Chapter 1

For the sake of my family's honor, I married the widowed Duke Silas Thorne as his second wife.

I served his elderly parents with every ounce of my soul.

For seven years, I cared for my husband with unwavering devotion.

I raised the son of his late wife as if he were my own flesh and blood.

Only now did I learn the truth. My own child died at the hands of his biological father.

That day, I stared blankly at the medicinal tonic in my hand before accidentally knocking it over.

Silas's voice was like ice. "Lydia Thorne, stop playing these pathetic games."

Under his cold, judgmental gaze, I obediently drank the fresh bowl to the last drop.

Outside in the courtyard, the son I had raised with my own two hands spoke with a sneer.

"Don't mind her, Father. She's just acting pathetic to get attention."

A wave of soul-crushing weariness washed over me. I looked at the Duke and asked for a legal separation.

He let out a sharp, mocking laugh, convinced I was merely fishing for his pity.

"I will not divorce you, and don't even dream of an annulment. According to our laws, a woman who demands a separation must endure the public crushing of her fingers. Do you have the spine for that?"

The next morning, I dressed in plain white and knelt at the gates of the High Court.

I beat the drum for justice, the sound echoing through the streets for everyone to hear.

This time, I am living only for myself.

1

In my seventh year as the Duchess of Aristhall, I was told I could never carry a child again.

I froze, the world spinning around me.

My maid, Hazel, grabbed the doctor's sleeve in a panic. "What do you mean? The Duchess is only twenty-four. How can she be infertile?"

The doctor sighed, looking at me with pity. "Her Grace has likely been consuming life-blocking tinctures for a long time since her last loss. It has destroyed her foundation. She will never conceive again."

After the doctor left, I sat by the window for the entire afternoon.

Ever since I entered this estate, the Dowager Duchess had been desperate for a grandson.

I drank what I thought were fertility tonics every single day. I had my pulse checked regularly.

How could this happen? Where did it all go wrong?

That night, Silas came to my bed and was unusually tender. The next morning, a servant brought in a bowl of dark medicine.

"Your Grace, it is time for your tonic," she said.

I stared at the bowl. The medicine I took every single day.

In my daze, the bowl slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor.

Silas, who was getting dressed, turned around with a look of pure disgust. "Lydia, stop playing these pathetic games."

He didn't even look at the mess. He just turned to the maid. "Brew her another one immediately."

Looking at his cold back, the answer was finally clear. This was never a tonic for life.