Seven Years and Six Months
The night before the marriage annulment ceremony.
Late into the night, after finishing his conversation with Canna, Sylvien returned to his own room. Instead of going straight to bed, he sat on the sofa, lost in thought.
Within his usually quiet heart, something foreign had entered. It stirred small ripples.
He found the disturbance irritating.
What was this? This thing that clawed sharply at his insides and pressed down upon his chest.
Well. Perhaps… guilt?
A low chuckle escaped his lips.
Guilt, of all things. It was absurd. He knew he was not the sort of person to harbor such an emotion. If anything, he was far more often cruel.
He knew that well enough…
Yet why was his mind in such turmoil?
Sylvien exhaled and leaned his head back against the sofa. His dark blue eyes gazed meaninglessly at the ceiling.
In that moment, words flickered before his eyes. The dense reports detailing the countless hardships Canna had endured at Valentino after their marriage passed through his mind.
Suddenly, her words came back to him.
“Was it a lifeline for salvation?”
“Of course. I was in hell. And with a single gesture from you, I could have escaped it.”
Yes. That was true.
He had always possessed the power to lead Canna into the light.
Just as a single word from him could have banished Josephine to some distant barbaric land, he could have freed her from her suffering.
But he had not. He had simply left her to endure the flames of hell.
Because he had felt no interest whatsoever.
It was not only Canna. He had never taken interest in others to begin with. Canna had merely been one among the many.
Moreover, she had been an astonishingly bothersome woman.
How many times had her clinging delayed his monster subjugation missions? How many lives that could have been saved had been lost because of it?
A tiresome, irritating woman. He had not wanted to involve himself in her misfortune. After all, everyone in this world carried their own share of suffering.
Whether one overcame it or was crushed beneath it was their own burden. He himself had lived that way.
At eleven years old, when he inherited the ducal title as a mere boy, countless adults had coveted his position, his wealth, and his life.
Who had ever extended a helping hand to him?
No one. And he had felt no particular regret about that fact. Bearing hardship alone had always been perfectly natural to him.
Therefore, he felt no interest. It did not concern him.
No—it did concern him.
He was not curious.
No—he was curious.
Canna had been nothing, like dust, and yet she burned through his vision like wildfire.
Such contradictory emotions.
The clash of colors, as though directed at two different people, defied his understanding.
Sylvien closed his eyes. In the end, he had no choice but to admit it.
Unlike his usual self, whenever he recalled what Canna had gone through, it bothered him. And he wanted to know what kind of person she truly was.
Even if it was only a fleeting whim, that desire was startlingly clear.
‘I suppose I must stop the divorce.’
“And you still call yourself a noble who values honor?”
Her fierce voice, declaring she would hate him, echoed in his mind.
In that moment, he had been so overwhelmed he could not think straight, but looking back now, it was laughable.
Hate.
So what if she did?
To Sylvien, who had endured countless threats from his political enemies—threats that went far beyond mere words into assassination attempts—that was no threat at all.
There was something he wanted. Was there anything he stood to lose in the process of obtaining it?
No. No matter how many times he considered it, there was nothing.
‘Yes. Therefore, there will be no divorce.’
That was why, on the day of the annulment ceremony, he waited for Canna with composure.
At last, the door opened, and she entered amidst a cascade of light.
Sylvien extended his hand. Canna placed her fingers over his. Even through the silk gloves, her warmth was not unpleasant. In fact, it felt quite soft.
Perhaps that was why the thought occurred to him: even if they had held a proper wedding seven years ago, it might not have been so bad.
“Lady Canna Valentino, Duchess, do you wish to annul your marriage to His Grace, Duke Sylvien Valentino, whom you have taken as your lifelong husband?”
“Yes.”
Yet at her answer, Sylvien’s mood plummeted instantly.
She wanted the divorce that badly.
This time, genuine displeasure welled up within him. Contrary to her wishes, his own answer was already decided.
No. I do not wish to annul this marriage.
That would have been enough.
He could achieve his goal and obtain what he desired. And yet…
“Do you wish to annul your marriage to Lady Canna Valentino, Duchess, whom you have taken as your lifelong wife?”
