“Your Grace—”

Julian tried to follow her, but her guards stepped into his path.

The duchess left without looking back.

With the contract gone, Julian finally stopped pretending.

“Lucian, is tormenting the Whitmores that entertaining? You keep coming after us. When will you be satisfied?”

Lucian slipped the Beauty’s Bone bracelet back onto his wrist. The blood-red beads stood out against his pale skin.

Then he noticed the talisman dangling nearby.

He hooked its string with a finger, lifted it, and dropped it into the trash.

“I told you. If she’s alive, I’ll find her. If she’s dead, I’ll find her body.”

He turned away.

I immediately followed. I had spent more than enough time looking at Julian.

Behind us, Julian shouted, “You’re insane! You can spend your whole life hiding in the gutter, loving someone who’ll never love you back. You’re a joke! The woman you love won’t spare you a glance, even on her deathbed!”

Lucian kept walking.

“Miles. He talks too much.”

“Yes, sir.”

Miles went back into the room.

A moment later, Julian screamed.

The sound was deeply satisfying.

He really should have learned when to shut his mouth.

Lucian’s expression hadn’t changed, but I could feel it. Julian had struck somewhere that hurt.

Who was that woman?

Did she even know how he felt?

Outside, the driver opened the rear door.

The duchess was sitting inside.

“Luc, why didn’t you call and tell me sooner that the woman in there wasn’t Stella?”

I blinked.

Luc?

They knew each other that well?

“Losing something when it’s almost in your hands hurts more than never getting it.”

The duchess shook her head, both fond and exasperated.

“You’re exactly like your mother when you decide to be cruel. Fortunately, Julian has no idea I’m your aunt.”

His aunt?

I stared at them.

Now that I looked, there was a resemblance. The same eyes, traces of the same features. Lucian’s gray-blue eyes had always made his mixed ancestry obvious, and a royal marriage was entirely plausible for a family like the Blackwoods.

But his mother had lived so privately. There were barely any photographs of her. Lucian’s own position as the Blackwood heir had always been so dazzling that nobody paid much attention to his mother’s background.

His mother was Princess Beatrice.

The eldest princess of Aldoria.

And the Duchess of Talworth’s older sister.

Lucian had already contacted his pilot. His private jet was waiting at a designated airfield, and the car took the duchess straight there.

“You won’t even buy your aunt dinner before sending her away?” she complained.

“You came to Fairhaven privately. If people find out you’re here, you’ll have trouble.”

She studied his face, her expression softening, as though she could see someone else in it.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Lucian smiled faintly.

“If I can’t handle it, do you think you can?”

“Luc.” Her tone turned serious. “You keep everything inside. If you never say it, how is anyone supposed to understand? If you love someone, you have to fight for her.”

His gaze dropped to the red bracelet on his wrist.

“There’s no chance left.”

The words were so quiet they almost disappeared into the wind.