Chapter 6
Killian Vale realized the truth just as the evening glow dyed the long corridors of Ravenhill in crimson.
“…Say that again.”
His voice, sharp as frost, cut through the silence in a low, dangerous murmur.
The maids, their faces drained of all color, clutched their aprons tightly as their words faltered.
“I–I’m sorry. We weren’t able to confirm exactly when Madam left. We believed she was resting in her bedroom…”
A piercing gaze stabbed into them like thorns. Too terrified to meet his eyes, the maids bowed their heads deeply.
“So what you’re saying is—”
Killian took a step forward. His shoes, still smeared with wet soil, crushed the soft carpet without mercy.
“—that the mistress of this house skipped two meals and shut herself away, and yet not a single one of you thought to check on her until evening?”
The air in the room froze solid. The sound of someone swallowing echoed sharply in the stillness.
It wasn’t unusual for the lady of the house to skip meals or remain secluded in her room without a sound. That was precisely why none of the servants had gone inside to check. But everyone knew such reasoning would not serve as an excuse now.
Unable to answer, the maids lowered themselves even further. Some dropped to their knees, trembling uncontrollably.
Watching them, Killian’s jaw tightened. Rage surged through him, his teeth grinding together.
Crunch.
The sound of bone scraping against bone rippled through the silence.
They were maids brought from Rowena’s family estate—chosen because she had said she wanted familiar faces around her. Though he knew information might leak back to Bernier, Killian had allowed them into his household anyway. He had even tolerated their audacious demand for triple the usual wages.
A man who despised inefficiency had willingly endured it.
And this was the result.
Those who claimed to care for Rowena more than anyone else hadn’t even noticed she was gone. If he hadn’t canceled all his appointments and returned home on a bad feeling, no one would have realized her disappearance until dawn.
“…Investigate every carriage that passed through Ravenhill today. Who they carried, where they went, and when they departed. Leave nothing out.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Contact every major railway station, including Richmond Central. Check all women traveling alone. Faces, ages, destinations—everything. If anyone resembling Rowena is reported, notify me immediately.”
“Yes. Understood.”
He turned his cold gaze back to the maids.
“Are you planning to stay on your knees, being useless?”
“N‑No!”
The maids scrambled to their feet.
“Search every drawer. Find out what Rowena took with her—jewelry, clothes, bags, shoes. Every single thing. Surely you’re not so incompetent that you can’t even manage that.”
“We’ll check right away!”
They rushed off in a panic, hurried footsteps echoing chaotically throughout the mansion.
Killian strode outside without hesitation. Crushing his long shadow beneath his steps, he climbed straight into his car.
He had no intention of staying inside, waiting helplessly. He would personally check every place she might have gone.
His rigid fingers tightened around the cold steering wheel. Outside the window, Ravenhill passed by, submerged in a blood‑red sunset.
Ragged breaths slipped through his clenched teeth. His knuckles turned white.
Rowena was gone.
His wife—had packed her things and left the house he built for her…
Yes. For someone as fragile as she was, this situation must have been overwhelming.
Her family had fallen. Her father had taken his own life. And on top of that, she had discovered that her husband had been frequenting hotels with her sister. It would have been difficult for her to make a rational judgment.
“Still… running away is not an option.”
His mutter was nearly drowned out by the harsh sound of tires grinding over gravel.
If she was going to leave, she should have done it sooner.
Before she became Rowena Vale. When he revealed his origins in the back alleys…
No—she should have pushed him away the moment she saw that filthy beggar hiding in the vineyard.
He had given her chances to escape. But she stayed by his side. She chose, of her own will, to place the white veil upon her head.
The price of that choice was clear.
Rowena would remain bound under the name of Vale.
No matter what he did. No matter whom he killed, or whom he took into his arms.
Forever.
That was the conclusion he had reached.
—
In front of the gates of the Duke of Ainsworth’s estate.
The carriage wheels rolled slowly over rain‑soaked stone. The coachman brought the black horse to a practiced halt, while the servants standing at the entrance straightened their backs, waiting for the carriage door to open and greet their master.
