Rina sat motionless, her fingers curled tightly around the delicate porcelain cup, now growing cold in her grip.
Naoko's words echoed in her mind like a bell tolling in a frozen cathedral.
*"I killed him."
"I never let him touch me."
"Artificial mana-based insemination."
"Emotions are liabilities."*
Every sentence had landed like a quiet blow—soft in tone, brutal in meaning.
Rina's golden eyes stared into her tea, watching the amber surface tremble ever so slightly, reflecting her own shaking hands. She couldn't hide it anymore, not even from herself.
She was terrified.
Not of Naoko's power—that much had been obvious from the beginning—but of her sheer detachment. The way she dissected life, love, and death with the calm of a surgeon, as though these things were nothing more than numbers in a calculation.
And now… this was the woman who raised *him*.
*Him.*
Her fiancé.
The boy who was sitting right next to her moments ago. The boy who had smiled at her this morning with teasing charm, who had laughed softly when he exposed what she'd said the night before—without anger. Without malice. Almost with... amusement.
*He grew up in this house. Under her hand. With no friends. No warmth. No world outside these cold obsidian walls.*
Rina's stomach twisted.
*What does that make him?*
Her thoughts turned to last night—the kitchen. His gentle movements. The quiet confidence. The strange way he listened to her with interest, not judgment. That ridiculous towel around his neck. The smirk.
He hadn't been cruel.
He hadn't even seemed… bitter.
But that only made it worse.
*Was it a mask? Or was he just broken differently?*
Her heart ached in confusion, shame, and an unfamiliar sense of guilt.
She remembered her own words from last night. The venom. The curses. The way she'd said she'd *kill him* if he touched her. The way she'd mocked him—called him disgusting, arrogant, unwanted.
*And yet… he hadn't snapped. He just smiled. As if he didn't expect kindness from her in the first place.*
She swallowed hard.
Her lips trembled slightly, though she kept her face blank.
She couldn't afford to let Naoko see any crack in her mask.
But inside, she felt like glass under pressure. Cracking. Splintering.
Rina glanced subtly toward Naoko.
There she sat—still, beautiful, composed—drinking her tea as if nothing had happened. As if the words she spoke hadn't shaken Rina to her core.
*Is this what it means to be a noble in this world?
To sever yourself from warmth?
To rule by fear?
To build a child not out of love… but out of calculation?*
Rina had always believed she was strong. A future heir. A trained mind. A sharpened will.
But right now—at this table—she felt like a child in the presence of a storm.
And somewhere deep inside, a small voice whispered:
*I don't want to be like her.*
Not ever.
She lowered her gaze.
And for the first time in a very long time…
Rina Amberhart felt small