the physician had hidden himself there. Relief flooded through him.
"I asked what was going on."
When Lennox spoke again, turning his head *slightly* in the direction of the bedroom door—but not quite accurately—Elliot understood he needed to explain the situation to his master.
"Ah, Your Grace… Lady Juliet has arrived."
"I see. Leave us."
"…Yes."
A moment later, the soft sound of the door closing echoed through the chamber.
---
Juliet stood watching Lennox as he changed his shirt with deliberate, unhurried movements.
"Didn't you come here to tell me something?"
"Yes. That's absolutely correct."
"As you can see, the situation is somewhat… inconvenient at the moment. I'd prefer to conclude this quickly."
Lennox didn't offer her a seat or even glance in her direction. He simply continued buttoning his shirt, his fingers moving with a slow, almost sensual precision.
"I'll leave as soon as I have the answers I need. I won't trouble you further."
"Sit."
Only then did Lennox gesture vaguely toward a chair.
The gloomy atmosphere of the bedroom—with heavy curtains drawn tightly across the windows, blocking nearly all natural light—was almost identical to what it had been during her last visit.
*Come to think of it, it seems he hasn't left this mansion in quite some time.*
*Is he still unwell?* The thought flickered through Juliet's mind, but instead of voicing her concern, she decided to address the real reason for her visit.
"When I was at the palace earlier, I heard a very strange story. It concerns you as well, so I came to hear your explanation."
"And what strange story would that be?"
"I heard it from Second Prince Cliff when I encountered him in the palace gardens."
"Ah. I see."
Lennox relaxed visibly, adopting a casual posture as he sank deeper into the plush chair.
He didn't appear remotely surprised—as though he had already anticipated precisely what she would say.
"How can you possibly explain the fact that I've been accepted into the imperial family as an adopted daughter?"
---
When Juliet had met Prince Cliff in the palace, he had leaned close and whispered in her ear as if revealing a magnificent secret.
The content of his speech had been utterly absurd.
*His Imperial Majesty informed me that Juliet Montague has been formally adopted into our family. You didn't know? Incidentally, the Duke of Carlisle personally petitioned my father for this arrangement. During their private audience, he said he was doing it because he intends to marry you.*
Prince Cliff had looked unspeakably delighted as he delivered this news.
It hadn't taken Juliet long to understand why.
If Cliff became her adoptive brother, then once she married the Duke of Carlisle, the Prince and Lennox would be bound by familial ties.
In other words, the Duke of Carlisle—whom the Prince both feared and despised—would technically become his subordinate through marriage connections.
But Juliet had absolutely no intention of participating in this absurd charade.
"Technically," Lennox said without a trace of humor, "you would become the only princess in the Empire."
It was impossible to tell whether he was joking or deadly serious, but Juliet refused to accept his words at face value.
"Is this because of my status?"
Did this mean that Countess Montague was not of sufficient rank to prepare for a so-called wedding with a Duke?
In recent years, high society had become considerably less rigid about class differences in marriage than it had been in the past. Even newly minted nobles like the Glenfields—Fatima's family, who had essentially *purchased* their title—now had connections with the imperial family.
However, the Duke of Carlisle's lineage was the only one in the entire Empire whose history stretched back further than the current imperial dynasty itself.
"No."
Lennox's response was somewhat unexpected.
"I simply thought you might want to be married in a church."
"……"
Caught entirely off guard by this incredible answer, Juliet found herself momentarily speechless.
The poor relationship between the Duke and the Temple was common knowledge throughout the capital. While previous generations of northern Dukes had maintained cordial ties with the Temple, during Lennox's reign, those connections had been completely severed.
In retaliation for Lennox's destruction of the northern temple, he had been formally excommunicated.
As an excommunicated man, he could neither marry with a priest's blessing nor baptize any heir who might someday be born to him.
In truth, the Duke of Carlisle had publicly stated he had no intention of marrying—so he hadn't even blinked at such a harsh rebuke from the Temple.
*Ah. So that's it.*
Considering this predicament, having her adopted into the imperial family was actually quite a strategic solution. The Temple was obligated to bless marriages involving members of the imperial family, with whom they maintained close religious and diplomatic relations.
