My Ruin to You - Chapter 51

Roseline shivered from the cold and opened her eyes. A dim dawn light filtered through the window, and she found herself lying on a sofa, still wrapped in Valen’s cloak. A sofa? They had used all the furniture to barricade the door—since when was there a sofa left?

“……Huh?”

She bolted upright and scanned the room. Even putting aside the fact that no one was there, this wasn’t the drawing room. The space was filled with furniture swallowed in a bluish darkness, scattered objects, and a small door along the wall—likely connecting to the drawing room. This must have been an attached study.

Most studies had their own doors leading to the hallway, but this one was deliberately hidden inside the drawing room. Was there something he wanted to keep concealed?

Luck was on her side. Eyes gleaming, Roseline quietly set her feet on the floor. She rose onto her tiptoes and crept toward the desk. It looked as if a typhoon had swept through—the desk was tilted crookedly, stationery and papers were scattered everywhere, and four drawers hung precariously open.

What she was looking for wasn’t there. The loose papers were all related to the territory—no records of the clinic or experiments.

“Where did that gloomy bastard hide it?”

Muttering under her breath in irritation, she glanced around—then froze. A portrait on the wall caught her eye. Even in the midst of chaos, its frame hung perfectly straight, untouched.

Roseline crept closer and carefully lifted it. Setting it down silently, she ran her fingers along the wall—and sure enough, she felt seams. Excited, she pried open the hidden panel and peered inside.

“……”

Nothing. Only darkness filled the revealed space. A thought struck her—what if the Marquis is still alive? If he had gathered all the relevant documents and fled the estate when the incident broke out…

Come to think of it, there had been something strange that night. The bats had been burning mid-flight, their wings spread as they soared. It had been a precise magical attack—targeted. And the Marquis was an offensive-type Manifestor.

“You’re awake.”

The sudden voice made her heart plummet to the floor. Roseline stiffened, then turned robotically.

“Ah, well, you see… I was rummaging around, but what I was actually looking for was—”

“Roseline.”

Valen cut off her rambling excuse, one hand on the doorknob, the other tucked in his pocket. Roseline. A perfectly ordinary address—but his voice was so devoid of warmth that her stomach twisted.

“……Yes, Your Grace.”

“No need to explain yourself to me. If you’ve come to your senses, come out.”

“That’s all.”

With those indifferent words, Valen turned away, leaving the door wide open behind him. Yes, Your Grace. Roseline muttered the reply under her breath, knowing he wouldn’t hear it, and trudged toward the door. Then, suddenly remembering his cloak still on the sofa, she turned back—only for a memory to surface.

“Ah, Your Grace. Don’t misunderstand, but… could you listen for a moment?”

They had been in a carriage on their way to a banquet. That day, Roseline had cautiously broached a topic that had been weighing on her.

“When you speak to other noble ladies… could you avoid using ‘you’ so casually, like you do with me?”

“What?”

“Of course, you know best, but I just thought I’d mention it in case it’s become a habit.”

It had been a piece of advice she’d agonized over a hundred times before voicing. Valen had stared at her with an unreadable expression—somewhere between amusement, annoyance, and stifled laughter—before rubbing his brow and letting out a dry chuckle.

“Unbelievable. Roseline.”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“There’s no ‘other noble lady’ I’d bother speaking to, so that’s not something you need to worry about. If you want me to address you formally, you’ll have to become my wife.”

“Oh dear, I knew you’d misunderstand! That’s not what I meant at all. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s knowing my place—so don’t worry, Your Grace.”

Valen had exhaled, watching her determined expression.

“Right. You are hopeless when it comes to these things.”

“…Excuse me?”

“It seems the lady knows nothing of a man’s heart. How troubling.”

Just that slight shift in his tone had thickened the air between them. Strangely, heat had rushed to her nape, making it suddenly difficult to meet his eyes. For the briefest moment, she’d even felt a pang of envy for the future Grand Duchess—whoever she might be. If he’s this tender with a lover, how well would he treat his wife?