Chapter 33
“That’s not true!”
Agnès raised her voice before realizing how loud she sounded. She caught herself, then took a deep breath and spoke more calmly.
“I promise—I won’t hide anything anymore about getting Noah back. I swear it.”
Her tone was steadier this time. Dylan narrowed his eyes, studying her face carefully before finally letting go of her shoulders.
“Then tell me in detail,” he said. “Is there any proof left that Noah isn’t your biological child?”
“There shouldn’t be. Rickman is very good at covering his tracks. And it’s already been six years since Noah was born. That’s plenty of time to erase any evidence.”
“Indeed. Considering how well he’s hidden his other illegal dealings, I can believe that.”
Agnès gave a small, weak laugh, unsure if that was meant as praise or an insult. But the moment passed quickly—her expression turned serious again.
“There are witnesses, of course—Rickman’s closest servants. But what worries me most is Noah’s real mother.”
“Do you know anything about her?” Dylan asked. Then his eyes lit up slightly in realization.
“Ah. So that’s why you went to the detective agency.”
Since Pavel had been assigned to accompany her under Dylan’s orders, her destination would have been reported. Dylan wasn’t hiding it, and Agnès wasn’t surprised. She just nodded, thinking carefully about what else she could say.
“I found out a few things, but not her whereabouts. If she’s alive, I wanted to meet her—to ask her to help me. But since I couldn’t find her, I started to wonder if Rickman might be hiding her.”
“That’s unlikely,” Dylan said immediately, his tone certain.
Agnès blinked in surprise. “Why not?”
“Rickman wanted to invalidate the trial altogether. He knew that if it went forward, it would only work against him. The side that wants this to end quickly isn’t us—it’s him.”
“Oh… so if Rickman really had Noah’s birth mother with him, he would’ve brought her to court himself?”
“Exactly. If she were available, he wouldn’t have bothered spinning that ridiculous story about family opposition and her dying in childbirth.”
Dylan frowned slightly, clearly disgusted by Rickman’s performance in the courtroom. To someone as rational as Dylan, using emotions as a weapon was pathetic.
Agnès thought back to the way Rickman had acted at the trial. He’d been trying so hard to look like a respectable man—but in truth, he had looked like someone cornered.
Then a strange thought crossed her mind.
“Now that I think about it, Rickman’s reaction was odd. He should’ve known I’d accuse him of mistreating Noah. So why couldn’t he stay calm?”
“Good point,” Dylan said. “A man like him would usually have a long speech prepared about how his ‘discipline’ wasn’t abuse. But he didn’t.”
“Exactly.”
Agnès recalled the moment vividly.
When she had criticized him in court, Rickman hadn’t defended his behavior—he had shouted,
“Agnès Everchen! How dare you insult the bond between me and my son!”
“That’s what he said,” Agnès murmured. “He claimed I insulted his relationship with Noah—but it didn’t sound like he was talking about discipline or abuse.”
Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “Didn’t you also say earlier that you weren’t sure Rickman even thought of Noah as his real son?”
Agnès’s golden eyes flashed sharply. Yes—she had said exactly that.
“There were many times I doubted whether Rickman Overhan even thought of Noah as his own child.”
At the time, she had only meant that Rickman wasn’t a loving father. But now, looking back, she realized his reaction hadn’t fit that interpretation at all.
Why had he gotten so furious—almost defensive—at those specific words?
“Could it be… that Rickman isn’t Noah’s real father?” she whispered.
“It’s only a possibility,” Dylan said carefully.
“I suppose so. Besides, a man like Rickman would never raise another man’s child under his own name…”
Her voice trailed off as she thought deeper. Then her eyes widened, and her lips parted in shock.
“Your Grace,” she began hesitantly, gripping her dress tightly, “what I’m about to say is terribly improper, especially to my fiancé, but please forgive me.”
Dylan looked intrigued. “What is it you want to say?”
Agnès hesitated for a moment before finally confessing—something no one else in the world knew except her and Rickman.
“I never consummated my marriage.”
Not once had she and Rickman shared a bed.
She had been only eighteen when they married—a naïve young girl—and had spent all her time caring for a baby. She hadn’t had the chance, or the courage, to question anything.
Back then, she believed what she’d been taught: that a husband and wife shared a bed only to produce an heir.
Since Noah already existed, she thought perhaps they simply didn’t need to. In her mind, that was normal—and that her own parents’ affectionate marriage had been “improper” for being too close.
To be completely honest, the very idea of marital relations had disgusted her at the time. She’d even been relieved she didn’t have to experience it.
But as she grew older, she learned the truth.
Through noble gatherings, gossip among maids, and even a few romance novels, she realized that what she and Rickman had was not normal.
Still, she hadn’t wanted to share a bed with him anyway. By then, she had already come to love Noah deeply—and had no energy or desire left for anyone else.
That was all she had ever thought of it—until now.
“Could he be… impotent?”
The crude word slipped out before she could stop herself. Agnès gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth, horrified.
Dylan looked utterly dumbfounded for a moment—then burst into a quiet, incredulous laugh.
“So you know words like that?”
“I heard the maids say it once,” she muttered, face red. “I mean… what if Rickman is… you know, unable to…?”
Dylan’s laughter deepened, though it wasn’t from amusement—more from disbelief. Even so, his smile was so striking that Agnès found herself momentarily speechless.
Then, still smiling faintly, he said, “If that’s true, it explains quite a lot.”
Agnès blushed furiously. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant topic—but the possibility changed everything.
If Rickman really was impotent, then his entire claim about Noah’s parentage fell apart.
If Agnès couldn’t have custody because she wasn’t the biological mother, then the same logic would mean he couldn’t keep custody either.
“If that’s true,” she said quietly, “then maybe Rickman would rather hand Noah over to me than let that secret come out. That’s the kind of man he is.”
“Then we should definitely investigate,” Dylan said. “Do you have any idea where to start?”
“None,” she admitted. “Knowing him, he would’ve destroyed any evidence long ago. He’d rather kill the truth than let anyone use it against him.”
She hesitated, then added softly, “I promised to tell you everything, so I did. But honestly, I don’t want to dig any deeper into that. If we prove he isn’t Noah’s father, it’ll turn into a dirty scandal. I don’t want Noah to be hurt any more than he already has been.”
Her voice trembled as she lowered her eyes.
Dylan studied her quietly, finding her both fascinating and strange.
Agnès cared for Noah too much—so much that it bordered on overprotection.
Parents were supposed to protect their children, yes—but also teach them to stand on their own.
By that measure, Agnès had done everything right. She had risked everything to save her son from emotional abuse, even joining forces with a man she didn’t love to do so.
Now that Dylan himself had vowed to protect the boy, Noah would grow up safe, educated, and privileged.
As the Duke’s ward, he would have every advantage—a bright, secure future.
And yet, Agnès still felt constant guilt. She worried endlessly, terrified that even the slightest harm might come to him.
Dylan, who had grown up surrounded by affection and stability, realized this was a kind of love he had never known before—one that was both fierce and painfully selfless.
