PIWY | Chapter 03

~Chapter 3~

The empty glass was set down, and Eden’s blue eyes sank into a faraway, dark glow.

He remembered when he first met Winter. It was in spring, when the days were getting longer.

“Winter Wood, a painter who trained at the Royal Academy. She came as assistant to Ellen Haven, who was commissioned to paint Your Grace’s portrait.”

That was how the butler had briefly introduced her. In this very room, he had faced a young artist who said she left her hometown to chase her dream.

She stood before a huge canvas, clutching her charcoal case. Her delicate features looked like they’d been drawn with the thinnest brush. And the moment she sensed someone’s presence, she had straightened up and bowed politely, her slender neck exposed.

In short, she was a woman his eyes kept drifting back to.

“Your Grace.”

Her clear voice snapped him back.

Their gazes locked, and he saw her eyes tremble slightly, as though even she didn’t know why she was so shaken. That was simply who Winter was—her thoughts showed on her face.

At first, he just wanted to look into those eyes a little longer. Then he was drawn in completely, as if bewitched by the faint smell of paint clinging to her.

The more time passed, the more he wanted to grow closer. He began dreaming of a future where they’d be together for a long time.

Winter would sometimes shrink back in front of reality, but for him, their difference in status had never mattered. If it had been an obstacle, he never would’ve started anything in the first place.

One day, when his feelings had already gone too deep, Winter smiled brightly and handed him a photo.

He had no idea then. No idea that Winter was that man’s daughter.

“This is my father. Since my mother passed away, he’s my only family.”

Only after seeing the photo did Eden realize it—the man holding little Winter was the same man Harriet Mayer had once loved to the point of destruction. The same face his dying mother had never thrown away, kept in a small framed picture.

Now, side by side, he could see it clearly: Winter and her father looked alike. The curve of their features, the resemblance was undeniable.

“When I was young, I dreamed of marrying someone like my father.”

Back then, she had said it innocently, proud of her father. But Eden had frozen.

It was a cruel twist of fate. After all these years, he found out what became of the cowardly man who had abandoned his mother—through the daughter he had come to love.

Harriet Mayer had strayed too, but she had died tragically. Meanwhile, the man who deserted her had gone on to live well, keeping his family intact.

The contrast made Eden laugh bitterly. The man who cheated and ran away was now a respected, devoted father. What a sick joke—something so absurd even a stray dog on the street would laugh at it.

Grinding down the shards of memory, Eden straightened up from his chair.

“Acher Helburn. After leaving the capital, he settled in Ceres near the border. Later, he even changed his name.”

His voice was low and harsh, scraping across Winter’s ears. Ceres—that was also her hometown, far from Batz.

Winter’s throat felt dry with sudden tension. She didn’t know why she felt so uneasy. This story had nothing to do with her—or so it should have.

Eden refilled his glass, his hand gripping the transparent cup tightly.

“Jeffrey Wood. That’s the name you know best.”

Winter forgot how to breathe. The moment her father’s name hit the table, everything froze.

She wanted to argue, to call it a cruel joke, but she knew Eden wasn’t a man to joke about something like this. Her lips moved, but no words came.

“Wha… what do you mean…?”

Eden’s gaze stayed locked on her pale face. To steady his tangled emotions, he shut his eyes.

He had loved her. He had treasured every moment with her.

But some things simply couldn’t be. He fought the urge to grab her trembling hand.

Biting his lip hard, Eden forced the truth out. Winter just stared at him blankly, unable to respond.

“This… this is the clearest reason why we can’t be together anymore.”

His final words stabbed into Winter’s chest, severing all their memories like a blade.

***

“Winter? Are you here?”

At the end of a long hallway, Ellen opened the storage room door and tilted her head.

Normally, Winter would’ve been in the studio early. Ellen, who had seen her diligence for years, glanced at the wall clock.

Maybe she overslept?

She’d been pushing herself nonstop preparing for the exhibition—it would be no surprise if her body gave out. With no urgent work left, taking one day off wouldn’t hurt.

Knowing Winter’s character, Ellen didn’t worry too much. She simply gathered her pigments and headed for the studio.

Her studio was tucked in a small street lined with shops. Ellen had taken Winter as her student three years ago.

“Winter Wood, she’s got exceptional talent. But she has no connections in Batz. Her mother passed away, only her father’s around. And she’s from a rural village in the far south.”

That was how the Royal Academy’s apprentice manager had once described her.

Basically, no one wanted to mentor her—though she was gifted, she lacked background, had no patrons, and was a woman on top of it all. In a traditional, conservative academy, where Ellen was the only female full member, Winter had seemed doomed to give up.

But every time Ellen passed by, there she was—working hard. Even if it was just cleaning the floor or organizing art supplies, she was always trying.

So Ellen had taken her in.

“Thank you for giving me this chance, Master. I’ll work really hard.”

And Winter had kept her word. She wasn’t just skilled; she was hardworking, too.

Now her exhibition was tomorrow. Soon, she would be ready to open her own studio under her own name.

Just as Ellen sat down, the creaky hinges of the door screeched.

“Oh! You were here? I thought you’d slept in.”

Turning her head, Ellen blinked at the sight of Winter in her work tunic.

“Sorry. I was in the yard for a bit.”
“Outside? In this cold?”

Winter bowed her head, but Ellen frowned in concern. Even bundled in scarves and gloves, today’s chill made teeth chatter.

Now she noticed Winter’s reddened eyes and pale face. Something wasn’t right. Ellen walked closer as Winter packed up her paints.

“What happened? Winter.”

“Nothing, Master. I just needed some fresh air.”

Her voice was calm, but Ellen’s experienced eyes didn’t buy it. Still, she figured Winter had her reasons for keeping quiet.

“You’re not sick, are you?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then finish up early today. The exhibition is ready, and you still have to pick up your father this afternoon. Understood?”

Ellen decided not to press further. She gently patted Winter’s shoulder, coaxing her to take a break.

The kindness almost made Winter’s tears spill. She knew she couldn’t work today, no matter how long she sat here.

“Thank you. I’ll just clean this up and go.”

Winter started gathering her tools. Her eyes stung from lack of sleep.

She wasn’t even sure how she made it home last night. Eden’s words had poured over her like a storm, leaving her mind tangled.

Could he have mistaken someone else? Could it really be true?

If it was true—then he had known all along? And still chose to be with her?

Sharp questions clawed at her chest. But part of her clung to a desperate hope—maybe Eden had misunderstood something.

Still, one thing was certain: Eden had admitted, with a calm face, to being engaged to someone else.

Swallowing the lump in her chest, Winter stripped off her work tunic. She wanted to get outside, to breathe the cold air.

“I’ll leave now. See you tomorrow.”

“Alright. I won’t be around in the evening, so give your father a good tour of the studio. He’ll be proud to see where his daughter works.”

Winter froze mid-step.

Suddenly dizzy, she tried to steady herself on the worktable but knocked over the neatly arranged paints. Glass bottles clattered to the floor.

“Winter! What’s wrong?!” Ellen gasped, rushing to her.