The room was almost dark; a single fire in the hearth gave the expensive table a sickly, flickering glow. Ash fell like lazy snow. Two men stood in shadow by the nearest window, shoulders hunched against the cold. At the head of the table, the man they’d come to see lounged in the leather chair, back turned to them as if the flames were the only thing worth watching.
“What is the result, then?” an old voice asked, dry as smoked parchment.
“One of the unexpected ones, Your Grace,” the nearer man said carefully. “The target was almost lost—interference from another woman delayed the effect. Still, the second shot landed. The reaction was… noticeable.”
The duke—if that title fit him—laughed softly, a puff of tobacco smoke hissing through his teeth. The smoke curled upward, catching the firelight and painting his profile in ruinous gold. “Good. That brat has been silent for a month since the accident. We had no choice but to make a move.”
The second man hesitated. “But the serum, my lord—it was still under trial. We don’t yet know the long-term effects. There could be side reactions.”
The duke waved a hand, dismissing the concern with a lazy flick of his fingers. “It doesn’t matter. The result I want is the same.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting with cruel amusement. “The ruin of the de Guzman household.”
The first man’s smile thinned. “She’ll be useful. The right scandal will topple more than her pride.”
“Exactly.” The duke tapped the arm of his chair as though testing a plan already made. “Let her wreak havoc in public. Her name will be sullied, and gossip will become a weapon. The royal court will seize the scandal as leverage and drive us from every useful post. The de Guzman estate will look weak. Perfect.”
Outside, distant church bells marked the hour, but inside the room the three of them were already counting the seconds until rumor did their work.
Vivian de Guzman woke to a dull, biting ache in both arms—especially her left. When she tried to move, pain flared, sharp and hot.
“Ow—ow…” she hissed under her breath, forcing herself upright.
“My lady, are you awake?” Mary’s voice came from the corner. The maid stood unusually far from the bed, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “Are you alright?”
Vivian blinked at her, frowning. “No, I’m not alright. Both arms are sore, and my hands won’t stop throbbing.” She flexed her fingers and winced. “Why are you standing all the way over there? And where’s Helen? When did we even get back? How did the errands go?”
The questions tumbled out one after another. Her head ached just trying to piece together what had happened. Why can’t I remember returning to the estate?
“We… finished them yesterday, my lady,” Mary said carefully.
“Yesterday?” Vivian’s eyes widened.
“Yes, my lady. Helen has been relieved for the day—she’s fallen ill.” Mary hesitated, bowing quickly.
“I—I’ll fetch you some ice and a pain reliever at once.”
“Wait—what happened to Helen?” Vivian called, but Mary was already out the door, skirts whispering down the corridor.
Left alone, Vivian stared at her sore hands. What really happened yesterday?
When the door opened again, Mary returned with Carmina, the assistant physician.
“Good morning, my lady,” Carmina greeted, her tone brisk but gentle. “Aside from the muscle pain, are there any other discomforts? Headache, nausea, blurred vision?”
Vivian exhaled. “None… other than another missing memory. I don’t recall coming back home.”
Carmina tilted her head, humming softly as she prepared a spoonful of medicine.
“Hmm, hmm~~ I see. Open wide, please—ahh.”
Vivian complied, grimacing as the bitter taste hit her tongue.
“Here, my lady,” Carmina said, handing her a glass. “Milk with honey. Since you’re still forbidden from having wine.”
Vivian gulped it down in one go, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.
“It’s not nearly as comforting,” she muttered.
“I apologize on behalf of the doctor,” Carmina said after a moment, smoothing her medical coat. “He can’t attend to you right now—something urgent came up.”
She hesitated, glancing briefly at Mary before continuing.
“However… the young lady who accompanied you yesterday has just returned to St. Therese Boutique after being treated by the nurses.”
Vivian frowned, rubbing her temple. “Another woman with me?” she murmured, trying to recall. “Who?”
Mary stepped forward slightly. “It was the commoner from the boutique, my lady—the silver-haired one. After the knights released her, she was tended by the estate nurses. She came to visit you while you were still unconscious before returning to St. Therese.”
