Behind the mask of a handsome gentleman, the Viscount was not a man of great moral fiber.
He was, in reality, a spoiled and playful brat, born into privilege, used to getting whatever he desired. His hidden arrogance, born from his noble bloodline, made him feel entitled to everything. And even though flirting with a servant was certainly unworthy of a nobleman, his attraction to Ada made him disregard that entirely.
Does that meant he genuinely liked the charming maid? Maybe ?
But what he kept doing, slowly and deliberately was drawing her into his world, bewitching her.
So he decided to make this innocent, hopeful, dream-filled maid just another of his usual conquests. Using his charm and striking good looks, he made her feel special and important in a world where she would otherwise remain invisible.
He began to toy with her emotions.
Ada, of course, was a woman of deep moral values, and would never dare to see a married man in an inappropriate way. She had never allowed herself to think of him like that. But the Viscount was so accustomed to making women fall for him that, over time, his tricks worked on her like a powerful enchantment.
Ada began to fall this time, truly in love. His wit and playful demeanor gradually softened her defenses. He never pressured her directly; instead, he played on her vulnerability with subtle manipulation.
They started to spend more and more time alone.
She began opening up to him, telling him about her past, her struggles, and her frustrations. He listened with a kind and compassionate face, carefully crafting every moment to build her trust in him.
He knew how to create romantic gestures that made her heart beat faster, like gently placing his coat on her shoulders when it rained. He even went so far as to arrange for someone to bully her, just so that he could heroically come to her rescue and catch her in his arms afterward hiding a malicious smile behind his noble mask.
Gradually, he earned her affective dependence. And when he realized that she had begun to be truly attracted to him, he became certain he had her completely in the palm of his hand.
And the only thing missing for his usual games to complete was to ensure she would trust him utterly, to surrender completely to the spell he had so carefully woven.
And once—much as many men have done to women in quieter, more restrained societies—he would take what he sought, he would grow distant.
Then, as so often happens, she would ask—confused and wounded—why his warmth had turned to cold, why his presence had faded into indifference. And he, no longer concerned with gentleness, would dismiss her pain with cruel ease, as though her ruin were of no consequence, having already taken what he wished and leaving her to bear the cost alone.
It was on a snowy winter day. Vernon had caught a slight illness, nothing serious but he exaggerated it, making it seem like he was on the brink of death. His wife, as usual, showed no concern, while the poor Ada, worried and tender-hearted, stayed by his side. He used the situation to pull her even closer.
And that was the day he confessed his so-called love to her.
Already ensnared, trembling with tears and fear of losing him, Ada responded with a confession of her own. She told him she loved him too.
And that was the moment she crossed a line she had never imagined she would.
And in that moment, she crossed a line she had never imagined she would.
Before she knew it, Ada had entered a relationship that would bind her in ways she could never have foreseen.
Yet the ever-playful Viscount had not anticipated one thing: unlike the other women he had charmed and discarded so effortlessly, he could not bring himself to reveal the truth and see her shocked face, to say, "I have been toying with you all along."
It was as if he had realized that Ada was different, that she was not like those he had conquered before. Perhaps this was the consequence of all his past acts, the wrongs he had committed—his infidelities, his manipulations, the hearts he had toyed with.
He could not derive pleasure from shattering her. Every stolen moment, every glance, made him reluctant to let her go, delaying the coldness that had been so familiar to him in the past. In a strange way, the roles had reversed.
Yet, as the sly, graceless scoundrel he was, he assumed that the affection he had developed for her would endure only so long as it suited him, and that when he grew tired, he could discard her as easily as a piece of chiffon. There was never a trace of genuine guilt in him; self-reflection was foreign to his character—a truly graceless, grubby personage.
For Ada, however, guilt consumed her the instant she dared to say I love you to a man who could never truly be hers, whose family and obligations made the impossibility of their union painfully real. She had tried to leave with her shame the very next day— If it had not been for Vernon, who, who knows how, managed to convince her to stay.
And she tried once more, hesitant and fearful. But each time, sensing her hesitation, he would murmur gentle words, weaving a web of reassurance: "This is not wrong. Two people who love each other cannot be in error for being together"
As the days passed, her torment deepened. Her innocence was stripped away; her peaceful dreams of a quiet inn in the countryside were transformed into knives that seemed to cut at her very throat. And yet, there was the undeniable truth: whenever he held her, she would weaken, surrendering to the pull of her heart once more.
