PIWY I Chapter 10

~Chapter 10~

The man’s voice, pretending to share some “important” gossip, sounded annoyingly casual.
In no time, Winter Wood’s personal life had become the talk of the table.

Eden’s eyes, fixed on his wine glass, turned sharp and cold.
Even to himself, he looked pathetic.

He was the one who had denied and dismissed what they had together — yet here he was, frozen in place just because someone mentioned her name.

But listening to their chatter only made him feel filthier, like he was sinking in mud.
Just as a bitter smirk touched his lips, someone across the table called out to him.

“Eden, how’s that engagement talk with the Lindahl family going?”

It was Cedric Rave, speaking casually.
Eden didn’t answer right away.

The whole thing had been arranged by his uncle’s pressure. Despite all the rumors, he wasn’t rushing to marry Violet Lindahl.

When the man at the center of gossip didn’t respond, Cedric leaned forward, curious.

“So when will we hear wedding bells?”
“There’s no concrete plan, Cedric.”

Eden cut him off, making it clear there was nothing more to say.
He could feel the glances being exchanged around him, but he didn’t care to explain himself.

Even when some tabloid reporter started speculating about his love life, he didn’t speak up — but not because he didn’t care.

After all, what could feel more like a betrayal than having another woman come between you and the one you ended things with?

A crooked smile crossed his sharp features.
From the start, his eyes had kept drifting to that woman — and now, finding out she was that man’s daughter…

It was too perfectly ironic to be pure coincidence, yet too twisted to be some neat, scripted fate.

“Right.”

Eden murmured softly as he set his glass down.

“What? What do you mean?”

Ignoring Cedric’s quick question, he rose and walked out of the smoke-filled lounge.
He waved off the manager who tried to follow politely and headed for the exit.

As soon as the doors opened, the cold northern wind hit him full in the face.
Under the bright lights outside, he tilted his head back and looked up at the dark sky.

He hadn’t made Winter into some kind of petty revenge target.
It would’ve been easy enough to mess with the quiet life of Jeffrey Wood, a man living peacefully in the countryside — but ending things with Winter had already cut off that old grudge completely.

Still, Winter ended up the one most hurt.
He had given her deception and betrayal with his own two hands.

Even knowing that — even seeing how “logical” it all was — his chest felt tight, suffocating.

“Miss Wood sent back the house key from the Grayburn residence,”
his secretary had reported soon after Winter left Bartz.

Inside the small envelope were a key and a short note:

“I’m returning this since it’s not mine.”

That was it.
No greeting, no explanation.
Just one clear message — she wanted nothing more to do with him.

“Ceres…”

The name left his lips as a whisper, vanishing into the air.

She had once told him she’d never returned to her hometown after moving to Bartz.
Yet now, out of nowhere, she’d quit her studio and gone back home.

She had come to that city with nothing but her dream of becoming a painter.
So even when he ended things, Eden never imagined she’d actually leave Bartz.

“Idiot,”

he muttered with a cold, self-mocking laugh.
The image of her tearful, red eyes flashed through his mind again.

“It was you, Your Grace, who first…”

He didn’t need her to finish — he knew the rest.
He was the one who’d invited her to dinner after the portrait session.
He was the one who had spoken first to the shy woman who didn’t know how to react.
He was the one who sent people to schedule another meeting, not giving her any chance to refuse.

So how could he deny the resentment she hadn’t even been able to voice?

The freezing wind blew harder, stinging his skin.
Eden stood there, facing it head-on.
He wasn’t even that drunk, but the chill sobered him completely — as if mocking him for the miserable way he’d ended things.

***

The train derailment in eastern Karten was one of the worst disasters in recent years.
After the crash, crowds rushed to nearby hospitals.

Mrs. Roche, who lived in Santero, was among them.
As soon as she got the hospital’s call, she’d hurried there in panic.

“Thankfully, the baby had a necklace and an emergency contact note in her pocket. That’s how we reached you. Please, this way to the room.”

The nurse added that it was a miracle they had been able to contact a guardian at all.

Because the derailment had caused fires in several cars, identifying the victims had been extremely difficult.

Mrs. Roche caught her breath and asked in a trembling voice,

“So… my daughter and granddaughter — they’re both safe?”

“Lily only has some bruises and scratches. The rescue team said her mother must have been holding her tightly during the crash. But… as for the mother…”

The nurse trailed off. The light that had returned to Mrs. Roche’s face suddenly faded.

“This way, please.”

At the end of the hallway, the nurse opened a door.
Mrs. Roche stepped in on shaking legs, her eyes immediately going to the nearest bed.

Her granddaughter Lily was fast asleep — just like in the photos her daughter had sent her.
Despite the terrible accident, the child really didn’t look badly hurt.

Then her eyes moved to the next bed.
The nurse spoke softly.

“She’s still asleep — we had to sedate her. She had a broken arm, which we treated first. And… there was heavy bleeding during the rescue. I’m very sorry, but she miscarried.”

“W-what?”

Mrs. Roche clutched her chest in shock.
When her daughter had called saying she was finally coming home after years, she hadn’t mentioned being pregnant.

She took a shaky step closer to the bed — and froze.

“This… this isn’t my Clara.”

“Pardon?”

“This woman. She’s not my daughter!”

Mrs. Roche shook her head violently.

The young woman on the bed had brown hair and looked to be in her early twenties — about her daughter’s age, yes, but not her.

What on earth…

The nurse, just as confused, had no answers.

So Mrs. Roche went from hospital to hospital, checking where the other victims had been taken — but her daughter was nowhere to be found.

Her chest felt like it was collapsing.
In the end, she tracked down one of the rescuers who had found Lily.

“There must have been a mix-up,” he explained.
“The scene was complete chaos. We just assumed the woman holding the baby was her mother.”

Hearing that, Mrs. Roche checked even the morgue.

But no matter how many names she went through — Clara was not among the identified injured or dead.

And that left only one grim possibility.

“Unfortunately, there are still several victims we can’t identify,” said the official.
“The fire damaged many bodies beyond recognition. Even families can’t tell for sure.”

Mrs. Roche’s throat tightened painfully.
She sank to her knees beside Lily’s bed.

She had prayed again and again, thanking God when she heard they had both survived — but now, reality was merciless.

Tears streamed down her face unchecked as she gently held her granddaughter’s hand.
She had wished for a miracle, but the crash had left little room for one.

After a long time, she lifted her head and looked at the woman lying in the next bed — still unconscious, pale, and silent.

Whoever she was, she had saved her granddaughter’s life.
And for now, she was the only one who might know what had happened to Clara in those final moments.

***

When Winter finally woke up, it was early morning.

Pain shot up her arm, making her frown, and when she opened her eyes, an unfamiliar ceiling greeted her.

Before she could gather her thoughts, a woman she didn’t recognize hurried over.

“You’re awake! Don’t move yet — you shouldn’t strain yourself. I’ll go get the nurse.”