[ Stella Valemont is Lord Cedric Valemont’s elder sister and Lady Sia Valemont’s sister-in-law, and the mother of Irina and Yeon.
She is Rosylin’s cruel aunt, an arrogant aristocratic woman who fiercely protects her own daughters while treating Rosylin with contempt.
She openly criticizes Rosylin’s appearance, poverty and lack of social standing, often using Cedric’s rejection of his daughter to justify her own cruelty.
]
Sylvan stood motionless outside the tea room.
He had been on his way to the library, intending to find another book for Rosylin.
Their final meeting was tonight, and after listening to her passionate criticism of the foolish prince in the previous night’s novel, he had decided to bring her something else to read.
But the moment he heard her name, his footsteps stopped.
“Why are you accusing my daughters when Rosylin is the culprit?”
Stella Valemont’s furious voice carried clearly through the closed door.
Sylvan turned his head.
He recognized Lady Sia’s voice when she answered.
“I’m asking what happened before Rosylin pushed them.
Surely I’m allowed to hear the entire story.”
“The entire story?
My daughters have already told you everything!”
Inside the tea room, Irina and Yeon were still crying against their mother.
“Mother, she grabbed my wrist!” Irina sobbed.
“She pushed me so hard I nearly fell!”
“And she pushed me onto her bed!” Yeon added.
“We didn’t do anything to her!”
Stella stroked their hair, her expression filled with outrage.
“My poor girls.
Imagine being treated this way by your own cousin!”
Lady Sia remained seated across from them.
She had listened to their accusations, but something about their story troubled her.
Rosylin had never been a confrontational child.
Even when she was frightened or upset, she usually retreated into silence rather than argue.
The idea that she had suddenly attacked both her cousins without any reason seemed difficult to believe.
“What were you doing in Rosylin’s bedroom?” Sia asked.
Irina wiped her cheeks.
“We went to visit her.”
“Why?”
“Can’t we visit our own cousin?”
“Of course you can.
I’m asking what happened while you were there.”
Yeon exchanged a quick glance with her sister.
“We were just talking.”
“About what?”
Stella abruptly interrupted.
“Enough, Sia!
Are you questioning my daughters as though they’re criminals?”
“I’m trying to understand why Rosylin became angry.”
“Perhaps because she’s an ill-mannered, ungrateful girl!”
Sia’s expression tightened.
“Please don’t speak about her that way.”
Stella gave a bitter laugh.
“Why not?
Everyone in this mansion knows what she’s like!”
Outside the door, Sylvan’s blue eyes narrowed.
He had intended to continue toward the library.
A disagreement between members of the Valemont family was hardly his concern.
But Rosylin’s name had changed that.
He remained where he was.
“Your daughter has finally shown her true nature,” Stella declared.
“I’ve told you countless times that allowing that girl to do whatever she pleases would eventually bring disgrace upon this family!”
Sia set her teacup down.
“Before you accuse Rosylin, I want to know what your daughters did to her.”
Irina immediately began crying again.
“Mother!
Aunt Sia thinks we’re lying!”
Stella drew her closer.
“Listen to yourself, Sia!
My daughters came here in tears because your daughter attacked them, and you’re accusing them instead?”
“I haven’t accused anyone.”
“Then why do you keep asking what they did?”
“Because Rosylin is my daughter, and I have every right to ask what happened to her before you demand that she be punished.”
Outside the tea room, Sylvan went completely still.
Her daughter?
His gaze shifted toward the closed door.
Inside, the argument continued.
“Your daughter?” Stella repeated scornfully.
“Then perhaps you should teach your precious daughter how to behave like one!”
Sia stared at her.
“What exactly are you suggesting?”
“Look at her!
She dresses like a beggar, wanders around the mansion like a thief and spends her days hiding in that filthy little room.
She has never learned the first thing about behaving like a respectable young lady!”
Sylvan’s expression slowly changed.
He remembered the neglected corridor he had secretly followed Rosylin through the previous night.
He remembered the narrow bedroom, the old wooden furniture, the carefully mended dresses and the little collection of books she treasured.
Lady Sia’s daughter?
His thoughts returned to the first time he had encountered Rosylin, three years earlier, when she had disguised herself as a maid at Noah’s wedding.
Then to the nights she had fled whenever he questioned her identity.
And finally to her desperate request beneath the old tree.
If you really care about me, please don’t ask me anything and don’t mention me to anyone.
Inside, Lady Sia rose from her chair.
“Rosylin is Cedric’s daughter.
She doesn’t owe him gratitude simply for allowing her to live in her own home.”
Sylvan stopped breathing for an instant.
Cedric’s daughter.
