Chapter 43

The face filled with murderous intent burned fiercely, despite the pale complexion and sunken eyes. The tears that had streamed down both palms seemed almost like a lie. Though the red marks remained, it was hard to imagine the face that had once collapsed in sobs.

Enoch stared at the unwavering Florence.

She was still upright, still fragile, still bit her lip like she’d been humiliated whenever she broke down.

He realized only now—seeing her at a distance—that she was truly back. The warmth that soaked his shoulder, the tears she failed to swallow, the brittle fingers that tried to push him away—those had never been his to begin with.

There had always been a distance between Enoch and Florence. Two steps. Three steps. Close enough to see, but never to touch.

“You didn’t even say a word. How could you know?”

Neither Keith nor Florence truly believed him, but Enoch knew. From the moment “Florence” looked at him, he knew the core had changed.

“That is something else.”

Something unknown.

In “Florence’s” blue eyes, he saw himself. Her large eyes curved sweetly. The deep blue darkened under long lashes—beautiful, but chilling. Florence would never smile like that. She didn’t know how to make such a sugary smile.

It acted like it forgot everything, then took over Florence’s body.

He couldn’t not know.

Enoch had always watched Florence.

And he hated himself for it.

“Can I have a moment?”
“Going to see Marie?”

Florence nodded slightly, without looking at Enoch. Only Keith. Keith agreed.

“I put her to sleep with magic. She won’t wake easily.”
“That’s better.”
“How long?”
“About 30 minutes.”
“I’ll come get you.”
“Thanks.”

Enoch furrowed his brow at the casual thank-you. Barely three weeks. Not even a full month since they met. And yet Florence asked for help, leaned on Keith, thanked him—things she struggled to do even once with Enoch.

Florence stood up with difficulty. Keith rose too, hand out as if to help, but Florence refused.

Only then did Enoch realize—she was limping.

“What happened to your leg?”
“…It’s fine. Almost healed.”

His voice, suppressed and hoarse, even sounded harsh to himself. Florence left without emotion.

Left alone, silence stretched between Enoch and Keith. Though Keith was always quick to bicker around Florence, now he stole glances, unsure what to say.

“Hey, you okay?”

Enoch sighed.

“What if I’m not?”
“Well, you’d start a fight again, I guess…”
“…When were you planning to tell me?”

The slums had burned ten days ago. The captain of the Blue Dawn knights and his men left the capital to search for the missing marchioness. Enoch listened to the news but never imagined the reason for her disappearance was Florence’s return.

“When were you going to bring her to me, Keith…?”
“When she calmed down a bit.”

“That’s her calmer version. When I found her, she was beaten to a pulp. When the slums burned and she fled—Enoch, if you’d seen her, you’d have lost it worse than I did.”

Keith’s expression twisted with pain. Enoch was furious—not at Keith, but at himself, for not being there.

If only I could’ve been there… if I could’ve driven that nightmare out myself…

Enoch pressed a hand over his weary eyes. It wasn’t a demon or spirit. He already knew exorcists wouldn’t help—he’d tried everything.

Florence had looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Her fragile fingers were scarred. Even walking was hard.

She never knew how to ask for help. She didn’t know how to use the man who loved her. All she knew was how to lift her chin stubbornly… and break.

Even in her pain, she still managed to tear apart the hearts of those who loved her.

“You’ve got a sharp tongue. She’s on the edge—she almost cried earlier.”
“She doesn’t cry. Not in front of me.”
“What was that before then?”
“…The first time I saw it.”

Keith admitted he’d meant to bring her to Enoch sooner. But the more he listened to her story, the more he hated her “family.”

“Your ties to the Seymour family… I didn’t want to remind her of them. She was finally getting stable thanks to Marie.”

Deep down, Keith wasn’t sure what Enoch knew—or how much to trust him. If Enoch was like the rest of the Seymour family…

But when Enoch saw the real Florence had returned, his face melted like ice under fire.

If Florence had seen that face, maybe she would’ve changed her mind about Enoch too.

“Damn it, Keith.”
“I’m listening. Go on.”
“I’m so angry I could lose my mind.”
“Yeah, you look like it.”

Keith offered a weak pat on his cousin’s shoulder.

Taking a deep breath helped—just barely.

From the moment Enoch saw her, he’d been trying to suppress the rage boiling inside him.

Florence, wrapped in fear, scarred fingers clutching herself—she was falling apart.

She’d been abandoned by her family, hated and scarred, but never gave up. Now she was torn to shreds, barely holding on.

Enoch just wanted her to smile.

Instead of desperately seeking love and getting hurt, he wanted her to be surrounded by those who truly loved her. He wanted her to know there were people like him, who loved her deeply.

Even if his love never reached her. Even if it only brought her pain.