The Portrait in the Forbidden Room
There would be no next chance.
After that day, she never caught so much as a single strand of Raphael’s hair.
She had deliberately gone to his room, only to find it empty. When she asked the captain, the only answer she received was the shocking news that he had changed cabins.
Does that mean he doesn’t want to see me?
She wanted to ask which room he had moved to, but stopped herself. Pursuing the question any further would make her no different from a stalker.
Isn’t this avoidance a little too blatant?
It was clearly the trauma left behind by Juhwa’s harassment.
She only met him on the final day, right as they were disembarking.
He was the tallest man in the crowd leaving the ship, so she spotted him immediately.
“Raphael, have you been well? It’s been a while.”
He bowed silently in greeting.
“I wanted to thank you for helping me that day, but I never found the right moment.”
“There is no need.”
His reply was sharp, like a line drawn in the sand.
“I only did what was required of me.”
“Still, I’d like to treat my savior to a meal. If the opportunity arises later…”
“No. It’s quite all right.”
“……”
“Then I wish you a safe journey home.”
Was that the end?
When Raphael offered one last courteous bow and walked away, Canna could not bring herself to stop him.
It felt… a little regretful.
“Don’t get close to him.”
Claude suddenly cut in.
He watched Raphael’s retreating back with open suspicion.
“Nothing good will come from getting close. There’s no need to share a meal, either. I would be most grateful if you would instead grant me the honor of dining with you.”
What is he even saying? Canna stared at him with pure disdain.
In front of Raphael the man had groveled, swearing eternal gratitude and calling him “older brother” without shame. Yet now he spoke like this.
“This two-faced bastard. Completely different depending on who’s in front of him.”
“I shall take that as praise for my multifaceted charm. Come, let us return quickly.”
Canna let out a short, dry laugh, then glanced once more toward where Raphael had vanished. He was already gone.
In the end, she never managed a proper word of thanks.
Yet the moment she stepped inside the house, she pushed every other thought aside. There was a mountain of things she had to do. She had no room in her mind for anything else.
Canna summoned the maid Eriel.
“How is it going? Are things progressing?”
“Yes. I believe I’ll be able to bring you good news very soon.”
Canna gave a satisfied nod.
She had ordered Eriel to locate the information guild as part of Plan B—her contingency for exile.
“Good. There’s another task I need you to handle now.”
There was no time to hesitate. She had to finish everything before her father returned.
“……What is this?”
“A ring.”
Canna set a single ring on the table. It was one of the countless gifts Kallen had purchased for her.
Seeing greed flicker in Eriel’s eyes, she issued her command without preamble.
“Bring me the key.”
“Which key do you mean, my lady?”
Eriel answered with polished deference; she had already finished her mental calculations.
“The room Father ordered no one to enter.”
At those words, Eriel’s face darkened.
“But His Grace carries that key with him at all times.”
“I know. Search his bedroom, his study—everywhere. It must be somewhere.”
“Duchess… if this is discovered, I will be dismissed.”
“You’ll be dismissed if you refuse me as well.”
Canna’s threat was soft, almost gentle.
“You remember the gold button you stole from me before, don’t you?”
“……”
“Don’t think so negatively. There’s a chance you won’t be caught. If you succeed, you’ll gain this ring without losing your position.”
The smile vanished from Canna’s face.
“So bring me the key.”
Two evenings later, Canna obtained the key.
All that whining, yet it was this easy to acquire.
When she handed over the ring as payment, pure joy bloomed in Eriel’s eyes.
“I shall devote my utmost loyalty to you from now on. Please command me in anything, Duchess.”
She looked ready to sell her very soul for money. A truly admirable attitude.
As expected of the talent I chose.
Before dawn the next morning, Canna slipped past the servants and reached the door of the secret room. Yet she hesitated on the threshold.
Was this truly the right thing to do?
Father sealed this room so that no one could enter.
If she were caught, the punishment would be severe.
Still, it was worth the risk.
Yes… there must be something of his in here.
“He lied.”
That was what he had said.
Clearly. In Korean.
Countless hypotheses raced through her mind.
