1
Have you ever experienced it?
A moment when something you had always taken for granted—like breathing, like living—suddenly revealed itself to be nothing of the sort.
The reception room inside the Owens Earl’s mansion.
“So it’s true you still can’t manifest magic?”
Abel Owens clicked his tongue as he glared at Delia. His eyes were filled with thick, simmering anger.
He was her grandfather and the head of the Owens family. Whenever Delia stood before him, her body instinctively stiffened.
Even now—though she was an adult, even though she was married and no longer bound to the Owens household—just standing in front of him made her tremble like she had as a child.
She hated that part of herself, but there was nothing she could do to change it.
“Why aren’t you answering me? Are you still as useless as ever?”
“Yes…”
“You worthless, good-for-nothing girl!”
No—why am I “worthless”?
The protest rose to her throat, bitter and unjust, but Delia could not voice it.
Abel’s face flushed with rage. In the next instant, he grabbed a plate of refreshments from the table and hurled it at her.
The snacks inside scattered violently across the carpet. Crumbs clung to Delia’s platinum-blonde hair.
She instinctively ducked, managing to avoid the plate itself.
But she immediately realized that was the wrong choice—it only enraged him further.
Abel scanned the room, then snatched a log of firewood stacked beside the fireplace and swung it down toward her.
Wood dust burst into the air, drifting like ash, settling on her dress.
The sight was strangely calm, almost graceful, in contrast to the searing pain blooming across her back.
“You! A wretch like you dares call herself the last bloodline of the Owens family? You survived alone after your parents and siblings were all swallowed by death, and yet you can’t even do a single thing right—useless woman!”
“……”
“Go on then. Get divorced by Duke Grace.”
“……”
“I swear I will kill you myself. If you lose even that husband, you have nothing left to your name—so use that pretty face of yours and cling to that house for as long as you can!”
Unable to contain his fury, Abel threw the log to the ground and stormed out of the reception room.
Delia watched his retreating figure, her eyes slowly reddening. She bit down on her lip to keep from crying, the pain sharp and bitter.
She had been raised in the Owens household since childhood—and ever since she could remember, Abel’s hand had struck her.
Grandfatherly affection was something others spoke of. For her, it had always been a fantasy.
The year Delia was born, a magical war broke out. Her father, mother, and three brothers—the heirs of the Owens line—were all killed.
Only Delia survived, having been sent away to the northeastern region during the war.
Abel, devastated by the loss, poured all of his grief and rage into the only survivor left to him.
Delia grew up trying to understand his broken heart.
She endured his twisted temperament and carried on living—but the pain that struck her body always shattered something deeper inside her mind as well.
Beneath that fractured heart lay pieces of a childhood she could never fully reclaim.
The carriage came to a rough stop in front of Grace Castle’s main estate.
In Delia’s hand, returned from the Owens mansion, was a faint red potion.
It did nothing to ease the actual pain—but it dulled visible injuries with illusion magic.
Delia lowered her gaze to it, bitterness filling her light brown eyes.
What kind of person creates something like this…?
It had been Abel who gave it to her before she left, his eyes sharp as blades.
“Ugh… it’s bitter.”
She swallowed the potion in one gulp, wincing slightly before quickly regaining her composure.
When the coachman opened the door, Luna, the maid waiting outside, came into view.
“My lady, you’re back. I was worried—you didn’t take me with you, and you were gone so long.”
“Ah, Luna. My grandfather was out. I had to wait to see him.”
“Nothing happened, I hope? You look tired. Shall I prepare a bath?”
“Yes, please. Could you go ahead and get it ready upstairs?”
“I’ll prepare it right away! Please take your time coming up, my lady.”
Luna was the most respectful of all the servants currently attending Delia at Grace House.
At first, after Delia’s marriage to Eden, the servants had treated her properly.
But that changed soon after.
Once it became known that she could not manifest magic at all.
Delia walked slowly, enduring the pain in her body.
