* * *

Sssaaah…

Parak disintegrated like sand after finishing its task.

Jerome’s blank gaze, which had been fixed on me as I panted for breath, shifted toward Carlisle.

Jerome obediently let his sword drop to the ground.

“Why?”

“…”

“You’re my spouse. So why are you protecting Carlisle?”

Jerome pushed the fallen sword away with his foot.

His demeanor, unusually sharp and irritable, made me swallow nervously.

His voice was laced with a smile, yet his words were cutting.

“Is he a secret lover you’ve been hiding from me?”

My eyes widened at Jerome’s insinuation.

Damn it, Carlisle had told me to keep everything a secret.

It seemed Jerome had figured out what Carlisle had proposed to me and that I’d secretly agreed.

Jerome lowered himself until our eyes met.

The murky, soulless look in his gaze made me instinctively back away, but Jerome grabbed my shoulders firmly.

“I’ve tried my best to be a good husband. I pretended not to notice when you secretly met with Carlisle, when you shared a kiss with a mercenary from the slave guild, and even when you lied about having sex with me, claiming it never happened. Yes, I turned a blind eye to everything because I wanted to be a good husband to you.”

“…”

“Then why do you keep making secrets behind my back?”

Jerome’s voice trembled as if he was desperately trying to hold back his anger, something so unlike him.

He gripped my shoulders even tighter, then exploded, veins bulging in his neck.

“You’re my spouse! You should always put me first, no matter what!”

Jerome’s rage had stripped away his usual calm, collected demeanor, even in the middle of battle.

His face was a mask of uncontrolled fury, and I was at a loss for words.

I looked at him in shock and stammered, my voice trembling.

“Please… don’t be angry.”

“…”

“And right now… you look like you’re about to kill me. Are you aware of that?”

Suddenly, a look of inexplicable fear flickered across Jerome’s face.

My heart dropped at the sight of an expression I had never seen before.

After a long, tense silence, he whispered in a hollow voice.

“This is bad. It just came to me… Chloe must be starving by now.”

“…”

“I need to go… and make sure she has dinner.”

Jerome’s grip on my shoulders slackened, and he staggered backward, away from me.

I watched, dazed, as he stumbled off into the darkness.

When he was gone, my legs gave out, and I collapsed to the ground.

‘What was that expression just now?’

My mind was in turmoil, as if everything I knew about Jerome had been overturned in an instant.

I clutched my throbbing head, groaning, when Carlisle approached.

“When you let aura flow through your body, it triggers a kind of awakening.”

“…”

“This time you got lucky. But next time, don’t intervene recklessly. People in that state rarely recognize even family or loved ones, often killing them.”

Carlisle’s warning barely registered as my heart still raced wildly.

He spat out a mouthful of blood and helped me to my feet.

Lost in thought, I asked absentmindedly.

“Carlisle, have you ever heard Jerome talk about his mother?”

“I know she was the most skilled puppet master in the Empire.”

“Anything else?”

“Not really. He never spoke much about himself.”

Carlisle shrugged. Memories of things Jerome had once said flashed through my mind.

At a Starlight Festival speech, Jerome had declared:

“Protecting one’s spouse is the sole reason for a male’s existence, his duty, and his ultimate purpose in life. A man who abandons his lawful wife will never enter heaven. I suppose the former Pope is burning in hellfire as we speak. It’s a pity I can’t watch.”

Back then, I had dismissed it as the ramblings of a lunatic, but now his words carried new meaning.

It wasn’t just that. In a carriage ride to Freya’s manor, he had also said:

“That’s how I was raised. A husband should never raise his voice at his wife. He should cover her mistakes and embrace her flaws, because that’s what a good husband does.”

Thinking back, Jerome seemed to have an abnormal obsession with being a good husband.

People’s insecurities often surfaced in exaggerated actions or offhand remarks.

Carlisle flicked me on the cheek, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“I’m the one who almost died. So why are you worrying about him?”

“You grew up with Jerome. You must know… has he always had something off about him?”

“…”

“Anything unusually strange about him?”

Carlisle raised an eyebrow, looking annoyed at the sudden question.

When he saw my determined expression, he sighed and answered reluctantly.

“Once, we were walking down the road when we came across a drunkard beating his wife.”

“…”

“Jerome nearly beat that man to death. Back then, he hadn’t yet sealed Mephisto in his body, and everyone was terrified. He was a rational guy, though he always had a chilling side.”

Carlisle’s words confirmed my suspicions.

Digging through my robe pocket, I pulled out a puppet Jerry had given me long ago.

