Episode 4 – The Blood-Spitting Misunderstanding
Irene had just finished getting ready to go out when a maid approached cautiously.
“My lady, Lady Nora left on foot to visit Duke Philip’s grave. If you meet her on the way, perhaps you could bring her
in the carriage?”
“She walked all the way there?”
“Yes, I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen.”
The maid clearly feared she’d get blamed, but before Irene could speak, Enoch cut in.
“How long ago did she leave?”
“About an hour.”
Irene let out an irritated sigh.
“Why can’t she just stay still instead of constantly getting under my skin?”
She realized Enoch was right there and glanced at him.
“Sorry. I’m just on edge. You never liked it when I spoke ill of Nora, did you?”
Enoch didn’t reply—just escorted her into the carriage when it arrived.
As they rolled out, a pleasant breeze drifted through the window. Irene leaned out slightly, enjoying it, and then let
her eyes settle on Enoch.
He was always handsome, but up close, with that dangerous edge under his polished manners, he was… compelling. If
not for his status back then, she might’ve chosen him over Philip ten years ago.
But now Enoch is a duke, and Philip is gone… What if I had chosen differently?
She shook the thought away, looking out at the golden fields ready for harvest. She’d been shut up in the mansion
since the funeral; everything outside felt strangely fresh.
“It’s nice to be out, isn’t it, Enoch?” she said brightly. “We should’ve brought a picnic basket. That shady spot over
there would be perfect.”
Enoch’s expression cooled.
“Sorry, Irene. We’re not out for a picnic.”
“…Oh.”
She suddenly remembered exactly where they were headed, and the rest of the ride passed in heavy silence.
When they reached the cemetery gates, Enoch stepped out first—just in time to see a rider approaching at speed.
“Irene, stay here,” he said, watching warily.
When the rider dismounted, Irene smiled.
“It’s fine, Enoch. He’s a servant from the Brandon estate.”
“What is it, Joseph?”
“My lady, there’s been—”
Joseph glanced at Enoch and shut his mouth. Clearly, it wasn’t something to say in front of him.
“Irene,” Enoch said, “I’ll go ahead to Philip. Come when you’re done.”
Finding Philip’s grave wasn’t hard—Nora was already there. Her slim shoulders trembled, her hands braced on the
headstone, her body hunched slightly.
Is she… crying?
He scowled. Somehow, her silent, restrained grief was more irritating than if she’d just wept out loud.
Striding over, he spoke coldly:
“Still not over Philip? Irene’s on her way—don’t let her see you acting like this.”
“What? Who says I’m not over Philip?”
She wiped her lips with the back of her hand, frowning.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Then wipe that redness from your eyes before denying it.”
Her brown eyes were full of indignation, but Enoch wasn’t inclined to believe her—she’d always been careless with her
feelings.
Was today cursed?
First, I try to get Irene to eat and she bites my head off for “meddling.”
Then I come out for a nice sunny ten-thousand-steps walk, and Enoch accuses me of pining after Philip.
And why is he so determined to link me to Philip anyway? In the original novel, we never even met.
“I think you’ve got the wrong idea—”
“Quiet. Irene’s coming.”
Just like that, his face smoothed back into its usual calm. Sure enough, Irene was walking toward us, clutching a
bouquet, looking gorgeous but oddly flustered.
“What’s wrong, Irene?” I asked.
“Enoch, I’m sorry, but…”
She ignored me completely.
“I need to go straight back to the mansion.”
“Alright,” he said simply.
I blinked. That’s it? No ‘what happened?’ Even Irene looked thrown.
“Um… I’ll have to take the carriage. I’ll send it back right away.”
“Fine.”
She hesitated, then turned to leave.
“Irene!”
She spun back, smiling hopefully.
“You forgot the bouquet.”
“Oh. Right. Here. Sorry I’m just… distracted.”
Even then, Enoch didn’t ask why.
I tried to make sense of it until I remembered where we were. Ah… dead friend’s grave. He doesn’t want to show
open concern for another woman in front of Philip.
Huh. Maybe he was loyal.
When Irene left, Enoch stepped up to the headstone, placing his bouquet beside mine. His hand lingered on the stone,
his face twisting with pain.
“Sorry I’m late, Philip.”
He covered his eyes, biting his lip.
Whoa. He’s actually crying?
In the novel, Enoch had once been played by both Philip and Irene. Back at the Royal Academy, he’d been the
strongest candidate in an open sword tournament, with a promise of admission as a trainee knight if he won. Irene
had coaxed him into letting Philip win instead.
Philip’s career had soared after that. Readers had hated it, saying Philip wasn’t worthy of being the male lead. But still
seeing Enoch cry for him was… surprising.
I didn’t think words would help, so I quietly pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and offered it.
It was stained with pomegranate juice, but folded so the marks didn’t show.
“I’ll wash it and return it,” he said.
“Don’t bother. It’s used just keep it.”
He unfolded it anyway and, of course, the red stains were now glaringly obvious.
“Oh, come on, just give it back.”
I reached for it, but he lifted it out of reach, studying it with a frown.
“Nora… you’re still coughing up blood?”
“…What?”
I stared, stunned. Wait—this body has a blood-coughing illness?
Before I could protest, I was suddenly swept off my feet literally.
I found myself in full princess carry, pressed against a firm, muscular chest.
“Enoch! What are you”
He tightened his arms, pulling me closer until my cheek was stuck to him like glue, my pulse hammering loud enough
for me to hear it.
Trying to sound calm, I asked,
“Enoch… what exactly are you doing right now?”