"You're married. You have a child," she would remind him, a plea mingled with fear.
He would reply with smooth certainty, his voice carefully crafted to erase doubt:
"You're the only one for me. There is no love in that marriage. It was arranged. There was never any real affection. You are the only woman I have ever loved. You are my salvation from the life I have led. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, believe me my beloved Ada when I'm telling you that after meeting you, I found the courage to decide that I would no longer remain with a woman I never loved in the slightest. I promise you this: it is only you who shall bear my name forever."
It felt as though her mistakes had been forgiven. Yet little did she know that she was never the only one. His words—so tender, so persuasive—were repeated balms, intended to soothe her anxiety and wash away the guilt he had engineered. And though they offered temporary comfort, they never truly worked.
The worst months Ada had ever lived—
A winter that stormed within her heart rather than outside.
Even the viscountess, whom she had never appreciated, always described as cold and heartless, now seemed almost gentle compared to what Ada felt herself becoming.
She could no longer meet the lady's gaze. In the past, she had struggled to endure her cruel behaviour, her screams over trifles, and the torment she imposed. But now, Ada offered no bitter expression, no sign of weariness. Only a silent, hollow gaze remained—a look that seemed to plead with the viscountess to scold her, to torment her as severely as possible, as if begging for punishment for this betrayal under the lady's roof.
The lady, perhaps, suspected the viscount's infidelity. But she was the type never to dig deeper. That may have been why she did not suspect Ada—or perhaps she had simply grown tired of her incapable husband, as she always described him, and no longer cared. Who knows? Perhaps his past was filled with far worse indiscretions, and she had grown accustomed to them.
One thing was certain: the lady's hatred for Ada had intensified, and Ada's recent resignation—this detachment—did not escape notice. The lady despised the subdued, defiant expression Ada now wore, as if silently declaring, "Do whatever you wish, I will not care."
To provoke this anger further, one day the lady ordered Ada to arrange the entire conservatory alone, without assistance.
It took days, both because of the immense disorder of the place and because the cold persisted even in the first days of spring. Ada did not flinch; she could have waited for warmer days, but she instead tortured herself at every opportunity. Her fragile nature finally gave way: she fell terribly ill and could not rise from bed for days. When others feared for her, she secretly wished she might not awaken again.
It was to this extent that she resented herself.
During this long illness, confined to her bed that seemed eternal, she was surprised to see Vernon enter the old room—a room where only gravely ill servants ever appeared. He came to see her, both relieved and deeply worried.
"What are you doing here? You could be contaminated," she said.
He paid no heed. "I could not bear not seeing you. I asked why you were absent from service, but they said you were too ill. I waited... I waited, but I could not bear not checking on you."
She was astonished by such care. She realized, perhaps for the first time, how much she truly mattered to him. Perhaps the viscount's concern sprang from guilt, witnessing how she was treated by his wife. But for Ada, it reinforced the already intense proof that he could not live without her: his fear at seeing her hurt became a medicine for her own wounds.
Each day he came, checking on her, she felt herself recover, stronger than before. And with this constant attention, any lingering doubt that he had been toying with her emotions faded, the rift between them slowly closing.
For Ada, it seemed a turning point in her anxiety—a fleeting moment of reprieve. She waited firmly for the day he would find a way for them to be together, for the day he would be freed from the engagement he so often claimed to loathe.
Except that, in reality, there is no orderly sequence in which overcoming one trouble means the struggle is over. Returning to the starting point is all one finds on the path of sin.
The temporary jubilation she felt snapped back to reality each time he went to the arms of his rightful one—a feeling that unleashed the worst part of herself, the very behaviours she deeply resented: jealousy.
What made matters worse was witnessing how the viscount had recently begun to treat his wife as though she were a queen—doting on her, bringing her everything she desired, indulging and pampering her as if some unseen reconciliation had drawn them together. They spent more and more time in each other's company, and with every affectionate gesture, Ada's jealousy burned hotter within her.
The hatred for herself she had thought dormant now rose again. resentment for harbouring a feeling so natural, yet so utterly forbidden.
She had no right to such emotions.
The lady was, after all, his wife, the mother of his child, the one who bore his name—the one who alone truly deserved the viscount's love. And Ada was the intruder.