Vivian’s brows knit, but the words barely sank in; her head still throbbed from the dull ache behind her eyes. Released? she didn’t quite register the term—too preoccupied with piecing together her missing memory.
Carmina nodded in agreement. “She only stayed for a short while, but she requested to see you again once you’d fully recovered.”
The heroine was here? With me—and I didn’t even know? Vivian’s heart gave a sharp jolt. Just what happened yesterday…?
She looked from Mary to Carmina. “So what really happened?”
The two women exchanged uneasy glances. Mary’s eyes lowered to the floor while Carmina exhaled quietly, as though bracing herself.
“It seems, my lady,” she began carefully, “that you were drugged.”
Vivian stiffened. “Drugged?”
“Yes. Do you recall taking any medicine, food, or drink that might have seemed unusual?”
Drugged? she thought, her mind racing. I only drank the tea from the boutique.
Then her breath caught. “No… not the tea. I was hit by something—a magic dart.”
Carmina folded her notes closed and looked at Vivian steadily.
“My lady, I need to explain something carefully.”
Vivian blinked, her gaze flicking from the physician’s white coat to the faint glow of the ward crystals hanging near the door. “Is it bad news?”
“Not terrible,” Carmina said, her tone calm but measured. “But serious enough. The substance that entered your system wasn’t a normal sedative. It contained traces of alchemical residue—something experimental, mixed with mana to alter energy flow.”
Vivian frowned. “Alchemy? As in—magic potions?”
“In a sense,” Carmina replied. “Alchemy combines magic and medicine. The residue in your blood reacts unusually with mana—it doesn’t fade the way normal medicine should.” She hesitated, lowering her gaze. “Our hypothesis is that the compound was meant to suppress movement or will temporarily, but its secondary effects remain unclear. It could behave like a slow-acting toxin… or simply an unstable byproduct that mimics one.”
Vivian’s brows knit. “Meaning?”
Carmina drew a slow breath. “Meaning we can’t predict how your body will respond to treatment yet. If the residue tilts toward a toxin rather than a sedative, any suppressant could trigger a violent reaction. Your scent cycle might destabilize entirely.”
Vivian’s brow furrowed. “My scent cycle?”
“Exactly,” Carmina said, her tone professional and calm. “That’s why, until the alchemical residue clears, you must rest and avoid anything that might stir your pheromones—especially strong Alpha scents. Those can trigger instability while the residue’s still interacting with your mana.”
Vivian blinked, confused. “But… why would Alpha scent even matter to me?”
Carmina noticed the faint flicker of uncertainty that crossed her mistress’s face—the way her lips parted, then closed again, as if realizing she’d said something odd. Her reply was smooth, her tone light but deliberate.
“Because Alpha—or Omega—scent reactions both draw from the same part of the body’s mana flow. Either one could interfere with your recovery,” she said evenly.
Vivian said nothing. The word Omega hung in the air, unfamiliar and strangely heavy.
Carmina continued briskly, leaving no time for lingering questions.
“So—no suppressant for now. You need rest, light meals, and no alcohol. And above all, avoid proximity to anyone with strong scent fluctuations—particularly those in heat or rut—until your system resets. We’ll monitor your temperature and scent markers daily until it clears.”
Vivian blinked, her eyes flicking toward Mary—who still stood at a careful distance near the doorway.
Is that why she’s keeping away from me?
Carmina followed her gaze and added softly, “Please understand Mary’s precaution, my lady. It’s only for your safety—and hers.”
Then, perhaps to ease the heavy silence, she smiled faintly. “Still, if your heat cycle does act up unexpectedly, I’ll have Mary reassigned outside your chambers for her own good. We can’t have you devouring your poor little maid, can we?”
Mary nearly dropped the cloth she was holding. “M–Madam Carmina!” she sputtered, her face turning pink.
Vivian blinked, cheeks burning as she sputtered, “Carmina!”
The physician only smiled mildly, making a neat note on her clipboard. “Apologies, my lady. Humor helps recovery.”
The tension in the room eased at last—though neither mistress nor maid could quite meet the other’s eyes
Carmina spoke again—her tone once more calm and factual.