The moment he was about to answer, Canna’s voice flashed through his mind.
“I will hate you to death.”
That ridiculous threat, which had seemed so laughable.
Those eyes blazing like fire.
“No, I will hate you even in death.”
His lips would not part.
What did such a petty threat matter?
It was nothing. Truly nothing.
“Your Grace, Duke Valentino?”
The priest urged him for an answer. Sylvien looked down at Canna as though searching for his reply.
The moment their eyes met—those obsidian eyes.
In that instant, Sylvien realized something.
Her threat was astonishingly effective.
The fact itself was unbelievable. It was absurd.
Revulsion. Why did he find the mere idea of Canna’s hatred so distasteful that he hesitated like this?
“Yes.”
But in the end, that was the only answer he could give.
“I will annul it.”
The moment the words left his mouth, a heavy sense of defeat washed over him. Drenched in the color of loss, Sylvien admitted it.
He did not want Canna’s hatred.
Seven years and six months of married life.
Canna divorced Sylvien.
“Are you satisfied?”
Canna turned around. Sylvien, still wearing his tuxedo, stood leaning against the door.
“You look remarkably cheerful.”
The annulment ceremony had just concluded, and the Great Temple had given its final approval to the divorce.
It was over.
Truly, everything was over.
“Of course I’m satisfied.”
Canna smiled brightly.
She had finally divorced him. Perhaps because of that, she could smile at Sylvien without reservation for the first time.
Sylvien let out a low chuckle and walked into the room without permission.
“Do you have anything left to say? I was just about to change out of this dress.”
She meant for him to leave and not come in, but he ignored it lightly.
“There is no need to rush.”
“Pardon?”
“You look dazzlingly beautiful right now.”
Sylvien smiled mockingly.
“Had I known it would suit you this well, I should not have skipped the wedding ceremony.”
“……”
What was this now? Canna glared at him warily.
“Why have you been acting like this since yesterday? Did you eat something strange?”
“Ah, perhaps I did.”
“……”
Canna frowned.
It still felt awkward to see him behaving as though he had shed a layer of his mask.
All this time, he had been nothing more than a beautiful statue of a man, devoid of any visible sincerity.
Now, he seemed a little more human.
‘Why does he look so displeased?’
Canna tried to guess. It seemed he had not wanted the divorce after all.
‘Does he hate the label of a divorced man?’
Well, in this world, divorce was considered an enormous disgrace, so it made sense.
“You should have paid a little more attention to our married life, then.”
At her words, Sylvien’s smile deepened.
“My apologies. I was wrong.”
Canna froze for a moment. Had he just apologized?
“If I had said this last night,”
he paused briefly.
“would you have reconsidered the divorce?”
“No.”
Canna answered firmly.
“Not at all.”
The air turned cold in an instant. His lips curved into a crooked smile.
“Why?”
“What?”
“I asked why.”
“……”
Canna was at a loss for words.
Why?
Well…
“Because I don’t… love you?”
There were countless reasons, but that was truly the greatest one.
After answering, Canna felt certain. She said it again.
“Because I don’t love you.”
In that moment, Sylvien drew in a sharp, broken breath, as though struck by an arrow.
“The love you speak of is quite light, isn’t it?”
His voice was edged. As though wounded—or as though he wished to wound.
“You said you loved me enough to die if it meant staying by my side. It seems that wasn’t entirely true.”
Yes. That had been true.
Canna recalled Juhwa’s love and let out a bitter laugh.
“The me from back then is dead.”
For a moment, the smile on Sylvien’s lips faded.
“The day you abandoned me.”
When Josephine had beaten her until her calves were torn to shreds. When Sylvien had known everything yet turned a blind eye.
“The me you knew died that day.”
What would have happened if Sylvien had helped her back then?
If he had brought her medicine.
If he had asked if she was all right.
If he had become a sanctuary she could lean on in this painful world.
Perhaps things would have unfolded differently.
But now, it was nothing more than a meaningless fantasy.
“We are strangers now.”
Canna smiled faintly. Then she declared to the blue-eyed man gazing at her:
“Goodbye, Sylvien.”