*But did it ever bother him? Did he truly care about such things?*
"…In any case, now that everything is over between us, the point is moot." Juliet's voice remained steady and calm. "Moreover, I don't need any family besides my parents. So please inform His Majesty that you've changed your mind, and let everything return to how it was. I don't need this."
"…As you command, *Princess*."
After a long, weighted silence, Lennox answered in a tone dripping with sarcasm.
"Is that all you wanted?"
His red eyes—half-lidded beneath dark lashes—appeared strangely lifeless and cold, as though they didn't belong to a living person at all.
In that moment, Juliet thought Lennox looked decidedly odd. He hadn't met her gaze even *once* during their entire conversation.
But even stranger was how easily he had acquiesced. This wasn't the reaction she had expected from him.
Suddenly, Juliet remembered her lost hairpin.
"Oh—no, that's not all. There's also the matter of my hairpin."
"A hairpin?"
"Yes. I lost it when I visited a few days ago. You haven't seen it, have you?"
Lennox sank deeper into his chair and asked in a low, almost distracted voice:
"Is it that important to you?"
"Not especially… but it shouldn't be difficult to find. It's a gilt leaf-shaped hairpin, adorned with pearls—"
Juliet, who had been scanning the room as she described the piece, suddenly fell silent when her gaze landed on the table.
A small mahogany coffee table stood directly in front of Lennox.
And resting atop it, in plain view, was her hairpin.
Someone must have found it on the floor while cleaning and placed it there.
"No. I haven't seen it."
"……*What?*"
Hearing his answer, Juliet stared at him in bewilderment.
*Wait—why would Lennox say he hasn't seen it when it's sitting right in front of him?*
"I'll have Elliot search for it," he added in a flat, indifferent tone—like a man who genuinely could not see the pin resting mere inches from his hand.
"……"
Without answering, Juliet studied his face for a long, careful moment.
And then, like pieces of a puzzle sliding into place, she suddenly understood.
He hadn't met her gaze even *once* since she'd entered the room.
But that wasn't all.
The unusually dim lighting in the bedroom. Hardin stationed at the door, refusing entry to anyone. His slightly disheveled appearance. The buttons on his shirt fastened crookedly, misaligned.
Even the way he had sunk deeper into his chair suggested an unusual defensive posture—one completely at odds with his typical commanding presence.
*No. That's impossible.*
It would have been difficult for an ordinary observer to notice these details. But Juliet was intimately familiar with such signs—because her nanny was blind.
When people cannot see, they instinctively adopt subtle defensive postures. They sit at slightly altered angles, their bodies angled to compensate for the lack of visual input. It happens unconsciously, a way to prepare for unexpected stimuli.
"Your Grace."
Juliet rose carefully and walked toward him as quietly as she could manage, praying her voice wouldn't betray her.
Straining to keep her tone steady, she said:
"…Do you remember how you once told me that blue suits me particularly well?"
"……Why are you suddenly bringing that up?"
Juliet's hand came to rest gently on his knee.
"The gown I wore today—it's in Your Grace's favorite color…"
But before she could finish the sentence, his arm wrapped around her waist like an iron band. In one swift motion, he pulled her down onto his lap.
"…Juliet Montague."
Over the course of seven long years, they had become intimately acquainted with each other's patterns, habits, and tells. He knew *exactly* what Juliet had been about to say.
"You should have simply walked away and pretended you didn't notice when you had the chance," Lennox growled quietly, his voice barely containing a storm of suppressed emotion.
There was no point in denying what was already glaringly obvious.
But even if she had noticed his condition, she shouldn't have *asked*.
Juliet should have simply left—pretending she had noticed nothing unusual.
No matter whether he was dying or blind, she was supposed to remain indifferent, as though his suffering had nothing whatsoever to do with her.
That was precisely what she should have done.
And then she should have *left*.
"If you don't leave now, I won't be able to keep pretending the way I did before."
This choice—this clean severance—was the only right path for both of them. That was why he had clung to it so desperately.
He couldn't do otherwise.
His cold red eyes were fixed directly on her face—but they seemed strangely unfocused, eerily lifeless.
Juliet understood with absolute certainty that it wasn't because he was trying to avoid her gaze.
*You can't look me in the eyes simply because you cannot see me,* she thought, her heart twisting painfully as she studied his beloved face.
"Lennox…"
Juliet whispered his name as tears welled up unbidden in her eyes.
"……"
"You can't see me right now, can you?"
---