“So it was a dart, then. The knights said they found no trace of any weapon or residue at the scene.” She paused thoughtfully. “But according to Miss Frostman’s statement, it vanished the moment it struck—dissolving into thin air.”
Vivian frowned. “That’s true. I saw it myself—just for a second before it disappeared. It was faintly green, almost translucent.”
Carmina hummed under her breath, concern flickering across her face. “Then her report aligns perfectly with yours, my lady. Those kinds of enchanted projectiles are designed to erase evidence.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she thought to herself,
A self-erasing dart… that’s a new type of projectile. Even among regulated enchantments,
that kind of refinement is rare.
Only the Head of the Magic Tower could authorize testing or circulation of such a weapon—and anyone caught using it without approval would be charged with magical contraband and attempted murder.
Outwardly, she remained calm, but her fingers tightened subtly on her clipboard. Whoever orchestrated this wasn’t just powerful—they were reckless enough to break tower law.
Mary’s hands twisted in her skirt. “It’s true, my lady. The shop workers said they saw it happen, but everything after was… chaos.”
Carmina stepped closer, her voice low and steady. “Try not to strain yourself, my lady. Just—what’s the last thing you remember before waking here?”
Vivian closed her eyes, recalling the scene—the two strangers, the dart’s flash of green light, the surge of cold inside her veins, Vivianne’s terrified face—then nothing.
She told them everything. Every detail she could piece together.
Carmina listened in silence, her brow furrowed deep in thought. When Vivian finished, the physician nodded grimly. “It seems the commoner’s report matches your story almost exactly. Her statement filled in details that even your knights and maids could not confirm.”
Vivian blinked. “She gave a report?”
“Yes, my lady. She returned with your carriage, carrying you herself,” Carmina said carefully. “However, she was detained for twenty-four hours afterward. The knights’ testimonies aligned, but hers contained far more information than they could explain. Because of that, the Duke suspected her of possible involvement in the attack.”
“She was detained?” Vivian repeated, disbelief tightening her voice.
Carmina nodded once. “Yes. She was released soon after, but only because the Duke decided her fate should wait until you awoke—to verify the truth yourself.”
Silence settled over the room, broken only by the faint crackle of the hearth.
Vivian’s fingers clenched the bedsheets. She carried me back… and they accused her for it.
“Thank you for the explanations, my lady. You can rest easy now—”
“What about Helen?” Vivian interrupted sharply. “What happened to her? What illness does she have?”
The room fell quiet for a beat before Carmina finally answered.
“…Your maid Helen has a sprained neck, my lady. She’ll need several days of rest.”
“Sprained her neck?” Vivian’s voice rose. “Who would dare strike my maid on the neck? Was it those two men pretending to be knights? Or—” her tone faltered, “—was it because of all the heavy things she carried yesterday?”
Carmina raised a hand gently.
“My lady, please. You should focus on your own recovery first. It will take a few days for the drug to leave your system, and there may be aftereffects—especially on your heat cycle. For that reason, you must remain in your room."
The news had spread like wildfire.
By morning, whispers of the duke’s daughter’s rampage had reached every parlor,
corridor, and alley of the capital.
Lady Vivian de Guzman assaulted her own maid, they said. In public, no less—what disgrace.
Even within the estate’s walls, gossip bloomed like rot in damp wood. Servants avoided her eyes, bowed too quickly, or scattered altogether.
Vivian sat by the window, one arm swathed in bandages, the other resting heavily in her lap. The sunlight outside had lost its warmth—it only highlighted the stiffness in her hands.
She exhaled, low and bitter. I really did that.
I hit Helen… with my own hand.
Because of me.
What should I do now?
Is fate really trying to kill me off just because I won’t play by its script?
Her reflection in the vanity mirror looked pale and defiant all at once. No. I won’t lose to this.
She straightened her shoulders.
First, I’ll apologize to Helen. Then—ah, the rewards. They’re still unopened, aren’t they?
She reached for the bell on her bedside table and rang it. The clear chime sounded too delicate for her mood.
Moments later, Mary entered with a cautious bow. “My lady, you called?”
“Yes,” Vivian said, her tone calm but deliberate. “The things I bought from St. Therese—unpack them.”
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