Chapter 9
Anne felt wronged.
The butler had only followed orders by calling a physician, the examination was completed, and he had made arrangements for her to rest afterward.
It wasn’t a situation that could’ve been misunderstood.
But people only ever see others through the lens of their own experiences.
Limited perspectives and narrow thinking turned Grey’s affection for Anne into suspicion and discontent.
Because he had once discarded her and opened his heart to someone else, because he had held another woman’s hand in her place, because he had spent nights with someone who wasn’t his wife—
Grey could only twist the warmth exchanged between Anne and the butler into the flames of temptation.
“Is that child really mine?”
“How could you even think something so absurd?”
Anne had believed that once the child was born, Grey would return to her side as a father.
But only now did she realize that hope had been nothing more than a delusion.
“Isn’t it suspicious that you suddenly got pregnant when I wasn’t even visiting that often?”
Above her head, a voice dry and harsh, devoid of affection, rained down without hesitation.
In front of Anne, who instinctively wrapped her arms around her swollen belly, the Duke of Benton no longer bothered to hide his irritation or icy hostility.
“No, it’s not true. Grey… there’s only you for me.”
He knew. He knew she had been living like a prisoner, isolated in the grand duke’s residence.
Since becoming the Duchess of Benton, she could count the number of times she’d gone out on one hand—and that was only back when Grey still showed her some affection.
She had lost one child already, and before the second even had a chance, the former Duchess’s influence had completely obscured Grey’s view of Anne.
He no longer listened to her words or looked into her eyes.
Anne squeezed her eyes shut like someone lost in a nightmare.
Clinging to a love that had already vanished was no different from clutching a dried-out husk and hoping it would sprout again.
“Act properly as the Duchess.”
Sadness, resentment, injustice, and bitterness surged inside her like her chest might burst.
Even the baby in her womb seemed to struggle for breath in the face of her overwhelming emotions, kicking from within.
“Ah…”
Gripping her lower abdomen, she leaned against the wall.
Only then did Grey’s eyes soften slightly, and he stepped toward her.
In the vast estate of the Benton household—large enough to accommodate a hundred guests and still have room to spare—Anne had no one she could trust.
No one she could reach out to.
Only one.
Grey Benton had once been wholly hers.
“Are you alright?”
Perhaps because she was carrying his child. Or perhaps he simply couldn’t ignore someone in pain.
Whatever the reason, at his single word of concern, Anne clung to the hand he offered with both of her own, holding on tightly.
She all but begged.
You’re all I have, Grey Benton.
You were the only one.
No matter who you saw, no matter who you slept with, I couldn’t even bring myself to resent you, because I had no other choice.
No chance at anything else.
“Hngh…”
Anne looked up at him with desperate eyes, but in Grey’s gaze—heavy with pity—there was only sympathy, not love.
The emotions Anne was drowning in had long since faded into distant memories for Grey.
Even so, she had kept her eyes closed.
Because she was the Duchess.
Because she was carrying Grey Benton’s child.
* * *
The physician warned her to be careful, citing signs of premature labor.
Since then, Anne had lived in extreme caution, shutting out almost everyone.
She even refused conversations with the former Duchess, allowing only a few essential attendants and never leaving her room.
Despite all that caution… malice and violence found the smallest cracks.
Clatter!
“My lady!”
It was one of the rare few times Anne had stepped out—for a simple trip to the washroom.
What were the odds she would run into a maid carrying a large tray with a scalding teapot at just that moment?
She had thought the girl would step aside.
Instead, the maid pretended to avoid her—and shoved her.
Clutching her heavy belly, Anne suddenly felt a warm trickle between her legs.
“No… no, no!”
She screamed, instinctively wrapping her arms around her belly.
The faces of the people above—the ones looking down from the ceiling of the mansion—spun in circles.
Were they sneering? Laughing?
She could hear the mocking tone of the former Duchess behind the murmuring attendants and maids.