Before long, the master of the estate, Arthur Ainsworth, stepped out of the carriage and bent slightly at the waist. His sharply defined features, immaculate attire, and graceful, almost picture‑like movements were as flawless as ever. Yet the presence of the woman cradled in his arms seemed entirely out of place.
The sudden sight made the guards at the main gate blink in surprise. The maids standing at the foot of the front steps exchanged glances, uncertain what to do. The woman seemed fainted, her eyes closed and her body slack. Her hastily braided hair, damp from the rain, clung to her neck, and her skirt was streaked with dirt and dust. She looked utterly mismatched with the noble and immaculate master who carried her.
Arthur ascended the steps without hesitation, still holding her. A servant stepped forward as if to help, but he shook his head and commanded, “Call a doctor. She’s lost consciousness from a high fever.”
He carried her straight to a guest bedroom and laid her gently on the bed. Her cheeks, still flushed from the fever she had developed shortly after boarding the carriage, were hot to the touch. Through slightly parted lips, faint warm breaths escaped.
“Who… is she?”
Arthur, gazing at her golden lashes, slowly shifted his eyes. Haley, a maid who had served the Ainsworths since childhood, stood at the doorway, her face pale with shock. Arthur noted how Haley’s gaze swept over Rowena’s disheveled appearance and answered calmly:
“Rowena Bernier. She’s the second daughter of Count Bernier.”
“The second daughter of Bernier…? The one who married the master of the Grosvenor estate?”
“Yes.”
Haley’s eyes widened as she looked at Rowena. Despite her tattered attire, her skin was fair and smooth, and her slender fingers bore no trace of hardship.
“Why… is Mrs. Vale in this state…?”
Arthur said nothing, his eyes still fixed on Rowena. There was something different about the way he looked at her, and Haley instinctively asked, “Are… you acquainted with her?”
“You don’t need to know that,” came his cool, chilling reply. Haley immediately realized her mistake, bowed, and stepped back.
“My apologies. I’ll fetch the doctor immediately.”
Arthur made no response. Even after Haley left, his gaze remained on Rowena’s face. She seemed distressed, likely weakened by the fever. Her long lashes twitched occasionally.
Acquaintance.
There wasn’t really any bond between him and Rowena Bernier that warranted such a term. But she was not just another noblewoman.
A memory surfaced sharply in his mind. Five years ago, at a charity event hosted by the Kensington Art Association—a gathering nominally to honor the arts, but in truth, filled with those eager to flaunt their status or curry favor with influential figures—he had attended reluctantly, having only recently inherited his title.
Everyone had been vying for a word with him, and some women had brushed past him subtly, displaying flirtatious interest. Just as his boredom peaked, one figure caught his attention. A woman, separated from the crowd, staring intently at a single painting. She was the only one truly appreciating the art, the only noble without the slightest trace of vulgarity.
Curiosity drew him closer, and then he saw her eyes. Calm yet brilliant, as if reflecting all the light in the world, gazing somewhere beyond reality. A delicate and beautiful face, both fragile and captivating. Even after seeing countless masterpieces, that image had remained unforgettable. Ever since, whenever she appeared at public events, his eyes would unconsciously follow her.
It was not romantic interest. He had no intention of approaching her, only a fleeting curiosity about her whereabouts. Just enough to notice.
Then came the news that she was marrying Killian Vale.
He had thought, ‘How wasteful…’ Someone like her, entrusted to a lowly man. That was his final thought about Rowena Bernier.
A faint groan brought him back to the present. Arthur turned his attention fully to her. Rowena shifted on the bed, moaning softly, and his brows furrowed.
What had happened in the time since for this woman to end up wandering between rural stations like this?
Arthur recalled her face at the small station. When she had encountered the crude gang, she had clearly been frightened, yet it wasn’t the face of someone utterly terrified. He knew that face well: someone driven to the very edge, with nowhere to lean, stripped of the will to continue.
…What could have happened that extinguished the light in those eyes, leaving them dead and black?
He had a fair idea. Even from the briefest touch to her shoulder, seeing her face blanch and her body recoil, he could surmise enough.
He clicked his tongue lightly and muttered, “Vulgar scum.”
Even now, thinking back, that marriage had been thoroughly objectionable.
