At first, Kallion told himself it wasn't true.
That it had to be coincidence.
Yuliana and Lloyd running away together in some kind of love affair? That sounded like something out of a cheap romance novel—certainly not reality.
But once he learned they had both disappeared at the exact same time, denial was no longer possible.
What was this feeling inside him?
Anger? Betrayal?
Was he really close enough to her to feel betrayed?
Did he truly believe that just because they had shared a few nights together, they had become husband and wife in any real sense?
No… the shock came because he had believed her words when she said she had nothing to do with Lloyd.
When she spoke Lloyd's name, there had been no warmth in her voice.
He had assumed it was nothing but one-sided feelings from Lloyd.
And yet…
"Heh… so I was fooled that easily."
A hollow laugh escaped him.
His grip tightened on the glass of amber whiskey in his hand.
Crack—
A fracture spread across the glass, but Kallion's eyes only grew darker as he stared at it.
The broken glass felt like a mirror of their relationship.
Or perhaps it had been cracked from the very beginning.
Like a cup with a crack that could never hold liquid—it was bound to leak away.
Smash.
The glass finally shattered under the pressure of his grip, shards digging into his palm. Blood welled up and ran down his fingers, but he ignored the pain, only staring at the broken pieces.
Maybe he should have just broken her from the start.
Kept her from ever running away…
At that thought, Kallion let out a hollow laugh and rubbed his face.
After all, she was nothing more than a woman who had run off with her lover.
So why couldn't he let her go?
Throb—
Another wave of pain pounded in his skull.
It had been two weeks since she vanished.
And in the past few days, he had drowned himself in drink without rest—no wonder the headaches were constant.
Leaning forward, clutching his forehead, his breathing came ragged. His eyes sank into shadow.
"I told you," he muttered to himself, "even in death, you'll never leave Valdormer."
He rose slowly.
Walking to the window, he glared at the blood-red sunset, as red as Yuliana's eyes.
Blood dripped steadily from his hand, trailing down his thick fingers.
Deep in a green forest…
I stroked my still-small, rounded belly as I stepped out of the little cabin with a basket.
I was going to the village for a short errand.
The cabin wasn't too far from the village, but it was hidden enough to avoid pursuers. Lloyd had prepared this place for me.
In truth, he had arranged everything—the journey here, the cabin itself, all the household supplies.
It was as if he had been waiting for me to come.
I shook my head at the thought and walked on.
When I stopped in front of the fruit shop, the shopkeeper greeted me warmly.
"Oh, miss, welcome back! Not with your husband today?"
I blinked at her in surprise.
"…My husband?"
"That handsome man with the silver hair. Oh! He's not your husband?"
I forced a smile.
"No. He's not."
"Really? Then who is he? Doesn't look like an older brother…"
I fell silent.
He had said he didn't even want to be called a friend, yet here I was, accepting his help. The thought stung.
When I couldn't answer, the shopkeeper laughed it off.
"Ah, my mistake! You're not married yet. Well, no need to rush—marriage early isn't always good for a woman anyway. You wanted apples, right?"
She put three apples into my basket.
Strictly speaking, I was married.
But to a man I would never see again. There was no reason to correct her.
"Yes, thank you."
I took the basket and strolled through the village before heading back toward the cabin.
This was a tiny village on the farthest outskirts of the Marcellino region, with fewer than fifty residents.
Everyone here was kind and warm.
A sturdy little house, a small garden out front, gentle neighbors…
It was the simple life I had once dreamed of with Denian.
And I owed it all to Lloyd.
Thinking that, I approached the cabin—already visible in the distance.
Just then, the door burst open.
Lloyd had returned early from the city.
I walked closer casually—until I noticed his state.
He was drenched in sweat, his eyes frantic with unease.
Then suddenly, he sprinted toward me.
Before I could react, he grabbed my shoulders tightly, shaking me hard.
"Where—where on earth have you been?!"
I stared up at him, startled. I had never seen him this agitated in all the weeks we'd been here.
"I just went to the village—"
"I told you to tell me what you need!"
"I only went for a walk," I said calmly.
He turned, running a hand through his hair, trying to steady himself.
Then, in a quieter tone:
"You don't know when Valdormer's pursuers might show up. Even here isn't perfectly safe."
"…I'm sorry."
After all, I was the one who had asked for his help.
He had given up everything—his family, his status—to aid me.
From evading Valdormer's shadows to preparing this safe house.
It was a burden, but since becoming pregnant, I couldn't turn away his help.
Maybe it was survival instinct. As a mother, I had to live—for my child.
Even if it meant using him.
But when I thought clearly, guilt washed over me—guilt for using Lloyd, and guilt toward him.
"Lloyd…"
At my soft voice, he sighed, calmer again.
"Sorry for yelling. I just… panicked at the thought something happened to you."
I cut in gently.
"You can go back now."
He froze, staring at me.
I forced myself to go on.
"No matter how powerful Kallion is, he won't search all the way to this tiny village in Marcellino. I'm used to things here now. I can manage on my own."
Lloyd turned his eyes away, his face tense.
"I can't leave you alone."
So I said what I had kept hidden until now.
"I'm not alone."
His hand, reaching for the basket, stilled.
I looked straight at him and said clearly:
"I'm pregnant."
He answered quietly, without even looking at me.
"I know."
My brow furrowed.
He knew? He had helped me all this time, even knowing I carried Valdormer's child?
I stared at him in disbelief. He finally looked at me and smiled gently.
"Congratulations, Yuliana. It's the child you've always wanted."
There was no mockery in his tone—only genuine warmth. That confused me even more.
"You know whose child this is… and you can still say congratulations?"
He gave a faint, bitter smile.
"I don't care whose blood runs in its veins."
He set his hand softly on my shoulder.
"That child is a part of you."
His touch was gentle, sincere—almost painfully so.
It wasn't false kindness. It was an overwhelming, almost obsessive tenderness.
It unsettled me.
I couldn't meet his eyes as he whispered softly into my ear:
"That's why… I can love the child too."