Fear and despair surged through her fading consciousness.
“Are you awake?”
When Anne opened her eyes again, a strange man’s voice reached her ears.
She couldn’t sit up. She didn’t have the strength to lift a single finger.
Through her blurred vision, she saw a young male servant—he looked even younger than her—dabbing her forehead with a towel.
“Who…?”
“The madam ordered someone to tend to you overnight. The others said they were too busy.”
The boy had a delicate face and a gentle tone.
Anne had no strength to question the sudden change in attendants.
Even the few spoonfuls of broth placed in her mouth spilled back out as her pale lips failed to move.
Unable to even swallow, she drifted in and out of consciousness.
“The baby… my baby?”
As soon as she managed to hold onto her fraying awareness, her first words were to ask about her belly.
The physician had just arrived, and she looked up at him pleadingly, placing a trembling hand on her now-deflated stomach.
“You experienced heavy bleeding, my lady. You need to rest.”
“The baby?”
The physician’s face turned pale.
“The baby… didn’t survive.”
“No… that’s not possible!”
Anne tried to sit up.
Pain shot through her lower abdomen, torn from the effort of delivering a stillborn child.
The young attendant nearby rushed to support her.
“So you’re awake.”
Grey had come after hearing the news.
“My baby—Grey—our child?”
Her womb was already empty, and no comfort could fill the aching void in her chest.
She kept placing her hands over her stomach, searching for the child that was no longer there.
No movement. No fullness.
“There is no child, Anne.”
Even though she had just regained consciousness after days in bed, Grey offered no words of comfort—only cold, cutting accusations.
“…Grey?”
“We can’t even know if it was mine until it was born. Isn’t that right?”
Now that the baby was gone, Anne could no longer pretend to be alright.
“Why… why are you doing this to me? What did I do wrong?”
“Ask the servant next to you. You picked him, didn’t you? You’d know better than I would.”
Anne’s head snapped toward the young man.
The gentle-faced servant was someone she didn’t even know.
She had merely accepted his help because she was too weak to refuse.
“I should’ve known you liked younger men. I wrongly suspected the butler, then.”
It was pure spite.
An excuse to pick a fight.
The former Duchess had placed the young man beside the disoriented Anne and whispered poison into Grey’s ear.
Grey had become so busy that he barely returned home anymore, sometimes only stopping by to change clothes or sleep briefly.
The former Duchess had used those gaps.
Now that Grey’s affections had turned to another woman, he had no desire to defend Anne.
So he fell for the obvious ploy without a second thought.
By turning the arrow of suspicion toward Anne first, Grey justified himself and exposed her flaws to avoid blame.
It was easier to say he couldn’t love a shameless wife than to admit he had cheated.
Leaving behind only contempt and scorn, Grey left the room.
And from the now-open door, Anne’s scream burst forth.
“Get out! Get out right now—!!”
Unwashed for days, still in her soiled clothes, Anne threw everything she could at the servant.
The young man, frightened, ran off.
“You mustn’t move recklessly, my lady,” the physician tried to stop her.
But she didn’t listen.
She walked out.
In the hallway, Grey stood frozen.
Anne’s ragged breathing filled the air.
Her pale face was slick with cold sweat.
Every step she took tore at her barely healing wounds.
Each step brought pain.
Every breath brought anguish.
How could you?
How could you do this to me?
When no one else would, you were the first to take my hand.
You were the one who made sure the hearth didn’t go out on winter nights.
When no one else stepped forward, it was me—a mere maid—who took on even the duties of a personal servant.
You accepted the warmth I gave and begged me to stay by your side. Why are you doing this to me now?
She could’ve married some ordinary man and lived a decent life.
Anne was never a woman with grand dreams.
And yet the man who had asked her to give everything up and run away with him now acted as though all their shared past was forgotten under the grand roof of the ducal estate.
Anne wiped the tears from her cheeks.
