Chapter 5
“Your Grace, the Duke.”
The moment the master of the ducal house appeared, the servants bowed in perfect unison.
Their reaction was entirely different from how they’d treated Yuraine.
Their movements were swift and precise, as if performing a well-practiced ritual of respect.
The Duke, his golden hair gleaming faintly, narrowed his eyes at the disorderly scene before him.
The sharpness of his cold blue eyes grew even keener.
Though middle-aged, his aura was that of a man who still trained with a sword daily—piercing and formidable.
As he stepped into the mansion, the servants collectively held their breath.
Beside him, accompanying him from the imperial palace, was his eldest son.
The sight made Yuraine’s heart tremble.
That cold, disdainful gaze—she knew it well.
It was the same look she had endured all her life, until death itself.
Her body instinctively shrank under it.
“Your Grace,” she greeted, bowing lightly before him.
It was an ordinary salutation.
But no one noticed how the hand gripping her skirt trembled slightly.
The Duke’s gaze briefly swept over her before he received her greeting with indifference.
Then, from beside Yuraine, Ayla—who had been nervously fidgeting—stepped forward and spoke.
“Did you have a pleasant trip, Father?”
Ayla smiled warmly.
At that gentle, affectionate tone, the Duke’s frosty expression softened slightly.
He gave a faint smile and a small nod.
Behind him, the eldest son, Rampos, took a step forward, scanning the gathered servants.
The air was clearly tense; something had happened in their absence.
“Just when I can barely breathe from the Rigail subjugation campaign… What is this commotion?”
Rampos clicked his tongue as he spoke.
Yuraine’s eyes widened.
The Rigail Subjugation Campaign?
Rigail—a domain overrun by monsters.
The Empire had mobilized its army to reclaim it.
Even in her previous life, it had been a major crisis that had thrown the entire Empire into chaos.
Of course, Rampos, a high-ranking noble serving in the imperial administration, would be busy.
Yuraine bit the inside of her lip, quickly piecing together the situation in her mind.
And then, she came to a conclusion.
I have to move fast.
There was no time to waste.
At that moment, Rampos turned to Lady Merelyn and asked coolly,
“Lady Merelyn. What happened here?”
Merelyn bowed her head and replied,
“Lady Yuraine’s maid stole a keepsake of the late Duchess.”
“…What?”
Rampos frowned.
In an instant, the air around them grew icy.
Behind his glasses, his sharp eyes gleamed like blades.
A keepsake of the deceased Duchess.
Everyone in the household knew how deeply the ducal family mourned her loss.
To tamper with her belongings was an unforgivable offense—a line that must never be crossed.
“Then what are you waiting for? Flog that maid and throw her out of the estate!”
As soon as Rampos gave the order, Merelyn bowed deeply, and several maids rushed to seize Rebecca.
“M-my lord… please—!”
Rebecca struggled and cried out, but her mouth was quickly covered by their hands.
“Wait.”
The quiet voice came from Yuraine as she stepped forward.
Rampos stopped mid-motion and looked at her, and the maids hesitated under the sudden tension.
“It hasn’t yet been proven that Rebecca stole the keepsake.”
Rampos’s brow furrowed slightly at her words—
and then Ayla spoke up, her voice soft and trembling.
“B-but, sister… the necklace was found in Rebecca’s quarters.
I’m sorry since she’s your maid, but…”
Ayla’s long lashes quivered delicately, casting a faint shadow over her eyes.
She looked pitiful—like someone torn between conscience and sorrow.
Even Yuraine, who knew Ayla’s true nature, had to admit the act was convincing.
How many people have fallen for that face?
Yuraine smirked inwardly as she stared at her.
Ayla spoke as though she were a helpless child pleading for fairness—
after keeping silent all this time, she stepped forward only once her father and brother had returned.
Rampos’s expression darkened further.
“Yuraine, defending your servant’s crime? You disgrace the name of Tarbargen.”
He ground his teeth as he glared at her, taking slow steps closer.
“If you were truly a Tarbargen, you’d know right from wrong.
How can you be more foolish than Ayla?”
Thud.
Each word struck like a dagger through her chest.
Behind him, the Duke watched silently—expressionless.
Of course. That was what her so-called family was like.
Those people.
Yuraine’s lips curved faintly into a crooked smile.
“It wasn’t Rebecca’s doing.”
“You’ve grown far too sentimental toward your servant,” Rampos said, face tightening with exhaustion.
He despised wasting words on such a useless sister.
After long days of paperwork at the palace for the Rigail campaign, he wanted nothing more than rest.
Yet here he was, dragged into this petty uproar.
“Then how do you explain that your mother’s keepsake was found in that maid’s room? Whose—”
“This necklace.”
Yuraine cut him off abruptly.
Holding up a silver chain, she extended her arm toward Rampos.
The necklace glittered softly in the light.
“It’s a fake.”
“A fake?”
The one who answered wasn’t Rampos.
It was the Duke.
He stepped forward, meeting Yuraine’s eyes with that same glacial stare.
There was not a trace of warmth in it.
Yuraine nearly flinched back.
Her body remembered that look—it had been burned into her from years of scorn.
Ah, yes… You were always like this.
Under that fortress-like gaze, memories she wished forgotten came flooding back.
She etched that look once more into her heart—
as a reminder never to expect anything from this family again.
“Yes, it’s fake,” Yuraine said softly, her eyes curving into a faint smile.
Then she stepped forward—straight up to the Duke—and held out the necklace.
“I think Your Grace will see it for yourself.”
The Duke accepted it carefully, examining it in silence.
The necklace was identical to what he remembered—
a sapphire of deep blue set at the center, surrounded by small diamonds.
Each stone, he had chosen himself.
For her.
Rosaline Tarbargen.
The noble daughter of the ducal house—perfect in beauty, talent, and poise.
An outstanding Esper as well.
Everyone had adored her.
How could they not? She shone like the sun.
This necklace had been his first gift to her after marrying into her name.
Yet now, this necklace was a fake.
And she—his beloved wife—had treasured it most of all.
He could still see her smiling brightly while wearing it…
But this—this was not the same.
Something felt wrong beneath his fingertips.
Yes. It was unmistakably a counterfeit.
The Duke’s face twisted in fury.
“Investigate everyone who’s been in and out of the keepsake chamber—immediately!”
His voice thundered through the hall.
The meaning was clear.
Clang!
He threw the necklace to the ground as if it were worthless scrap.
The sharp clatter rang throughout the room.
“Bring me the royal jeweler—at once!”
All day, the mansion was in chaos.
Someone had switched out the Duchess’s keepsakes—an unthinkable crime.
The issue with Yuraine’s maid was quickly forgotten amidst the Duke’s wrath.
While the household bustled with frantic investigation,
Yuraine remained quietly in her room.
“You… go back.”