Lord Cedric Valemont.
The man who had welcomed him into this mansion with extravagant hospitality.
The man who had hosted magnificent celebrations for his eldest son and grandson.
The man whose youngest son had departed for the academy only a few days earlier.
Rosylin was his daughter.
Sylvan stared at the door.
For three years, he had wondered who she was.
He had considered the possibility that she was a servant, a distant relative or perhaps a homeless girl whom the Valemonts had reluctantly allowed to remain in their mansion.
Never once had he imagined that she was the daughter of its master.
“Gratitude?” Stella exclaimed.
“Lord Cedric has provided that girl with a roof over her head for nineteen years!
And this is how she repays his generosity?
By attacking her own cousins?”
“She’s his child!”
“Then why does he refuse to acknowledge her?”
Sia fell silent.
Stella leaned forward.
“Tell me, Sia.
When was the last time Cedric invited Rosylin to sit beside him at dinner?
When was the last time he allowed her to attend an important family gathering?”
“That has nothing to do with what happened today.”
“It has everything to do with it!
Even her own father understands that she doesn’t belong among respectable company!”
Outside, Sylvan’s jaw tightened.
Stella continued mercilessly.
“She doesn’t know how to behave in society.
She doesn’t attend celebrations.
She has no accomplishments worth mentioning.
All she does is hide in that miserable room with her ridiculous books!”
Sia’s hands curled into fists.
“That’s enough.”
“No, it isn’t!
My daughters have been humiliated by a girl who should be grateful that we tolerate her presence!”
Irina pressed a hand against her wrist.
“Mother, it still hurts.”
Stella immediately turned toward her.
“My poor darling!”
Then she glared at Sia.
“Look what your daughter has done!”
Sia looked directly at Irina.
“Did you damage something belonging to Rosylin?”
Irina hesitated.
Yeon lowered her gaze.
Stella noticed their expressions and immediately raised her voice.
“Even if they did, what could that girl possibly own that’s worth hurting someone over?
Another discarded rag she dragged out of the storeroom?”
Sylvan’s hand slowly tightened at his side.
He remembered the faded dress Rosylin had worn the previous night.
The careful stitches along its sleeves.
The black shawl she wrapped around herself whenever she ventured outside.
He remembered offering her his coat.
She had refused to take it back to her room because she feared what would happen if someone discovered it.
At the time, he had understood that she was frightened.
Now he was beginning to understand how much.
“Perhaps Cedric should finally send her away,” Stella continued.
“If she cannot behave properly beneath his roof, she has no business remaining here!”
Sia stared at her.
“Send her away?”
“Why not?
She’s already brought enough embarrassment upon the Valemont name!”
“She’s nineteen years old!”
“And old enough to understand that she has no right to attack my daughters!”
Stella drew Irina and Yeon closer.
“Don’t pretend you haven’t wondered why your husband refuses to acknowledge her.
Even her own father cannot bear to have her at his table.
Why should the rest of us tolerate her?”
“Enough!” Sia exclaimed.
But Stella was far too angry to stop.
“I want that girl brought downstairs immediately.
She will apologize to both my daughters, and Cedric will hear about this!”
Outside the tea room, Sylvan remained utterly silent.
He had heard enough.
He turned away from the door.
For a moment, he considered entering the room.
He imagined the sudden silence that would follow his appearance.
He imagined asking Irina and Yeon to repeat their accusations while looking directly into his eyes.
He wondered whether Stella would speak so confidently about throwing Rosylin out of her own home if she knew that an imperial prince had overheard every word.
But then he remembered Rosylin’s trembling voice.
Please don’t mention me to anyone.
She had asked him for one thing.
Secrecy.
And he had promised.
Sylvan drew a slow breath and continued down the corridor.
His footsteps were measured, his shoulders straight and his expression perfectly composed.
A passing servant bowed deeply.
“Your Highness.”
Sylvan barely acknowledged him.
He walked toward the library without looking back.
But the words he had overheard followed him through every corridor.
Even her own father cannot bear to have her at his table.
Another discarded rag she dragged out of the storeroom.
Perhaps Cedric should finally send her away.
By the time he reached the library, his expression had become frighteningly cold.
He pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped inside.
The familiar scent of old paper greeted him.
Tall shelves stretched toward the ceiling, and the afternoon sunlight fell across polished reading tables.
It was a peaceful room.
The sort of place Rosylin loved.
Yet Sylvan could think of nothing peaceful at all.
He stood before the shelves for several minutes, staring at the books without truly seeing them.
He had come here to choose something for her.
Something she would enjoy.
Something that might make her forget, for a few hours, whatever troubles awaited her beyond their secret meetings.
