Evelyn, a modern woman, finds herself suddenly transmigrated into a novel where her peaceful life is turned upside down by a crazy Duke who happens to be her husband. Her new life is a maze of danger and betrayal, as the Duke is determined to kill h...
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At the Quinn's residence :
After leaving the Miller's mansion, it took Renard several days to reach his own house. As the carriage entered the main gate, the butler and his assistant, Aiden (Xiver), rushed to greet him, visibly concerned as Renard arrived much later than expected. Stepping down from the carriage, Renard surprised the waiting staff, his head and neck wrapped in bandages. Aiden asked, "What happened to you, master?" his voice filled with concern, while worry clouded his eyes. "Just some scratches, nothing serious," Renard assured them with a wave of his hand, signaling his disinterest in discussing it further. "Oh my Lord!" the shocked butler exclaimed, covering his mouth with his hand. Aiden quickly grabbed him, locking arms around him, and remarked, looking at Renard, "Sir, I urge you not to bring any further surprises upon your return."
Aiden knew his master very well, but even so, looking at Renard, he could not help but worry. Sure, Renard had been injured several times in the past, but this time it was clear that he had returned from death's bed. Yet, instead of concern for his own health, Renard's focus was on the leather pouch sitting on his desk. His eyes were fixed on it, a crooked smile plastered on his lips. Despite Aiden's defeat in trying to persuade his master to see a doctor for a health check-up, all he could do was shake his head and exhale.
As he sat at the table, his brow furrowed in deep contemplation Each tap of his index finger echoed softly, a rhythmic punctuation to his thoughts. Arya's warning echoed in his mind, her words about the mana stone. It was a precious artifact, coveted by many, especially in this cruel world, attracting a lot of attention. But that also applied to monsters like Dasrekeb.
The leather pouch lay before him, its surface shimmering faintly with the subtle energy of the sealed mana stone nestled within. Yet, despite the protective enchantments woven into its very fabric, it had failed to shield the flow of it's mana.
His mind raced, each question birthing a dozen more in its wake. Had they been followed, their every move shadowed by unseen eyes? Or had the creature sensed the stone's latent power, drawn inexorably towards its source like a moth to flame?
With a heavy sigh, he leaned back in his chair, the weight of uncertainty pressing down upon him like a leaden shroud. The answers eluded him, buried beneath layers of doubt and speculation. But one thing he was sure about - the mana stone were a prize coveted by friend and foe alike.
At the duchy :
After the winter ball had ended, Ivan found himself unable to shake off the memory of Arya's captivating presence. Her image lingered in his mind like a delicate painting, each detail etched vividly in his memory.
He recalled the way Arya had glided across the ballroom floor, her evening gown cascading around her like a waterfall of midnight blue silk. The fabric seemed to shimmer under the soft glow of the chandeliers, catching the light in such a way that it appeared as though she was adorned with stardust, each particle twinkling in harmony with her every movement.