Her balance was poor, so the hem of her dress dragged along the floor, but she could not help it.
Even as she entered the main hall, not a single servant came out to greet her.
It’s obvious… but it still stings.
Perhaps it was because she had just come from Abel.
Today, her position in the ducal household felt more miserable than ever.
Where exactly am I supposed to belong?
The thought looped endlessly in her mind.
Lost in that suffocating spiral, Delia suddenly felt a presence and lifted her gaze toward the center staircase of the hall.
A very tall man stood there.
Eden.
Eden Grace, Duke of the estate.
He wore a perfectly tailored nobleman’s uniform that emphasized his strong, refined physique. The dark fabric only made him seem colder, more distant.
“Duke Grace…”
Delia called out to him, but he did not respond.
Still, his eyes shifted slightly toward her, acknowledging that he had heard.
Deep emerald irises—like dark forest glass. Like gemstones dulled by shadow.
Delia often felt her breath catch when she looked into them.
“How long have you been awake?”
At her question, Eden frowned faintly.
If only he would just say what he disliked, she thought—but his lips remained tightly closed.
Delia hesitated, then spoke again.
“I was going to bathe and go to bed… are you heading to your room as well?”
It took courage to ask.
On days like this—days that felt like she was drowning in something without end—she wished, even a little, that she could fall asleep beside her cold husband.
But that fragile hope collapsed in an instant.
“I still have work. I’m going to the study.”
His voice was calm, but utterly devoid of warmth.
He did not even seem to care why his wife had returned so late.
Without another word, Eden turned away and walked off.
His long strides carried him confidently down the corridor—movements of a man trained as a knight.
He had lived his entire life as one before inheriting the dukedom. Even now, his back still carried the weight of that life.
Sometimes, Delia felt as though that very distance between them was a wall she could never cross.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts.
Since Eden had gone to his study, she should return to her own room.
She began to walk again.
But then—she heard something faint from the corridor on the left side of the central staircase.
“So what if she’s from the Owens family, known for its magical history? She can’t even use magic properly.”
Delia’s heart began to pound as she heard voices leaking through a door.
“Exactly. The master has already waited over two years for her.”
“She’s probably going back to the Owens house soon, isn’t she?”
“Divorce? That seems likely.”
“Given the Owens family’s situation now, they’re hardly in a position to support anyone.”
“True. Most of their mages died in the war. Their wealth and honor are practically gone…”
The whispers came from the maids’ quarters.
Delia, having accidentally overheard gossip about herself, found nowhere to rest her gaze.
She swallowed dryly, lips trembling slightly.
Unable to form any emotion into words, she simply lowered her head.
Her long eyelashes cast shadows over her pale skin.
Being swallowed by emotions you cannot control is a painful thing.
Even after hearing such insolent words, Delia quietly turned away.
Her eyes looked as if she might cry, but she pressed her lips together and forced herself forward.
She climbed the central staircase with unsteady steps.
Each movement sent sharp pain from her lower back down through her legs.
Today was truly unbearable.
Abel’s violence, her husband’s indifference, and the humiliating awareness of her place in the ducal household—it all pressed down on her skin like weight.
“Aah—ugh…”
Reaching the top of the stairs, Delia gasped in pain and collapsed to her knees. She had misstepped slightly on the final step.
Her platinum hair spilled over her shoulders like fine thread as she lowered her head.
I’m so tired…
She sat there for a moment, drained of strength—then suddenly looked up in surprise.
Eden, who had supposedly returned to the study, was standing right in front of her.
“Running around so enthusiastically that your legs gave out?”
His brows were slightly furrowed as he spoke in a low voice.
Delia tried to respond, unsure what to say—but before she could, he lifted her into his arms with a single motion.
“Put me down, my lord. I can walk.”
Her voice was small, but firm.
Yet Eden ignored her completely, carrying her in one arm while loosening his cravat with the other. He continued walking toward the bedrooms.
As if her words had never mattered at all.
