"Dry your tears and continue your work. You are very busy, aren't you?"
But Cecile didn't answer. She stood frozen, her wary gaze fixed on Anthony, seething with barely contained fury. The murderous aura radiating from him was so suffocating that every servant who witnessed the scene felt an icy shiver crawl down their spine.
"Everything is fine." A soothing, warm voice cut through the tension. "Go."
The gentle words brought the maid back to her senses. She carefully bent to retrieve the plates, her hands trembling. She truly had a mountain of work ahead of her.
*Crack.*
A dull thud. A faint, breathless cry.
Asella's body spun violently, her legs giving way beneath her as she crumpled awkwardly to the floor.
"Stand!"
Cecile screamed, whirling around in fright. The plates slipped from her fingers and shattered against the stone with an explosive clatter. Then silence descended—so absolute that not a single breath dared disturb it.
"I didn't want to do this because it's your wedding today."
Anthony's voice dripped with false regret as he stalked toward Asella, who lay face down on the cold floor.
The blow had nearly knocked her unconscious. Her vision swam with dark spots, and her thoughts moved through her mind like molasses. Just as Anthony had said—today was her wedding. Asella had known she might anger him; he was drunk, his judgment clouded by wine. But *still*. She hadn't expected it to escalate this far. Not **today**. Even Philip had been unusually cautious around her.
But she had been wrong.
Anthony was stupid. No—he was even more of a fool than she had ever imagined. And he possessed absolutely no control over himself. The knowledge that this impudent wretch had dared slip free from her leash and interfere with his plans had driven him into a blind rage. She would pay for her pride. She would *beg* for forgiveness.
"You think you're a savior?" Anthony seized Asella by the collar and yanked her upward with brutal force.
The girl clutched at his white-knuckled fist, feeling the fabric of her dress constrict against her throat. She gasped for air, struggling uselessly against the drunk man's iron grip. Anthony dragged her across the floor like a disobedient dog being hauled against its will on a leash.
"Oh, no! What are you doing, Master?" Cecile threw herself forward, clinging desperately to his trousers. But it was futile. The man hurled her back with a vicious blow. Then he began kicking her with savage abandon, stopping only when the unfortunate woman lay completely still and silent.
"Hey! Call the priest!"
"What? Ah! Yes... ye... yes..." One of the servants shuddered as the meaning of Anthony's words sank in. He jumped up and scrambled away.
"You impudent creature!" Anthony grabbed Asella by the hair, completely destroying her carefully arranged wedding hairstyle. Silver strands wrapped around his fingers like chains. Asella struggled to break free, but her efforts were useless.
"Where is a free room here?"
"At... at the end of the corridor..."
Without waiting for the full answer, Anthony wound Asella's hair around his wrist like a rope.
"Bring a whip and a new dress. And make sure no one comes near. I'll teach this stupid bitch a lesson she won't forget."
"Stop it..." Asella moaned weakly.
Searing pain radiated from where she had struck the floor. The overpowering stench of alcohol invaded her senses, threatening to drag her under into unconsciousness. She kept trying to rise, to fight back—but it was hopeless. Anthony was far stronger. He dragged her ruthlessly by the hair across the cold stone floor.
_Everything is as usual..._
The thought flickered through her mind like a dying ember.
"What's going on here?"
A voice, cold as the grave, sliced through the chaos.
The eyes of those who recognized its owner widened in shock. Even Anthony froze, the blood draining from his face. He stood there, mouth hanging open, staring at the figure approaching with deliberate, measured steps.
A moment later, a massive black shadow fell over Anthony's head like the wing of death itself.
His grip on Asella's hair weakened.
*Crack.*
A second later, Anthony's body flew through the air like a discarded rag doll. He slammed into the wall with a sickening crunch. Blood erupted from his skull where it met the unforgiving stone. But he didn't even notice. Before him, wearing an expression of absolute fury, stood His Highness the Grand Duke of the Empire—**Archduke Calix Benvito**.
