“I understand your heart. I know you’re hurt. I also know you need someone to soothe that pain. But this isn’t the way. Henry, if you don’t let go now, you’ll commit a sin no better than the evil Celine has done.”

Henry lifted his head. His bloodshot eyes were still beautiful, but the blind emotion within them was as terrifying as a beast.

“Don’t go. Don’t abandon me. Please?”

Tears welled up in Laura’s eyes. She was angry, exasperated, and frustrated, but at the same time, she pitied Henry.

“How can I abandon you when I’ve never had you? I don’t even have the slightest desire to possess you.”

“…”

“The only man I have and want to keep is Ian.”

Henry shut his eyes tightly. His heart felt like it was being torn apart.

A sincere, moral, and upright woman. That was the kind of woman his aunt was.

That was why he loved her, and why he could only be abandoned by her.

“If only I had hidden my feelings from the start.”

But it was a futile regret. It was already done, and even if he had held back, he would have done it eventually.

Through Laura, he was reborn, yet the weight of guilt was killing him.

As his love grew, so did his longing to be closer to his aunt. He wanted to be nearer, to touch her, to let her know.

To show her how much he loved her.

That greed had destroyed even his excuse to linger by her side.

“It’s all my fault. I know. I understand. But I can’t be abandoned like this. If you leave, I…”

Henry thought of one choice.

It had first crossed his mind when he gave up painting, haunted him often while living with Celine, and lingered even after returning to England.

“If you leave, I’d rather die.”

Laura, who had been struggling to free her hand from Henry’s grasp, stopped resisting.

“I’ll be fine even if I fall into hell. Living is already hell. Without you, I might have chosen this myself soon enough. If you disappear, I’ll pick any gun hanging in Dunville Park and shoot myself.”

Laura’s small hand, still in Henry’s grip, began to tremble. He felt relief. That relief sparked a small courage.

He buried his face in Laura’s lap. Her entire body stiffened.

Henry murmured in a calm voice.

“Just stay by my side like this. That’s enough. That’s…”

And then.

Creak—

Quietly, the study door opened.

Laura looked toward the door. She froze like a statue.

“…Ian.”

Ian stood at the study’s entrance.

His face was expressionless, his features utterly still. But Laura knew the moment she saw him. He had grasped the situation entirely and was terrifyingly, monstrously furious.

The emotion radiating from his dark eyes was so murderous it could knock someone out with a glance.

Ian stepped two paces into the study. He slowly raised his left hand.

In it was a pistol.

Instinctively, Laura pushed Henry to the floor on the opposite side of the fireplace. Unsteady, Henry collapsed.

Bang!

A bullet grazed Laura, punching a hole in the sofa. It had been aimed exactly where Henry’s head was a second before. Laura screamed.

Ian entered the room, still expressionless. His eyes tracked Henry. The pistol in his hand was ready to fire the moment it found its target.

Her husband was on the verge of becoming a murderer. This wasn’t an honorable duel; if Henry died, Ian would face the gallows.

Laura shouted.

“Henry! Get behind the desk! Now!”

Henry ducked and scrambled toward the desk.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Bullets struck the floor where Henry had been. Shell casings rolled across the plush carpet, and the scent of gunpowder filled the flower-fragranced study.

“Ian, please…!”

Her cries seemed to fall on deaf ears. He fired at the desk where Henry hid.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Bullets embedded themselves in the custom oak desk Ian had made for his wife.

Click. Click.

Only the sound of the trigger remained. The gun was empty.

“Damn it.”

Ian muttered through gritted teeth and threw the pistol aside. The empty barrel skidded across the floor and lodged in a corner.

Ian strode to the desk. Like a predator dragging prey that had bitten its young, he grabbed Henry by the scruff and hauled him out. Henry, unable to stand straight, was dragged to the center of the study.

“Uncle, wait—!”

Thud!

Ian’s fist slammed into Henry’s right cheek. Henry crumpled to the floor. Ian yanked him up by the collar and, without mercy, struck his face again.

Blood and a few molars flew from Henry’s mouth. Ian, unfazed, grabbed his hair and kneed him in the stomach.

For a while, the study echoed with heavy blows and low groans.

He stopped only after Henry passed out. Ian tossed his nephew, whose face was unrecognizable, onto the carpet.

Ian’s face and suit were splattered with blood. With a face colder than ice, he turned toward the entrance. A few servants and Ramswick stood there, stunned.

He pointed at Henry, sprawled on the floor.

“Clean it up.”

Ramswick quietly instructed two male servants nearby. They crept into the study, slung Henry’s arms around their shoulders, and dragged him out.

Quick-witted Ramswick ushered the servants away before his master could order them to leave, picking up the discarded pistol as he exited.

Click. The door closed, leaving only the couple in the study.

Laura was pale as a ghost. As Ian burst in, fired shots, and brutally beat Henry, she had been powerless. She was terrified of her husband. Never had he frightened her like this.

Ian looked at Laura, his face stained with blood.

“Laura.”

She trembled, barely answering.

“Yes.”

“Have you ever been to Doctor McKenzie’s cottage?”

An unexpected question. Laura nodded faintly.

Ian approached her slowly. Standing before her, he reeked of gunpowder, blood, and raw violence—a scent foreign to the usual Ian.

He leaned forward, placing his hands on the armrests of the sofa where Laura sat. His face came close to hers.

“Any other secrets you’re hiding?”

A bitter voice. Laura shut her eyes tightly.

“I’m… sorry. I’m sorry, Ian…”

“I didn’t ask to hear apologies.”

His breath carried deep disappointment.

“You hid two things you should have been honest about with your husband. I can only interpret it as you not seeing me as one.”

Tears filled Laura’s eyes.

“No, darling.”

“Then what?”

“…I didn’t want to… hurt you. I didn’t want to wound you…”

Tears fell from Laura’s eyes. Her shoulders shook with sobs.

Ian’s gaze softened. The anger had passed, leaving sadness in its wake.

“For my sake. Right. That’s like you. You’d weave curtains from thorns if it meant keeping me comfortable. But.”

Ian brushed Laura’s wet cheek with his finger.

“Why is it that your efforts leave me feeling so hurt and wretched?”

Each syllable, each breath in his whispered voice was laden with deep disappointment.

“I’m stronger than you think. I’m not a man whose pride is hurt by infertility, and I could have dealt with Henry’s betrayal on my terms. If you had just trusted me, I could have been the partner you leaned on without fear. But you didn’t trust me. You dismissed me and tried to bear everything alone. How little faith you must have had in me.”

Ian slowly straightened. Though his dark eyes held Laura, they were cold and dry, as if his love for his wife had evaporated.

“For the first time, I can’t stand to look at you. I’ll go to Leeds as planned.”

Ian turned. He walked to the door and left without hesitation, without a glance back.

With the click of the closing door, Laura was alone.

She began to gasp. Tears streamed from her eyes.

“Ian…”

She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

It had all been for him. Swallowing the pain of infertility, hiding Henry’s coercive courtship veiled as threats—all to spare him pain, to keep him from harm.

But her actions had made him the most miserable man. She had made Ian feel like an untrustworthy husband.

“You’re my fortress, my shade on a sweltering day. I’ve never once failed to rely on your love, Ian.”

If he were here, she would have said this. But she couldn’t. He was gone. And perhaps, he might never return.

Laura leaned against the sofa and wailed. Overwhelmed by guilt for disappointing him, she sank into unbearable sorrow.

“Please, come back. Forgive me, the fool who loved you clumsily.”

She wept alone in the study, crying and crying. Until the logs in the fireplace burned to ash and died out.