Chapter 1
“I’d Like 9.99 Million Gold as Divorce Alimony”
“I’m sorry, my lady. His Grace the Duke had an urgent matter to attend to…”
In other words, he wasn’t coming.
From the vague tone of the maid’s excuse, Yvonne sensed—yet again—the familiar indifference. A quiet sigh escaped her lips. That small exhale carried disappointment she couldn’t hide.
And disappointment meant she’d still held on to hope. Yvonne felt ashamed in front of the maid.
But she’d endured too many years of humiliation to still feel ashamed of something like this. She had changed far too much.
Even now, as she sat alone before her birthday table, all she got was a message that her husband wouldn’t be coming.
How many times had this happened? The fourth? Fifth? When had she stopped throwing birthday parties altogether?
Then it struck her—she’d only ever celebrated her birthday with her husband once.
Yvonne de Fontaine had been abandoned in this annex.
She knew it, the maid knew it, and so did everyone else in the household. She also knew that she would be alone next year, and the year after that—no matter how important the day might be.
Just then, the maid cautiously held something out.
“And this is a birthday gift from His Grace. He said it would suit you well.”
“…Ah.”
Something surged in Yvonne’s chest. When she carefully unwrapped the package, a necklace made of pale green peridot revealed itself.
She stared at it for a long time—then suddenly stood up.
“…I won’t wait anymore.”
Clutching the necklace in hand, she left the room.
If I go myself, Arsen won’t be able to ignore me. I’ll go ask him—just once—to celebrate my birthday with me.
At the very least, every year he had still sent her a gift. That must mean he hadn’t completely thrown her out of his heart.
They shared a history. Since childhood, they had been betrothed. They had lived as each other’s only partner.
She had always tried her best for him. She had changed so much she barely recognized herself—but she had believed firmly in the worth of her sacrifice.
When Yvonne stepped out of the annex and entered the main estate, a murmur spread among the servants. She assumed it was only natural—they hadn’t seen the duchess outside the annex in so long.
But the moment she stood before her husband’s room, it became clear their surprise wasn’t because of her.
“Arsen, I told you—I don’t like peridot.”
A coquettish voice laced with complaint floated through the slightly ajar door, followed by a very familiar male voice.
“But it suits you so well, Cécile. I spent so much time picking it out.”
Her husband and his lover were in the room together.
That alone was shocking enough, but their next exchange shook Yvonne even more.
“You spent that much effort? Then I almost feel bad it went to your wife.”
“Oh, come on. Yvonne and you have the same birthday—it works out. I’ll pick something better for you next time.”
“And let me guess—you’ll choose peridot again? Last year you gave it to your wife too. I bet she didn’t even realize it was originally meant for me. Hahaha.”
So all the birthday gifts she had received had been chosen for his lover first—castoffs he no longer needed?
Last year’s peridot… it was meant for her too…
Yvonne couldn’t take it anymore. She flung the door open without thinking.
“Oh my!”
“Yvonne?”
The couple sitting closely on the sofa, whispering sweet nothings, looked startled at her sudden entrance. But only briefly—Arsen quickly stood and walked toward her.
“Yvonne, what are you doing here?”
“…Arsen.”
His demeanor was calm and casual. Yvonne hesitated, not knowing what to say. No matter what came out, she feared she’d only look more pitiful.
“If something’s wrong, you could’ve sent someone. Why come all this way? You’re not well. Go back to your room.”
“Arsen, I… today is my birthday.”
As he tried to send her away, Yvonne spoke up in a panic. She could feel Cécile’s piercing stare on her.
Arsen patted her shoulder and lowered his voice.
“I know, I know. It’s not pleasant seeing your husband with his lover on a day like this. But you’re my wife—my only wife. So you need to endure it a little.”
Yvonne faltered again at the words “only wife.” Arsen noticed and continued.
“I have no plans to bring anyone else into this house. Do you know how many women would kill to be in your position? And yet I’ve kept you here, even though you can’t bear children.”
That struck a nerve. Yvonne’s eyes darkened with shame.
“I-I didn’t marry you for status alone…”
“I know. We’ve known each other too long. You know I’ll get over this phase eventually.”
“…”
Was that enough? Was that really a reason to endure all this? Would Arsen have tolerated this if the roles were reversed?
As Yvonne remained silent, Arsen frowned and dropped a bombshell.
“Cécile is pregnant.”
“…What?”
