Chapter 101
The leering glint in Gray’s red eyes was all too obvious.
He pretended it was for Anne’s sake, as though he were making a sacrifice, when in truth, he was demanding recognition and praise for choices she had never asked for.
But what sacrifice had he ever truly borne?
Anne let out a long sigh and asked dryly:
“So, you made a contract with a witch?”
“……!”
Gray flinched as though stabbed. His reaction made Anne laugh in disbelief.
“You thought I wouldn’t know?”
Had he really believed she would stay ignorant forever?
Though rattled, Gray quickly recovered his composure and launched into a tale of how much he had suffered to bring her back.
“Anne, do you know how much I regretted letting you go that way back then…?”
And then, like he was giving some grand speech, he poured out his supposed love and devotion for her.
Hannibal cut in, unable to bear another word.
“You thought turning back time would erase your mistakes? Look at the result—you’ve only created a time where even your past sins have vanished.”
Despite all of Gray’s pleas and entreaties, Anne’s face remained calm and unmoved.
And standing with Hannibal at her back, she looked as though she truly belonged there.
Gray’s complexion turned ashen as he gazed at them.
“No… no, this isn’t right….”
He bit his dry lips and muttered in desperation.
“No, Anne. Do you know what I did for you? For you…”
Anne let out a short, cold laugh.
“For me?”
Her cynical question made Gray snap.
“Of course it was for you! Anne, only after you died did I realize—you were my one true love. That’s why I went all the way to this harsh Western land to contract with a witch. Only to see you again!”
His desperate eyes locked on her. He reached out a trembling hand as though begging her to accept him—only to be blocked instantly by Hannibal.
Even as Hannibal bristled, looking ready to draw his sword, Anne soothed him and turned to Gray. Her voice was devoid of warmth.
“Then you’ve seen me now. Go back. I don’t ever want to imagine a future with you again.”
Please, let this be the last time.
Until now, Gray had always refused to believe her rejection. But seeing her arrive together with Hannibal, reality finally seemed to set in.
Sensing at last that he had been abandoned, Gray’s face cracked with betrayal.
“How… how could you? Anyone else, fine. Let the world betray me, cast me aside. But you… not you, Anne. Not you….”
He didn’t dare lash out—not with Hannibal standing there—but his trembling lips and desperate eyes still clung to her.
This wasn’t love.
It wasn’t even obsession or possessiveness. It felt more like a grudge carved deep into his soul.
As though only she could save him, Gray clung to Anne blindly, like a man betrayed by all others. But he was the Duke of Benton, one of the Empire’s greatest nobles… wasn’t he?
“…After I died, you must have been very unhappy, then?”
Her cautious words made his red eyes blink before tears spilled down his cheeks.
“Yes, Anne. Without you, I was miserable. A miserable marriage. A miserable family. My life became nothing but misery.”
He rubbed his eyes and wept like a child. Pitiful, perhaps, but Anne felt no sympathy.
“I thought after I died, you married Lady Tess and lived happily,” she said flatly.
“No! She deceived me, just like my mother did! All my misfortune began after you disappeared.”
At her probing, the truth came spilling out.
So that was it. His misfortune had begun only after her death.
He hadn’t revived her for her sake at all.
Crying, Gray shouted:
“Anne, only the time I had with you meant anything! Please, come with me. Let’s start over in Edith Tara!”
Anne recoiled as his hand shot toward her. Hannibal caught her swaying body and steadied her.
“…Thank you,” she whispered.
Gray’s face paled as he watched the two of them standing together, close and warm.
“Anne… Anne!”
He called desperately, as though trying to wedge himself between them, but all that returned was Anne’s cold gaze.
“I’ve heard enough excuses.”
Her words were like a death sentence, sending him plunging into despair.
Her firm lips and unwavering eyes showed she had already made up her mind.
“You say you were unhappy after I died? Good. That’s exactly what I wanted—for you to be unhappy.”
She deliberately chose cruel words. Watching his face collapse at each word gave her a grim satisfaction.
At last, she could wound Gray as he had wounded her. It felt like finally applying medicine to an old festering scar.
Anne Perot—so cold, so terrifying.
Pouring out that ugliness before Gray felt liberating, but the fact Hannibal was watching made her flush with shame.
Would he be disappointed in her?
Her shoulders sagged at the sudden heaviness in her chest, until she felt Hannibal’s steady hand pressing supportively at her back.
The warmth of his touch told her clearly: I’m on your side.
Bolstered by him, Anne straightened her back and declared firmly before Gray:
“Then and now, I was never once happy with you, Gray Benton. From now on…”
She reached out and clasped Hannibal’s hand, smiling radiantly.
“…I will be happy with Hannibal Clayde.”
Her clear proclamation shattered Gray’s last shred of hope.
He dragged his hands down his face, muttering, “This must be a dream. Impossible.” Then his eyes darted back to Anne, searching for someone to blame.
“What nonsense are you spouting? How could you be happy with another man while I still exist? Anne, you and I—we can’t live without each other!”
Even his desperate cries met only her cold gaze.
“Anne… you loved me once, didn’t you? You clung to me, begged me to love you back! I admitted I was wrong, I apologized! I wanted to treat you better, but how could you do this to me?”
Gray’s voice rose into a hysterical scream.
Thankfully, they were in the back garden’s glasshouse, far from the main estate, or he would have woken the whole household.
“Don’t lie to yourself, Anne! You loved me! You married me! You carried my child! That man doesn’t know you. If he finds out about your past—”
“Shut your mouth!”
Hannibal snarled, grabbing Gray by the collar before he could finish.
Gray stared blankly at Anne, murmuring:
“…Anne.”
She gave no reply. He hadn’t expected one anyway.
“Anne Perot.”
His tone was shifting, filling with bitter resentment now. Gone was the pleading.
Anne’s own voice was level, emotionless.
“You understand now, don’t you, Duke Benton? You’ve finished your business in the West. Return to the capital.”
She had said what she needed to say, shown him what she wanted to show, and seen the face of a discarded man.
There was nothing left to settle.
But Gray wasn’t done.
He lifted his chin toward Hannibal instead.
“Viscount, do you think you can keep this engagement if Anne’s past is dragged into the light?”
Count Arthur was Hannibal’s father, and in noble society, parents held absolute authority over their children’s marriages.
Gray wasn’t wrong.
If that past were true.
“Even here in the West, the morals and codes of nobility can’t be that different from the capital’s.”
It was obvious—if he couldn’t have her, he would destroy her.
He wanted to shame Anne completely.
It was nothing but the bitter spite of a loser, unworthy of a duke.
Anne was ready to leave with Hannibal, not waste another word. She touched his arm as if to urge him along—
But Hannibal twisted his lips into a mocking smile and said:
“Duke Gray Benton suffers from delusions.”
His calm, scornful words made Gray’s face crumple.
“Delusions?”
“Yes. Pathetic delusions of forcing yourself onto another man’s fiancée.”
Hannibal’s voice was quiet, but his eyes gleamed with deadly menace.
