My Husband Never Dies - Chapter 40

She whipped her head to the side in frustration.

Step, step…

As Evelyn deliberately kept her eyes fixed on the books to avoid looking at him, the sound of his light footsteps gradually faded into the distance. Yet the overlapping echoes — shapeless and indistinct like something out of the fog — sent a chill crawling up her spine.

‘Please, please…!’

Terror surged. Her legs gave out beneath her, and she barely managed to support herself by grabbing the bookshelf. Though the duke’s presence had disappeared, she couldn’t let her guard down completely.

While she remained frozen, hyper-aware of every trace of sound around her, another set of footsteps approached — this time making no attempt to be silent. It was Laura, breathing heavily as she finally appeared and let out a long sigh of relief.

“Oh, my lady! Huff… You really should have told me where you were going!”

Her cheeks were flushed red, and in her hand she carried a bucket filled with ice. Evelyn simply stared at the melting ice, its clarity fading as it dripped.

“If you’re hot, use that to cool off.”

Perhaps Evelyn had grown too accustomed to the chaos of this twisted world, as she neither flinched nor trembled. She didn’t even want to know why Laura, the one who had guided her to the library in the first place, was now sweating as if she’d run a mile.

Following Evelyn’s suggestion, Laura picked up a piece of ice and fanned herself while glancing around the archive. Her expression quickly shifted to surprise and admiration.

“Oh my! When did the cleaning get done? There was so much dust before!”

Only then did Evelyn notice the air had grown noticeably fresher. The thick layer of dust that had once blanketed the tops of the shelves had vanished, almost as if the entire room had been scrubbed clean.

“Maybe the fog did the cleaning on its way through.”

Laura tilted her head, confused by the remark.

“The fog?”

That damned fog. Evelyn scowled, picturing that maddeningly beautiful face that filled her mind like a stain.

Sensing her mistress’s sour mood, Laura cautiously offered:

“If you’re going to stay here, shall I bring you some more tea?”

The thought of resuming their less-than-pleasant tea time made Evelyn internally groan, but she gave a small nod in response. She hadn’t yet accomplished what she came to the library for.

“I’ll just be a moment then. Please wait here.”

Leaving the bucket of ice on the center table, Laura hurried toward the exit.

“Stay right there, okay?”

Evelyn silently watched Laura’s retreating back — so bright, so brisk, and so untouched by anything. If she didn’t know any better, could she live like that?

‘No, I could never live like that.’

She was envious, but not really. Being swayed by others had always been unbearable to her, ever since she was a child.

The light, fussy presence that had filled the room had completely vanished. Finally, Evelyn could relax and truly begin examining the library.

She passed the books on crops, followed by volumes categorizing poisonous and medicinal herbs, and then books on all sorts of wild weeds — none of which she spared even a second glance. Even a quick skim told her these weren’t what she was searching for.

There were shelves on agriculture, shelves on birds and beasts, and shelves filled with regional knowledge. She walked past several more like that.

How many bookshelves had he passed?

And then, her steps halted abruptly in front of a shelf tucked deep in a corner.

It was a shelf filled with books too strange to categorize, a haphazard collection of mismatched tomes. But what drew Evelyn’s attention was a single, small, thin book wedged into the farthest corner of that already-forgotten shelf — so hidden, it would be easy to miss unless one looked very closely.

“Why…”

Why had it caught her eye? It was as if it was fate.

The spine was short, the size more like a notebook than a real book. Wrapped in velvet that hadn’t faded, it seemed almost untouched by time. Entranced, Evelyn carefully pulled the book free.

She was just about to open the cover of the small, titleless volume when—