Cécile. His lover. She was pregnant?
Yvonne felt her heart sink.
“You know what that means? She gave me something you never could.”
“But I…”
“You have a duty—to this family, and to your own—to ensure an heir. The child will become your adoptive son anyway.”
Yvonne could only stare, unable to find a place to start. Was this really the right thing? Was she supposed to just… endure?
Then Arsen waved her off as if tired of the conversation.
“Anyway, what matters now is Cécile and the child. If you have more to say, we’ll talk later. And next time you leave the annex, tell me first. It’s for your health.”
“But Arsen, I still—”
“That’s enough. Go, Yvonne.”
He pushed her off firmly. When her one and only husband looked at her with such cold eyes, Yvonne felt her mouth go dry—unable to speak.
She was afraid. Of burdening him. Of being hated by the man she loved.
Of shaming her parents. Of being rebuked by the late duke and duchess.
“…Alright.”
He said they would talk later. She’d get the chance.
Then she could talk about the child. About the lover.
He had claimed it was all for an heir. So…
Yvonne turned to leave, convincing herself. The necklace slipped from her weakened hand to the floor, but she didn’t notice. She simply walked on.
Despite the years of pain, she still clung to a sliver of hope. Perhaps her body and heart had become too fragile.
But God, it seemed, took cruel pleasure in crushing even that.
Ah, my necklace.
Even if it was just a hand-me-down from her husband’s mistress, she couldn’t bear to throw it away. Because it came from him.
So Yvonne turned back to retrieve it.
And at that very moment, she met the truth she was never meant to hear.
“Arsen, you were awfully sweet to her earlier. Are you trying to make me jealous?”
“Oh, Cécile, you cute thing.”
Laughter echoed from the room, followed by Arsen’s voice.
“I didn’t marry Yvonne because I loved her. I’ve never felt anything close to love for her. She’s… not my type.”
“Oh, really?”
Cécile giggled with interest, and Arsen continued eagerly.
“Totally. She used to be so wild—if I hadn’t trained her, she wouldn’t be half as calm as she is now. But now she’s too quiet—it’s boring.”
“You’re terrible.”
“Yvonne’s the terrible one. I don’t even see her as a woman anymore. We’re just… good friends.”
Cécile laughed.
“Well, she is gloomy. If I were a man, I’d find her boring too.”
“Right? And she’s too weak to have kids. What’s the point of a duchess who can’t bear an heir?”
“True. You must’ve suffered a lot because of that.”
“Exactly. The only reason she’s still the duchess is because of the Laurent family’s influence.”
Then Arsen lowered his voice like he was sharing a secret.
“And get this—her family sends money every time they hear she’s unwell.”
“…Really?”
“Yep. But what’s the point of buying expensive medicine for someone that frail? It’s better spent on gifts for you, don’t you think?”
“I agree.”
Then came the words Yvonne couldn’t believe—even though she had just heard them with her own ears.
“They say she probably won’t last a few more years anyway. No point wasting money.”
Yvonne staggered. Each word struck her heart like a dagger.
What was all this? Could all of it really be true?
He had planned to use her from the beginning, and now he was exploiting her family for his own gain.
He hadn’t even treated her as a wife. No—as a human being.
How… how could you?
Her vision blurred from rage and betrayal. Her hands trembled.
He blamed her for being unable to bear a child—when it was all his fault. For making her sick. For making her suffer.
From the start of their marriage, Arsen had never been faithful. Watching him cheat again and again, she had grown ill from stress and heartbreak. Eventually, she collapsed—and the doctor said pregnancy could endanger both her and the child.
Even then, Arsen had been out with another woman. And she, bedridden, still handled the work of the duchy he had abandoned.
And yet she endured—because she was the Duchess of Fontaine. Because staining the name Fontaine would bring shame to Laurent too.
After all, they had been fated to marry since birth. Breaking that bond had never even crossed her mind. Her parents’ expectations and society’s scrutiny weighed too heavily.
But most of all, she had loved Arsen.
She had never even thought of anyone else. She’d never had the chance.
Everyone assumed they’d end up together. And Arsen had been sweet, charming, and kind—at first. It was enough to make a sheltered girl like her fall deeply in love.
So she had believed—at the very least—he would treat her with a shred of respect. That he would honor their shared past.
But he didn’t. Not at all. It had all been a lie.
She had been the only one deluded, from the very beginning.