This inner conflict grew increasingly unbearable, tormenting and tearing at her without respite. Her days became heavy and suffocating, her nights no less cruel. Her heart drew dangerously close to breaking. Even working four times harder than before would have been easier than enduring the weight of this emotional burden.
But then... something even stranger started happening inside her. Something began to change.
She grew tired more easily. She became irritable. Her eating habits changed in odd ways. She couldn't understand what was happening to her body.
And soon after, she began feeling nauseous vomiting, dizziness, day by day it got worse.
Until one day, as the realization slowly dawned on her, she murmured to herself in disbelief: "No... it couldn't be that..."
Ada was frightened by the very idea... but could it really be true?
To be sure, she went to a wise woman she trusted deeply, and there, she received the most shocking news that would change her life forever.
It was perhaps one of the warmest days of spring, yet Ada felt a shiver—a cold that ran deep to the very core of her spine—at the news she had just learned.
As she had feared... she was indeed pregnant.
Ada could barely process the weight of that revelation.
— A child? she whispered in disbelief. But how could she carry a child in this condition?
Her emotions were in chaos, a mixture of disbelief, fear, and bittersweet joy.
Deep inside, she felt as though she finally had living proof of their love. The love she believed they had shared.
But how could she possibly raise a child by a married man, a nobleman, no less?
What would society say? How could she provide for a child alone? What if his wife found out, and she had every right to react?
Countless questions thundered through her mind, tormenting her more and more.
That day, she returned home with a heavy heart and heavy steps. She could no longer carry the burden alone, she had to tell Vernon.
When she arrived, she entered his office, hesitating for a moment. He immediately noticed the pale color of her face.
He stepped closer and, with his usual playful tone, asked gently: "What's wrong?"
She stepped back slightly and said firmly: "Sir, I have something to tell you."
He gave a light, careless smile. "What happened? You seem truly upset. Lately, you've looked a bit angry with me. Aren't you feeling well? If it's about my wife, we've already discussed that. I'm only showing her attention so she won't notice that I've lost interest in her."
Then he hugged her and added, " Don't worry, I'll make it up to you soon. Just be patient, my love."
But with a trembling voice, she spoke the words that would break the illusion: "What if I told you... I'm carrying your child?"
Vernon's face turned pale. He unconsciously took a step back and stammered: "What?"
She remained silent, eyes cast to the side. Then he laughed nervously: "Is that a joke? Haha. I told you, you're bad at those. Don't do things like that again."
Ada's gaze grew more intense and serious. "I'm not joking. I am truly pregnant."
Vernon was completely stunned. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. But her expression, it wasn't lying. She was deadly serious.
Panic seized him. He stepped forward, grabbed her shoulders in alarm, and exclaimed:
"What are you saying? How is that possible? How could you let this happen? Didn't I tell you to take those herbs I mentioned?"
Ada's heart dropped. She looked at him in shock. "
Herbs? So now it's my fault? Wasn't it you who constantly claimed that you loved me? Who pushed me further and further into your arms? Is that all it ever was to you?"
He snapped back, angered and confused: "But we didn't talk about this! You can't just have something like this happen without us deciding together!"
"Oh really? So something like this requires a formal discussion now? Fine then, since when were you planning to continue this farce of a love story we were living in? You kept feeding me the sweetest words in the world, and yet you never once told me what we were, or what we would do about us. Do you know how much guilt I've carried? This situation is tearing me apart more than you can imagine!"
Vernon ran his hands through his hair, panic rising again. "Look, it's not too late... we can still do something. I know an old man who can... get rid of the child before it becomes too complicated. Okay, my love?"
He said this while placing his trembling hand on her cheek.
Ada recoiled, horror on her face. "What? Get rid of it? That's all you can say? So after all this time, I was just a fool to you. Now that we finally have living proof of our love, your first response is to dispose of it?"
She cut him off with a scream of pure rage: "No! There is no but! I should've known better. You were just lying, and now you're tired of me. You just want to erase any trace that ties you to me!" Her voice cracked as tears streamed down her face.
Vernon stood motionless, lost for words.
Then, her voice low but filled with fury, she warned him: "I'm telling you now if you ever try to lay a finger on this child, you'll regret ever crossing paths with me. And mark my words, the truth about Viscount Vernon Vessalius will be known to everyone."