Only three whiskers remained on the puppet now. I stared at it in silence before speaking.

“I need to look again. Into Jerome’s past.”

✽ ✽ ✽

I was full of doubt.

Peering into the past was dangerous, but I wanted to understand the source of Jerome’s issues.

When I opened my eyes, the surroundings had changed.

I put the now two-whiskered puppet away and surveyed the area.

Chains hung on the walls, blood splattered the ground, and a woman with ashen hair wept in the corner.

Nya-nya!

Jerry popped out and hastily handed me a white cloth.

Under Jerry’s insistence, I draped it over myself and approached the sobbing woman.

Her skin was covered in bruises beneath her worn chemise.

When I heard footsteps outside, Jerry fluffed up in fright and hid behind me.

Bang!

The door burst open, and a younger Duke Michael stormed in, his face flushed.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the woman by the hair, veins bulging in his neck.

“You useless wench, you ruined my plans again!”

“I told you… I don’t want to make cursed dolls that kill anymore.”

“Shut up!”

Duke Michael’s hand cracked against her face.

I muffled my gasp with my hands.

The cruelty of the man who casually struck her was unimaginable.

The woman collapsed to the floor, limp and groaning.

“Do what you want. I’d rather die than keep making those cursed dolls.”

“Oh, really? Fine, then. Let’s see you die today.”

Michael mounted her and grabbed a statuette from the desk, ready to bash her skull.

Panicking, I toppled a nearby mirror.

Crash!

The shattered glass drew Michael’s attention.

He turned, his eyes darting around.

My heart pounded in terror at the thought of being discovered.

After adjusting his disheveled tie, Michael spat out a threat.

“This is your last warning. Next time I come here, I expect a perfect cursed doll.”

“…”

“If you fail, Jerome will do your job in your place.”

He threw the statuette aside and left.

The woman remained curled up, breathing in short gasps.

I froze as I got a clear look at her face.

It was uncanny how much she resembled Jerome.

As if, were Jerome to reincarnate as a woman, she’d have that exact face.

Creeeak.

When I was trying to calm my surprised heart, a familiar face entered through the door.

It was Jerome, looking much younger than the last time I had seen him, perhaps around six years old at most.

Jerome sat down heavily and checked on the woman’s condition.

His hands, using a damp cloth to wipe away blood, moved with practiced familiarity.

“You’ll grow up to be like that man one day. You may have inherited my looks, but your personality is a perfect match for your father’s. Just like him, you’ll make your wife miserable.”

The woman, accepting her young son’s care in silence, whispered bitterly.

Jerome paused, momentarily taken aback, and shook his head with a flustered expression.

“No, Mom. I’ve told you before. Father and I are different.”

“…”

“I’ll be a good husband. I won’t mistreat my wife.”

“Go away. Don’t touch me!”

The woman shoved young Jerome’s hand away irritably.

Shocked, Jerome dropped the cloth he was holding.

The woman, now lying on her side with her back to him, spoke in a voice drained of strength.

“Would you leave? I don’t want to see you anymore today.”

“…”

“Please.”

At her words, Jerome quietly stood up.

Holding his breath, he exited the room, and I followed him.

Once back in his own room, young Jerome paced nervously, flipping open a book and clutching his stuffed toy, Jerry, tightly.

He repeated these meaningless actions until he mumbled softly to himself.

“I’m not like Father.”

Jerome lay down on his bed, whispering the same words over and over.

Unlike other children his age, who would cry immediately when they felt anxious, young Jerome struggled to handle his worries on his own.

He blinked slowly as drowsiness finally overtook him. I approached his bedside and reached out to touch his small head but stopped myself.

‘Don’t. Touching him might change the future.’

Jerome, in a light sleep, scrunched his face and sighed quietly.

After watching him for a moment, I gently brushed his hair aside despite myself.

As I softly hummed the Winter Soldier’s Waltz I had once heard, Jerome’s pained expression gradually relaxed.

A surge of emotion welled up inside me.

Meow.

Jerry, the stuffed toy, placed its paw atop my hand, which was still stroking Jerome’s head.

A line from the original story came to mind—Jeanne’s words before her execution.

Jeanne had said she wasn’t afraid of falling into hell because Jerome would be there.

But my thoughts were different.

‘No, I’m not like that. I won’t fall into hell with you.’

Through the growing darkness clouding my vision, young Jerome slowly opened his eyes.

For a fleeting moment, our gazes met, and I smiled gently, with only one thought filling my mind.

‘I’ll get you out of this hell.’

* * *