That night, the rain poured heavily. The wind howled against the glass windows, as if it carried the wrath of something unseen.
Lord Edork lay weakly on his silk bed, his breath ragged, sustained only by the doctor's continuous injections. His face was gaunt, nearly unrecognizable beneath the dim candlelight, which was close to burning out.
The room was not the master bedroom, but one that once belonged to Lady Meneer in her final days—a place Lord Edork had chosen for his own last rest. He said it brought him peace.
Beside the bed sat a man—rigid, yet hollow-eyed. His silence was not indifference, but the weight of a bitter kind of loyalty.
"You, of all people, should know how much I despise noble marriages," the man said at last, his voice low and flat.
Lord Edork didn't argue. Instead, a faint smile curled on his pale lips. His voice was barely audible, like a whisper about to be stolen by the wind.
"That's exactly why I entrust Adreena to you… as a wife."
The man—Leonhart De Vare—tensed at those words.
Edork continued, this time with a pleading tone.
"If it's not you… I can't go in peace. Please, Leonhart…"
Leonhart closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a long breath. His fingers ran through his blond hair, once neatly styled, now messy like his thoughts. Even in frustration, his face remained effortlessly striking.
"Can't I raise her as a daughter instead?" he asked softly. "She's only ten, Edork. She doesn't even understand life yet."
"That's precisely why she needs you," Edork replied, his voice firm but trembling. "I can't trust the other nobles. They only want bloodlines, titles, and power. But you… you are not like them."
The wind rustled the heavy curtains by the glass wall. Outside, the rain had begun to fade, but inside Leonhart, a storm was only starting.
His broad back was turned, and his deep blue eyes peeked between the fingers that had just scrubbed across his face.
His frustration wasn't born from the world—but from Edork himself.
"I will take good care of her," Leonhart finally said. "And when the time comes… if any man dares to hurt her—"
"This isn't about that man," Edork cut him off, his hoarse voice cracking like dry wood. "This is about me. About how I can only trust you, Leonhart… Please, honor a dying man's last request."
Leonhart met Edork's gaze—eyes that no longer held the spark of life. There was only weariness… and time slipping away.
He knew then.
His friend was not long for this world.
---
Leonhart stood outside Edork's estate, staring up at the building before stepping into his car. The sky had cleared, but his heart remained clouded.
He remembered something his mother once said—a warning he used to laugh at as a child:
"Don't hate too deeply, Leon. One day, you might become what you despise."
And now, he had become part of the very system he once condemned.
What else could he do?
He could only hope time would pass quickly—so that his sins would, too.
When he returned to the De Vare estate, Leonhart collapsed onto the sofa in his study. His bones felt like they could no longer carry the weight of his head. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt, revealing a chest hardened by years of strict physical training.
But even the strongest body couldn't lift the weight of guilt.
His mind wandered back to Edork…
And to that moment earlier in the day, when little Adreena bowed and bade him farewell—
a polite, soft-spoken girl with neatly braided hair and wide, innocent eyes.
She didn't even reach his waist. So small… far too small for something called a "marriage promise."
Leonhart clenched his jaw.
Had Edork truly gone mad in his final hours?
And somehow...
He would have to face tomorrow.