He was in shock. He had never seen Ada, the quiet, gentle woman who never even raised her voice at mischievous young boys show such wrath and fury.
At that moment, Vernon realized the gravity of what had happened. Countless thoughts raced through his mind.
There was no easy way out now.
Killing her? No, that wasn't an option. He neither had the courage nor the capability to make such an incident go unnoticed.
Acknowledging the child? That too was out of the question. What about his social standing, his wealth, and, more importantly, what others would say?
So Vernon took a deep breath, tried to collect his thoughts, and reminded himself that violence would only complicate things. He needed to find a smarter way.
Then an idea crossed his mind. His expression shifted to one of guilt and remorse. He looked at Ada, whose eyes were still clouded with sorrow. "Wait, please... my dear Ada, I'm sorry," he said softly.
"I didn't know what I was saying I...I didn't mean it. I just panicked," he added, his voice trembling just enough to sound sincere. "It's just that... I didn't know how to react, knowing the weight of our situation. That's all."
He slowly stepped closer. Though she remained hesitant, he gently wrapped his arms around her with all the warmth and tenderness he could summon. "My love, please forgive me," he whispered. "I was an idiot. I should have never asked you to get rid of our child, our first true proof of love. Let others call it a mistake if they wish, but you and I know it's real."
Overwhelmed, Ada broke down in his arms. She gave in and embraced him back. Tears fell endlessly down her face as she sobbed: "I'm sorry too... I didn't realize what I was saying either. That was a cruel thing to say. I'm so, so sorry."
Vernon smiled, but not with warmth. It was a smile of malicious satisfaction. In his mind, he had regained control.
Once she calmed down, Vernon gently took her hands and looked into her eyes.
"Ada," he said, his tone cautious, "it's not that I don't want happiness for us and this child. But you know my situation. My wife... she's powerful. She could harm you. She could destroy everything I've worked for. She could sabotage me and twist this peaceful life into chaos."
Ada lowered her gaze. "So... what should we do? I don't know how to face society with all this..."
"Look, for now, try to keep this a secret, and I promise I'll find a solution."
Days passed, and Ada grew increasingly anxious. Then finally, Vernon came to her, speaking in a hushed tone filled with urgency and hope. "Ada, I found something we can do."
She looked at him with worried eyes. "What is it?"
"Listen," he began, his voice steady but serious, "it may be difficult, and it will take time. But it might be the only path we have."
Her expression grew more skeptical, brows tightening with concern.
"Ada," my dear, his voice lowering to a calm, deliberate tone, "I suggest you take some time away from here. Somewhere peaceful, far from the eyes and whispers of this town. I'll make sure you have a beautiful house, a safe place where you can raise our child in peace. I'll visit you whenever I can. And once I find a way to free myself from this marriage and untangle this whole situation, I promise you... we'll be together."
He squeezed her hands and continued: "This time, I'll act quickly. I promise it. I'll make you my wife, my only legitimate wife. The woman I love. The one I've always wanted."
Her heart trembled. Something in her felt uneasy. The idea of being hidden, of being tucked away, didn't sit right, but the hope he gave her was enough to cloud her doubts.
Then he pulled her into another embrace and whispered: "Please, believe me. This is the best plan. Think about our child, okay?"
Tears welled in her eyes again, and she nodded. "Yes, my love. I trust you," she whispered. "I'm sure you'll keep your word. I knew you loved me. I never gave up on you... and I knew you'd never give up on me."
As she laid her head on his chest, crying in despair, Vernon smiled, quietly, slyly. His persuasion had worked. Everything was falling into place exactly the way he intended.
After some time, the Viscount managed to find a house for Ada, far from the Vessalius family estate, tucked away in a quiet, almost forgotten corner of the city—a corner where one could tell even the neighbors were far from a lovely hamlet. The house itself was nothing grand, merely a modest dwelling, yet it was sufficiently comfortable to live in.
Before leaving her there, he handed her a small sum of money to cover her basic living expenses. As a final gesture, he gave her a purple amethyst jewel, elegantly engraved with the Vessalius family crest. Ada clutched the jewel close to her chest, believing it to be a token of hope, a symbol that he would eventually keep his promise.
He reassured her with tender words, holding her softly and brushing her silver hair between his fingers. "Be patient, my love," he whispered. "One day, we will finally be together."
