Gobiem had been certain that if she dragged out her miserable existence just a little longer, she would return—crawling to him on her knees, begging for forgiveness.
He had patiently awaited that day.
After inheriting his father's title and becoming engaged to the daughter of a wealthy viscount, Gobiem had nevertheless assigned a spy to watch Marin. The reports arrived regularly. She continued to live a wretched, impoverished life.
And then, one day, she vanished.
Two months later, she reappeared—as the Duke of Vines's fiancée.
*Unthinkable.*
He had nearly gone mad with rage.
Marin was supposed to grovel at the bottom of society. She was supposed to crawl back to him and *beg* to be taken as his concubine.
Instead, she stood here in silk and jewels.
Enraged, Gobiem had approached her the moment the Duke stepped away.
And when he met her again, he realized with bitter astonishment: she hadn't changed at all. After committing such a grave offense against him, she hadn't even considered repenting.
On the contrary—*she* had demanded an apology.
To make matters worse, Christine had interrupted their conversation. If she hadn't drawn attention to them, none of this would have happened.
Gobiem shot a venomous glare at the woman trembling beside him. Sensing his gaze, Christine cautiously extended her hand—seeking support—her brown eyes filling with tears.
Gobiem pushed her hand away.
He watched her eyes widen in disbelief. *Her own fiancé, turning away from her?*
Her astonishment, strangely, restored his composure. He steadied his voice.
"Your Grace, please put this misunderstanding aside. I've known Marin for many years—I was simply congratulating her. I apologize for the confusion caused by my fiancée's... misunderstanding."
He bowed his head in apology, but beneath the gesture, he smiled.
He had deliberately emphasized the closeness by using her first name—*Marin.* And if Marin had any sense at all, she would be mortified. He had already shifted blame to Christine. He could safely retreat.
"Marin?"
The Duke's voice was ice.
He extended his hand. The cane—still embedded in the marble column—wrenched free and flew back into his palm.
The crowd watched in awed silence.
The Duke stepped forward.
Just one step.
And Gobiem felt such crushing weight that his head drooped even lower.
*Damn. Was it a mistake to use her name?*
The Duke struck his cane against the marble—directly before Gobiem's feet.
***BOOM.***
The sound echoed through the hall like a thunderclap.
"S-sorry!"
The word tore from Gobiem's throat before he could stop it.
He wanted to raise his head—to justify himself—but froze. It felt as though an invisible hand was pressing down on his skull. His body refused to obey. Sweat poured down his back.
"What exactly are you asking forgiveness for?"
The Duke's voice was calm. Conversational.
Gobiem trembled so violently that his entire back was drenched.
"I... I took the liberty of addressing Your Grace's fiancée too familiarly. The late Viscount Shuvenz was close to my father—our families were close—so I... made a mistake. Forgive me."
He was ready to die. Under some unknown force, it felt as though someone were sitting on his spine, bending him lower and lower. His downcast gaze fell upon the Duke's polished black shoes.
*When did he get so close?*
"And yet you still don't know who you should apologize to."
"What?" Gobiem wanted to lift his head—to read the Duke's expression—but his body wouldn't respond.
"You still don't understand what's happening."
"Ooooh—"
Under the monstrous pressure, Gobiem's knees buckled. He collapsed to the floor—and was driven flat against the marble. A dull *thud.* His forehead slammed into stone, and a red welt immediately swelled.
His body had completely lost control.
"Now you look like someone who is truly asking for forgiveness."
"Your Grace! F-forgive me. It's my fault. Your Grace, please—have mercy—"
"I still don't understand. Who should you be telling this to?"
The Duke's even voice thundered directly beside his ear.
*He knows? The Duke knows everything?*
*Marin told him?*
*Does this woman have no honor?*
Gobiem wanted to raise his head—to assure the Duke it was all a misunderstanding—but his skull remained pinned to the floor. The Duke didn't want an apology.
So—
"It's my fault, Lady Marin Shuvenz."
The words scraped past his teeth. Humiliating. But the terror of his uncontrollable body was worse.
"What is your fault?"
Gobiem bit his lip until he tasted blood.
*That* was the last question he had expected.
After all, revealing that incident would be a scandal for *her* as well.
"Are you certain you want me to say this aloud?"
It was a threat. No matter how righteous, it was beneath a noblewoman to expose her own shame.
---
Marin looked down at Gobiem—kneeling, prostrate—with contemptuous astonishment.
*A rapist, blackmailing his victim.*
She had only wanted him to kneel and beg for forgiveness.
And there he was. Kneeling. Prostrate. Apologizing.
There was no sincerity in it—but frankly, it was *gratifying.*
She glanced sideways. The Duke stood motionless, his face impassive.
She was grateful to him for creating this entire situation.
Looking at Gobiem again, she chuckled to herself.
*He seriously thinks I would never say it aloud.*
Marin had no intention of marrying anyway. Once this hired engagement ended, she had no desire to remain in society. Let scandal follow her like a shadow—what did it matter?
*First of all—I was the victim.*
*Why should a victim be afraid?*
"Since you yourself do not dare name your sin, I will speak for you."
"Marin! I mean—Lady Shuvenz!!"
It was almost amusing, watching Gobiem tremble—straining uselessly to lift his face.
"I'm speaking of the day I barely escaped from you."
Her voice was steady. Clear. It carried through the silent hall.
"Luckily, I got away with only a slap and was able to run. But I demand that you apologize for the night you dragged me into your room—and *tried to dishonor me.*"
The words landed like stones dropped into still water.
The already quiet hall went utterly dead.
Sharp glances fell upon Gobiem, sprawled on the floor.
"*LIE!*"
The weight that had been crushing him vanished like a mirage. Able to move again, Gobiem leaped to his feet.
But his cry vanished like an echo into void.
*What noblewoman would risk scandal by revealing such a thing at her own engagement reception?*
*Especially when she was the hostess?*
"It's all a lie. You must believe me—"
Gobiem looked around the hall, seeking support, backing away step by step.
The Duke's face turned to ice.
He raised his hand.
And immediately—Gobiem's body rose into the air, his throat clamped in the Duke's massive grip.
"*Kh—!*"
The Duke's predatory, frozen expression did not change as his fingers tightened around Gobiem's neck. Suspended from his arm, the Viscount wheezed, gasping for air.
"Y-Your Grace—you can't—without proof—do this to me—"
The Duke's tightly pressed lips slowly parted.
"Why do you need proof?"
"Kh..."
Gobiem's bloodshot eyes bulged.
"That's what my bride said."
The Duke's voice was almost lazy.
A murmur rippled through the gathered nobles. Glances—sympathetic. Disdainful. Curious. Skeptical.
Marin surveyed them and spoke slowly:
"There *is* evidence."
"And so there is evidence."
"Kh... a-a lie—" Gobiem choked out, desperate for air.
"I broke it."
Her unexpected answer caused visible confusion. Question marks seemed to appear above the nobles' faces.
Marin regarded Gobiem's flushed, purpling face with cold disdain.
Then, slowly, her gaze traveled downward—and settled on his lower half.