"Your Highness! Are you alright?" Raizen rushed to Asella's side. "Please, allow me to help you."
"Everything's fine," the girl replied, refusing his outstretched hand. She straightened herself with trembling limbs, desperate to show that nothing terrible had happened.
But Raizen's gaze lingered on her face with profound concern.
Asella felt unbearable shame wash over her in waves. She suspected that Calix Benvito knew how she had been treated in this house. But knowing was one thing. **Witnessing** it was another matter entirely. The urge to burst into tears clawed at her chest, but she only bit down harder on her lip. Even such devastating humiliation had to be endured by the unfortunate Asella Charts. She felt as though her entire being had been ground beneath a boot.
---
Anthony sat against the wall, his mouth hanging open in shock. Then his embarrassed whisper broke the silence:
"Your Highness, Grand Duke, how are you—" But the moment his eyes met Calix's blazing gaze, his body seemed to turn to stone. His earlier fury had evaporated completely, replaced by raw, primal terror.
In the suffocating atmosphere, the man suddenly began babbling without pause.
"Oh! You misunderstood! It's just that my sister and I had a little argument. Our disagreement got somewhat heated, so we decided to continue it elsewhere. This is simply a misunderstanding..."
"Misunderstanding?"
Anthony's words died in his throat at the strange notes threading through Calix's tone.
"Is that what you call this?"
Fear—like a beast—sank its vicious teeth into the man's neck. His mouth went impossibly dry. Clearly, everything was spiraling beyond his control.
"Your Highness, please allow me to explain—"
"**Shut up.**"
Anthony's face turned the blue-gray of a corpse. He tried desperately to conjure another excuse, but all he could manage was to silently open and close his mouth like a fish gasping on dry land.
Leaving Anthony trembling in abject horror, Calix turned his attention to Asella.
She must have managed to change her clothes earlier. But her appearance was devastating. Her white dress was wrinkled and coated in dust. Her soft silver hair hung in wild disarray. Finally, his gaze settled on her face.
Her left cheek was visibly swollen—the unmistakable mark of a brutal blow.
He had known how she was treated in this house. **And yet.** The sight of this battered woman standing before him with her head bowed and her lips pressed tightly together struck something deep within him like a bolt of lightning.
In an instant, his blood ran cold.
"Who. **Dared.**"
A second later, Anthony's screams filled the corridor without end:
"Ah! Ugh! Forg— Ah...!"
With each devastating kick, Anthony's body bounced against the floor like a child's ball. And though it seemed as if Calix was striking at random, in truth, he was methodical. Surgical. He aimed only at the most sensitive areas. And he hit with terrifying precision.
A blow. Another. *Another.*
The only sounds in the corridor were the screams and the dull, wet impacts of flesh meeting flesh. Anthony tried to crawl away, but it was useless. Benvito's men grabbed him and threw him back before the Archduke like a slab of meat at a butcher's feet.
Foam and blood poured from the man's mouth, mingling with his agonized cries. He tried desperately to shield his body from the merciless assault. But nothing worked.
Calix only stopped when the bloody heap on the floor ceased moving entirely.
"Your Highness!" Philip burst into the corridor, panic contorting his features.
He stared in horror at his son—reduced to a crimson ruin upon the cold stone floor. But he didn't dare even *think* about protecting him from this man.
Calix stepped back, his blood-red eyes slowly scanning every person present. His face had become an expressionless mask—utterly lifeless. It was impossible to believe he had just beaten a man to within an inch of death. Every servant felt a deep unease settle into their bones.
And they weren't alone.
"What's that noise? Stop them!"
A commotion erupted at the end of the corridor. Somehow, people had learned what was happening. They were clearly rushing toward the scene.
Calix's gaze returned to Asella. Her pale, stricken face was reflected in his emotionless pupils. The girl's confused eyes darted toward the approaching sounds, and her small hand clutched her skirt so tightly that delicate veins stood out beneath her skin.