Had her father also experienced possession in a Korean body?
Or had he once encountered a Korean who had possessed someone here, just like Juhwa?
Or perhaps…
Whatever the truth was.
I need to know what that secret is.
Canna drew a deep breath and slid the key into the lock.
The door opened.
It’s just an ordinary bedroom?
The room was dark. Relying on the lantern in her hand, Canna moved forward slowly.
It felt exactly like her own room that day.
The first time she had returned to the Addis mansion after her marriage, the bedroom she had visited after so many years. The space where time seemed to have stopped.
Just like then, this room was saturated with someone’s traces.
A large bed. A nightgown tossed carelessly across it.
In the vase beside the bed were flowers dried long ago, and a lace handkerchief embroidered with roses lay nearby.
A woman once stayed here?
The word woman sent a strange premonition crawling up her spine.
Father is preserving a woman’s room?
Had it been anyone but her father, she might have mistaken it for a man unable to forget his lost love.
But Father would never do that.
Canna scanned the room piece by piece as she walked. Then she stopped dead in front of the bookshelf.
“……?”
She doubted her own eyes. The shelves were stacked with letter envelopes… and every one of them bore Korean writing.
“What on earth is this?”
Startled, Canna muttered the words aloud without realizing. She reached out and picked one up.
To Alex.
Huh?
Alex?
Who was Alex?
It can’t be.
There was no way it was a nickname for Alexandro. Father could not possibly have a pet name… and yet this looked exactly like one.
Canna’s fingertips trembled. Her pupils shook. The handwriting was round, cute, unmistakably feminine.
To Alex.
A woman. Father. Alex. Nickname. This—
No. No. No.
Her breathing grew ragged.
Canna quickly pulled the letter from its envelope and unfolded it. A pained sigh escaped her.
Most of the words had faded with time, blurred beyond recognition.
But one thing was unmistakable: it was written in Korean.
From Seon-hui.
Canna finally found one legible line.
Seon-hui.
Wow.
It really said Seon-hui.
This was irrefutable proof.
Most likely—perhaps—this was a love letter.
But… Seon-hui?
An ominous feeling stabbed into her. She bit her lip.
Seon-hui. Seon-hui. The name was far too familiar.
The name of someone she knew. That person was…
“……”
Her thoughts froze. Her breath stopped.
Canna, who had casually glanced at the wall, went completely rigid.
From the crown of her head to the tips of her toes, everything stopped.
Without thinking, she slipped the letter into her pocket, gripped the lantern tightly, and raised it toward the wall.
The flickering light revealed a portrait that had been swallowed by darkness.
“……!”
She nearly dropped the lantern. Canna’s eyes flew wide open.
The subject of the bust portrait, shoulders bare, was an extraordinarily beautiful woman.
Long, flowing jet-black hair. Black eyes. Lips curved in a smile. And above all, the small beauty mark beneath her right eye.
So this was her own portrait, except…
Me?
No. It wasn’t her.
Canna shook her head and stared harder, as if glaring at the painting.
It wasn’t her.
The woman’s eyebrows were thicker than hers, her expression subtly sharper.
Yet the resemblance was so startling, so easy to mistake for a moment, that it could not be denied.
And the date is before I was born.
The year inscribed at the bottom of the painting predated Canna’s birth.
How can someone look this identical?
Realization struck like lightning. A tidal wave crashed through her mind, sweeping every thought away.
The single instinct left standing in the wreckage whispered:
This is her.
This woman was her mother. That was why they looked so alike…
“Canna.”
A low voice sounded from behind her.
That quiet voice struck her back like a whip. A shock close to pain surged from her head to her toes.
This voice—
“Canna.”
The name came again.
Ice flooded her veins.
Footsteps approached—slow, deliberate. The long shadow stretched forward and swallowed her whole.
“Canna Addis.”
She clenched her fists so tightly the backs of her hands turned bone-white and slowly turned around. She would rather the world stopped than face him, but—
“……Father.”
Her voice came out hoarse and cracked.
Alexandro Addis, cloaked in shadow, was looking down at her.
“What are you doing here?”