He slowly walked toward a shelf containing old novels.
His attention settled on a book with a faded burgundy cover.
It was a tragic love story.
He remembered reading it years earlier: two people who loved each other deeply but were separated by circumstances beyond their control.
Neither had found the courage to reveal their feelings before it was too late.
Sylvan took the book from the shelf.
He turned it over, examining its worn cover.
Rosylin would probably hate it.
She had already told him exactly what she thought about foolish princes, unrealistic romances and people who believed love could solve every problem.
He could almost hear her complaining.
Why would you bring me another sad love story?
For a brief moment, the thought threatened to make him smile.
Then he remembered the expression on her face when she had asked why people continued searching for love when they might only end up alone.
His smile disappeared.
He carried the book to an armchair beside the window and sat down.
Sylvan opened the novel.
He read the first sentence.
Then the second.
But the words refused to settle in his mind.
With a heavy sigh, he closed the book and leaned back against the chair.
His eyes slowly shut.
The voices from the tea room returned.
The accusations.
The contempt.
The casual cruelty with which Stella had discussed sending Rosylin away.
And the revelation that had changed everything.
She’s Cedric’s daughter.
Sylvan pressed his fingers against his forehead.
He had believed himself capable of controlling his emotions.
Three years in the Imperial Legion had taught him to remain composed in situations far worse than an argument between noblewomen.
He had witnessed suffering, violence and betrayal.
He had learned to make decisions while others panicked and to keep his expression unreadable even when anger threatened to overwhelm him.
Yet now, sitting alone in an ordinary library, he could barely understand what he was feeling.
Sadness.
Anger.
Rage.
All of it struck him at once.
He remembered Rosylin asleep in the old tree, her black shawl slipping just enough to reveal the scars along her arms.
He remembered catching her wrist.
Who dared to do this to you?
She had refused to answer.
Instead, she had told him that some people in the mansion disliked her and that speaking up only made things worse.
Then she had tried so desperately not to cry.
He remembered pulling her into his arms without even understanding why he had done it.
How she had frozen.
How her fingers had slowly tightened around his coat.
And how she had finally cried against his chest, as though she had been holding those tears inside for years.
Sylvan’s fingers tightened around the armrest.
How many times?
How many times had those girls tormented her?
How many times had Stella defended them while Rosylin was blamed?
How many times had Cedric looked away?
His jaw clenched.
He remembered her little bedroom.
Its narrow bed, old furniture and worn curtains.
Her patched dresses.
The way she had hurried to drag him inside the previous night because she was terrified that someone might see him standing outside her door.
She was the daughter of one of the wealthiest noblemen in Ashen.
Yet she lived in conditions that would have been considered unacceptable for many of the mansion’s servants.
And then another memory struck him.
The kitchen.
Rosylin sitting alone in the middle of the night, hurriedly eating a piece of bread.
He remembered how startled she had been when he caught her.
At the time, he had been too occupied with their broken promise to think carefully about why she was eating at such an hour.
But now…
His eyes opened.
They don’t even give her proper food.
The realization made his chest tighten.
The Valemonts held magnificent banquets.
Their dining tables were crowded with expensive dishes, and servants carried away enough untouched food to feed several households.
Yet their own daughter had been sneaking into the kitchen for bread.
During their first nighttime meeting, Rosylin had eaten almost everything he brought her.
Bread.
Cheese.
Fruit.
Pastries.
She had tried to behave politely, but he had noticed how hungry she was.
He remembered her shivering beneath her old black shawl.
He remembered her embarrassment when he offered her his coat.
He remembered how she had apologized for staining it with her tears, as though an expensive piece of clothing mattered more than her suffering.
Sylvan slowly lowered his head.
“Not even a proper meal…”
His voice was barely audible.
A sudden surge of rage swept through him.
He wanted to return to the tea room.
He wanted to demand that Irina and Yeon explain every scar he had seen on Rosylin’s arms.
He wanted Stella to repeat her cruel accusations in front of him.
And Cedric Valemont…
The man had welcomed an imperial prince into his mansion with every possible luxury while keeping his own daughter hidden in its most neglected rooms.
Sylvan closed his eyes again.
He could imagine confronting Cedric.
He could imagine stripping away every comfortable excuse the man had used to justify his neglect.
He could imagine making everyone responsible for Rosylin’s suffering regret the day they had first laid a hand on her.
But beneath that fury was something far more painful.
Sadness.
He remembered how Rosylin’s eyes brightened whenever she spoke about books.
How she laughed when he teased her.
How she had accidentally called him handsome and then become so embarrassed that she could barely look at him.
He remembered her sitting beside him the previous night, criticizing the prince in the story with such passion that he had almost forgotten everything else.