"It's unacceptable for them to learn of your situation. It would bring you disgrace."
He moved toward Asella with swift, purposeful strides.
The girl stumbled backward in confusion, but Calix was far faster. He closed the distance and pulled her firmly against him.
Asella instinctively pushed against his chest, but he didn't so much as flinch. On the contrary—his grip only tightened. She realized resistance was pointless. He was impossibly strong compared to her. But she couldn't bear to meet his eyes and, consumed by shame, fixed her gaze on the floor.
"Press yourself against me. I need to hide your face."
"Ah..." Her mouth fell open as understanding finally dawned. She positioned herself behind him, his broad back completely concealing her from public view.
"If you stay close against my chest, they definitely won't be able to see you. Raizen!"
Benvito's men knew precisely what to do. Following Raizen's silent gesture, they formed an impenetrable wall at the corridor's entrance, blocking anyone from approaching.
"Find the veil," Calix commanded curtly.
Moments later, an exquisitely woven veil was placed in his hands. Richly embroidered along its edges, it was wide enough to conceal her face while falling just past her shoulders.
"Are you comfortable?" Calix asked, personally securing the veil upon Asella's head.
"Yes. Everything is fine."
The veil couldn't hide the disheveled state of her clothing. But at least it shielded her face from prying eyes.
Once satisfied that the veil was properly secured, Calix turned his head once more.
Anthony, having recovered slightly, attempted to struggle to his feet with Philip's desperate support.
"He needs a doctor!" Philip demanded anxiously. But the servants didn't dare move a single muscle beneath the ominous gazes of Benvito's men.
"Listen to me! He needs a doctor!"
"He doesn't need one anymore," Calix said flatly, cutting Philip off mid-sentence.
His Highness's haughty smile made Philip feel as though he had been stripped naked and abandoned in a frozen wasteland. An involuntary shudder wracked his body.
"Someone **without a title** dared insult my wife." The crimson eyes glowed with terrible, ominous light. "More than that—those who were supposed to protect the mistress of House Charts and their future lady simply stood by and **watched**."
The servants began to tremble visibly.
The Archduke spoke with absolute authority. Indeed, except for Cecile—who lay unconscious on the floor—not a single one of them had attempted to stop Anthony or even hinder him in the slightest.
Now, witnessing the Grand Duke's devastating fury toward Anthony and his protective actions toward Her Highness, they realized with sickening clarity just how fatally mistaken they had been.
"Why do we need people who don't understand their responsibilities?"
Raizen frowned at his master's words.
He was the prince's right hand, valued for his considerable abilities. But he did not enjoy doing dirty work. These stupid, useless people who had committed acts they clearly should not have... Tasks began racing through Raizen's mind. *How to dispose of the bodies? How to silence those who had witnessed this situation?*
His master was known as a man of absolute possession. It didn't matter what plans he harbored for Asella Charts—now Asella **Benvito**. What mattered was that this woman was his wife and the **only** person besides the Archduke himself who bore the name Benvito.
"The only fate that awaits a dog that bites its master is **death**."
At their master's words, Calix Benvito's men drew their swords in perfect unison.
When the sharp ring of metal pierced the air, the servants collapsed to their knees, sobbing and begging for mercy:
"Forgive us... Please... Have mercy..."
Those who had so recently mocked Asella now crawled across the floor like worms, pleading for their worthless lives.
_So vile. So pathetic._
Calix stared at the groveling humans for a long, silent moment, then turned his head.
Anthony's broken body tensed under the weight of that gaze, anticipating another round of merciless violence. The man was shaking uncontrollably. He had long since sobered up, but terror had stolen every word from his tongue.
Philip rushed desperately to his aid:
"Your Highness! My son is simply—"
"Drunk?"
"Yes! Exactly—"
"Do you think that is an *excuse*?"
"No. But... but... this..." Philip began to stutter helplessly.
---