Prolog
Without realizing it, Andrea had already found herself standing before the altar.
There was no happiness on her face. Her features were hidden beneath a wedding veil, and her eyes remained fixed on the place where she had once stood beside her first husband.
But this time, her thoughts were not about the man waiting for her at the altar.
They were all about her son.
What will happen to my baby? What has he ever done to deserve this?
Fear and anger twisted painfully inside her chest. She lifted her gaze toward the guests. The Count was smiling among the crowd, surrounded by elegantly dressed men and women who watched her as though she were nothing more than a beautiful decoration.
She had always hated those eyes.
She missed her son so much.
Edward... Edward, what should Mommy do?
Her lips trembled beneath the veil.
I'm sorry, my baby. Your mother is so weak. If only you hadn't been born to a woman like me...
Without another thought, Andrea lifted her hands and pulled away her wedding veil.
The guests immediately caught sight of her face. Some women looked at her with envy, their eyes filled with resentment at the sight of such a beautiful bride. The men, meanwhile, gazed at her with undisguised desire, as though they envied Count Marcus for having such a lovely woman.
They probably thought she was fortunate.
A former slave who had been given the opportunity to marry a wealthy Count. What a wonderful second marriage, they must have thought.
But they were all wrong.
Andrea was not happy.
Not even a little.
Without hesitation, she reached for the sharp hairpin in her hair. Her fingers trembled as she gripped it tightly, her anger finally overwhelming her fear.
"Bring my son back!" she shouted. "Bring Edward to me! Why are you keeping my son away from me? What have you done to my baby?"
"Andrea, stop right there!"
"Don't do anything reckless!"
But Andrea no longer cared.
All she could think about was Edward.
Her sweet, obedient boy, who would always tell her he was fine even when he was sick. A child who tried so hard not to become a burden to his mother.
Every time he did that, her heart ached.
She had never regretted giving birth to him. Not once.
But perhaps Edward regretted being born to a weak mother like her. Unlike his father, he had never been given the chance to break free from his circumstances. Instead, he had been trapped by a useless mother who could not even protect him.
Then you will finally be free, Edward.
My baby, you don't have to worry about your useless mother anymore.
You can be free now. Please be happy.
Mommy is so sorry.
With those final thoughts, Andrea drove the hairpin deeper into her throat.
A faint smile of relief appeared on her face.
At least her son would no longer have to suffer because of her.
Just before the hairpin could pierce her throat, a gunshot suddenly rang through the hall.
The sharp sound startled everyone.
The hairpin slipped from Andrea's fingers and clattered onto the floor.
Her heart clenched painfully, and her legs gave way beneath her. She collapsed, barely able to understand what had just happened.
She had thought she was ready to die.
But in that fleeting moment, she realized something terrifying.
She was still afraid of death.
Through her blurred vision, she saw the Count stagger before collapsing to the ground. A bullet had struck him, leaving him dead with his eyes still wide open.
Yet Andrea was not frightened by the sight.
He was dead.
Finally, he was dead.
My baby... Edward. Where is my Edward?
Her unfocused eyes desperately searched the crowd, hoping to find the familiar little face she longed to hold.
Then she caught a scent.
A familiar pheromone.
One she had only been able to remember in her dreams.
The scent of the man she had missed for ten long years.
The man she had loved.
Tristan...
Andrea slowly lifted her head.
And there he was.
Standing among a group of armed men, looking as though he owned the entire world.
Tristan.
The man she had once thought was dead.
His cold eyes swept over the fallen Count with utter disdain.
"Such a weakling. He doesn't even deserve to die by my own hands."
He lowered his gun and casually placed it against the shoulder of his coat before stepping forward. Then, without hesitation, he planted his boot on the Count's head.
His expression was cold, his voice even colder.
"Consider this your punishment for daring to touch what belongs to me."
His gaze finally shifted toward the woman collapsed on the floor.
A faint, mocking smile curved his lips.
"Well, well. Look who we have here."
He stared at Andrea, his icy eyes revealing no warmth.
"Are you so desperate to marry again, Andrea? And to a weak Beta, of all people?"