She could be stubborn.
She could be argumentative.
She could be wonderfully entertaining when she forgot to be afraid.
And then, without warning, she would remember that she was supposed to remain invisible.
That was what hurt him most.
She had grown so accustomed to cruelty that even the smallest kindness seemed to surprise her.
He had fallen in love with her before discovering who she was.
Now that he knew, the thought of everything she had endured made his chest ache.
He wanted her to have warm clothes.
A comfortable bedroom.
Proper meals.
The freedom to walk through her own home without fear.
He wanted her to laugh without worrying that someone might punish her afterward.
Things she should never have had to beg for.
But he couldn’t simply seize control of her life because he possessed the power to do so.
Rosylin had trusted him with one request.
He would not turn that trust into another thing taken away from her.
Sylvan drew a long breath and slowly opened his eyes.
The library remained quiet.
Sunlight still fell across the shelves.
The tragic love story rested on his lap.
Nothing around him had changed.
But he knew he would never again look at the Valemont family in quite the same way.
He picked up the book.
Tonight, he would see Rosylin.
He would bring her the novel, even though she would undoubtedly complain about its unhappy ending.
And he would bring her something to eat.
For now, he would keep what he had discovered to himself.
Meanwhile, in the neglected wing of the Valemont mansion, Rosylin slowly opened her eyes.
For a moment, she couldn’t understand why her neck hurt or why her legs felt so stiff.
Then she realized she had fallen asleep sitting on her bed, her knees drawn against her chest and her face buried between them.
Her long burgundy hair had fallen forward, covering her face.
The afternoon sunlight had faded, leaving a soft golden glow beyond her window.
Evening was approaching.
Rosylin lifted her head and rubbed her sleepy eyes.
Beside her lay the ruined blue dress.
Her heart sank.
She stared at it for several moments.
The sleeve she had carefully repaired was torn again.
The hem had come loose, and dirt stained the fabric where Irina and Yeon had trampled it.
She had spent almost the entire day working on that dress.
For once, she had wanted to look beautiful.
For once, she had wanted to stand before Sylvan without feeling embarrassed by her old, messy clothes.
Now even that small wish seemed foolish.
Her eyes began to sting again.
Rosylin reached toward the dress, then stopped.
“No.”
She took a deep breath.
Then another.
She had already wasted enough time being miserable.
Tonight was her last meeting with Sylvan.
After tonight, he would leave the Valemont mansion, returning to the imperial household and the life that awaited him there.
She didn’t know when she would see him again.
Perhaps he would return someday.
Perhaps he wouldn’t.
The thought made her chest tighten, but she immediately shook her head.
“I won’t be sad tonight.”
She wiped the corners of her eyes.
It was only their last meeting.
There was no reason to ruin it by crying over something that had already happened.
She had promised to meet him.
And for once, she intended to keep her promise without running away.
Rosylin carefully folded the damaged blue dress and placed it aside.
Then she climbed down from her bed and approached her old wooden wardrobe.
Its hinges creaked when she opened the doors.
Inside hung the same faded dresses she had worn for years.
One had a repaired sleeve.
Another had been patched near the waist.
The dress she usually wore beneath her black shawl had become so thin from repeated washing that she could almost see the light through parts of its fabric.
Rosylin pushed them aside one by one.
“Surely I have something else…”
Her fingers suddenly brushed against a piece of dark red fabric.
She paused.
Hidden behind her everyday clothes was an extremely old red dress.
She carefully pulled it free.
The dress had been discarded long ago.
Its fabric was faded in places, the hem was frayed, and a small tear ran along one sleeve.
It had clearly seen better days, and Rosylin could barely remember when she had last taken it out.
But it was red.
A deep, beautiful red.
She held it against herself and turned toward the mirror.
For several moments, she simply stared.
Her long burgundy hair fell across the fabric, almost blending with its rich color.
She had never imagined wearing such a striking dress in front of Sylvan.
The blue dress had been soft and delicate.
This one was different.
It was old, unfashionable and far from perfect.
But perhaps it could still be beautiful.
Rosylin glanced toward the ruined blue dress resting on her bed.
Then she looked back at the red one.
A small, determined smile appeared on her face.
“Fine.”
She lifted her chin.
“I’ll wear red tonight.”
For the first time since her cousins had left, a little excitement returned to her eyes.
She imagined Sylvan standing in her doorway, wearing that familiar expression of cold amusement.
What have we here?
Did you dress up because you knew I was coming?
Her cheeks immediately warmed.
“Although he’d better not tease me too much.”
She carried the old red dress toward the window, where the last of the daylight would help her prepare it for their final meeting.