Chapter 3
Without realizing it, Agnès gripped the arm where Dylan had bitten her.
The wound had already healed, but the faint ache that lingered reminded her that last night was not a dream.
Between the two of them, it was Agnès who held the advantage—she was the one who had helped him.
Yet somehow, that didn’t lessen the distance between them.
It wasn’t just a matter of status—it was a matter of desperation.
Of the two, the one with something to lose—the one who needed something—was Agnès.
It was as though Dylan could see right through her thoughts when he spoke first:
“What do you want in return?”
Agnès had expected such a question, yet she still flinched.
Even through the veil that covered her face, she could feel Dylan’s sharp gaze, as if he could see her heart pounding.
“I was the one who called you my savior,” he continued evenly. “If you have something you wish for, say it. I’ll decide whether I can grant it or not after I hear it.”
Dylan didn’t lower himself at all—not even slightly.
But rather than arrogant, his composure felt dignified, even respectful.
Agnès thought, So this is what a real gentleman is like.
The memory of Lady Everchen calling her ex-husband a “gentleman” flashed through her mind, and a bitter smile tugged at her lips.
People called Dylan a monster, but to Agnès, the true monster was Count Overhan—the man who had tormented their son.
Thinking that way made her less afraid.
Agnès met Dylan’s calm blue eyes through her veil and spoke firmly.
“There’s only one thing I want. I want to take my son back from my ex-husband.”
Dylan leaned forward slightly, an unspoken cue for her to continue.
His receptive attitude steadied her trembling shoulders.
“What exactly do you mean by ‘take him back’?”
“Six years ago, I married Count Overhan and… gave birth to a son. But we had a major disagreement about how to raise him. After that, Count Overhan demanded a divorce.”
She made it sound simple, but the truth had been anything but peaceful.
Agnès had begged at Count Overhan’s feet, screaming and crying not to be thrown out.
She had fought so hard that her shoes flew off as servants dragged her across the floor—her feet bleeding where the skin tore away.
She closed her eyes briefly, the memory stabbing at her chest, then opened them when Dylan spoke again.
“What kind of disagreement?”
“It’s just that…”
“If you aren’t honest,” Dylan interrupted, “you can’t pay the price you’ve offered.”
Agnès took a deep breath.
To say it all aloud would hurt more than any slap or wound.
“Count Overhan wanted Noah to be a perfect child—someone who learns everything quickly and stands above everyone else.”
“That’s what most parents want.”
“I know that,” she replied bitterly. “But his obsession went too far.”
Her hands clenched tightly in her lap.
“He wouldn’t let Noah rest, not even for a single day. He hired countless tutors, and if Noah didn’t show immediate results, he fired them right in front of him. The poor boy had to watch those teachers beg for their jobs, over and over again.”
Agnès swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay composed.
“And when Noah felt sorry for them—when he tried to comfort them—Count Overhan would explode in rage. He said an heir of Overhan must never show weakness.”
To keep his father happy—and to keep his tutors from being punished—Noah tried his best.
But he was only five years old. No matter how hard he tried, there were things he simply couldn’t do.
A genius child might have managed—but not every child is born a genius.
“Noah started to fear his father. He began stuttering whenever he spoke to him. And the more he stuttered, the harsher the punishments became. Eventually…”
Her voice trembled.
“Eventually, he stopped speaking altogether.”
“You mean he lost his ability to speak?” Dylan asked quietly.
“The doctor said there’s no real physical issue. He’s weak because he can’t sleep or eat properly, but his body can recover. The problem is… his mind. They said it’s a psychological wound.”
Agnès shut her eyes tightly.
Was it really only Count Overhan’s fault?
Maybe she was to blame too.
Count Overhan had always been a proud man.
When he decided to marry, he didn’t seek an alliance with a strong family—he wanted a quiet, well-mannered girl who would never challenge him.
When he saw Agnès, just eighteen and new to society, he had immediately fallen in love—or so he claimed—and soon proposed.
Her parents, the Everchen couple, had been overjoyed.
Their daughter, married into a wealthy noble family!
Not once did anyone ask what Agnès wanted.
She had regretted saying yes ever since.
Yes, her marriage gave her Noah—the light of her life.
But she had never been able to protect him.
Even as Countess Overhan, she had no influence in her husband’s household.
He had refused to take anything from her family—not even the maid who had raised her, Lizzy, because she “didn’t meet his standards.”
Agnès was in charge of household affairs, but every decision required the Count’s approval.
He, however, never told her anything.
Not even how their child was being disciplined.
When Noah began to fear his father, Agnès had naively believed she could fix it with love—
that if she just gave him enough warmth for two parents, everything would be okay.
She had been so foolish.
She had no power, no authority—nothing to shield her son with.
When Noah finally stopped speaking, Agnès had confronted her husband.
She even tried to give Noah friends, hoping that laughter and play would heal him.
Count Overhan had summoned her and ordered her to stop.
But Agnès didn’t back down.
“What Noah needs right now isn’t study—it’s stability. He needs to know that even if he makes mistakes, his parents will still love him. Please, I’m begging you—be kind to him.”
What she got in response was divorce papers.
She hadn’t planned to refuse them.
There had been no love, no happiness in that marriage anyway.
But there was one thing she would never give up.
“Please, let me raise Noah. When he’s grown, I’ll send him back. You said it yourself—he’s my son too.”
The Count had only laughed.
“Agnès, don’t you get it? Noah is my son—and the son of the Countess of Overhan. You’re just Lady Everchen again now. I told you to keep quiet. How pathetic.”
Then he’d ordered the servants to grab her hands and press her seal onto the papers by force.
That was how Agnès lost everything—her title, her home, and her right to even see her son.
And now, because the Count saw Noah’s condition as shameful, he kept the boy hidden.
Agnès couldn’t even find out if Noah was alive and well.
Pathetic…
Her eyes stung, but she refused to cry.
Instead, she rose to her feet and stood before Dylan.
He thought he knew what was coming.
Surely now, she would threaten him—to expose his secret if he didn’t help her.
Even good people can become cruel when cornered.
And for a mother, the excuse of love could justify anything.
For the first time, a flicker of caution entered Dylan’s eyes.
But then—Agnès did something unexpected.
She sank to her knees before him and pulled off the long glove covering her arm.
The place where he had bitten her was still marked by faint scars, yet the skin glowed with healthy color.
“I know giving blood once doesn’t earn me such a great favor,” she said quietly.
“But I’ll offer it again—regularly. Whenever you wish, as much as you need. In return… please, help me bring Noah back.”
