002 Farewell

**Chapter 002: Farewell**

Helena's eyes widened as she looked at Atthy, who remained unnervingly calm despite the deeply emotional situation. There were no tears in her eyes—only a quiet composure that starkly contrasted with Helena's growing unease. Her hand still held onto Atthy's, preventing her from gripping the divorce papers too tightly.

"Your Grace..." Helena's voice trembled slightly. "What exactly happened? Why did His Grace send this?"

Atthy took a deep breath, her gaze momentarily empty as if she was processing how to respond. Her delicate face looked exhausted. Even with a bitter smile on her lips, she remained composed despite the apparent devastation in her heart.

"You're asking the wrong person, Helena. Even I don't know why I have to endure all of this."

"Which is why you must not act rashly!"

"I'm tired, Helena... I just want to stop..."

"But, Your Grace—"

"Helena!" Atthy's voice was firm as she looked at her, her tone calm yet chastising. "I am not worthy of that title anymore. Your master has made it clear where I truly belong."

Helena fell silent, her heart heavy with the weight of those words. She knew Atthy never opened up easily, and for the first time, she saw a fragile side of the woman she deeply respected. But she couldn't ignore the nagging suspicion within her.

She wanted to embrace Atthy, to offer comfort, but she held back, maintaining her position as a servant.

"If His Grace truly wants this, then something bigger must be at play," Helena said gently. "I will speak to him and find out the truth."

Atthy turned to her, her eyes filled with despair. "Enough, Helena. I will not beg for sympathy. My dignity has already suffered enough."

Helena could feel the deep turmoil within Atthy. What had really happened between them? How did their marriage turn into this? Beneath the surface of this composed exterior, something darker was at work.

"Very well, Your Grace. Give me some time. I will find out the truth," Helena said with quiet determination. "But please, do not sign those papers just yet. Waiting a little longer won’t hurt you."

"You're stubborn, Helena..."

Helena frowned slightly, looking at her imploringly.

Atthy gave a faint, bitter smile. Holding onto the divorce papers tightly, she turned toward the open window, allowing the cold morning breeze to wash over her.

"Your Grace..." Helena spoke, struggling to hold back tears. "Forgive me... but I cannot accept this," she said firmly, her emotions in turmoil. "I will find out why His Grace has sent you these papers."

Helena turned away and left the room in a hurry, her heart heavy with unanswered questions. Atthy's decisions were becoming increasingly difficult to understand, and it only added to her unease. Something far greater was being hidden from them all.

Her footsteps were quick as she made her way toward the dining hall, expecting to find Hugh there. But when she arrived, the room was empty.

"Lady Whitmore?" a servant who was clearing the table addressed her.

"Did His Grace take his lunch today?" Helena asked, masking her concern.

"It seems not, Lady Whitmore," the servant replied hesitantly. "I heard he canceled his meal due to urgent matters."

"What?!" Helena nearly shouted, her eyes widening. "And Sir Alwyn? Is he with the Duke?"

"No, Lady Whitmore," the servant responded. "Sir Gusev might be in his office, as the Duke suddenly left with Sir Rozenfeld."

Helena clenched her jaw, struggling to keep her growing frustration in check. She recalled Atthy’s last words and felt a surge of unease.

"Very well, thank you," she said firmly.

Before she could leave, the servant hesitantly spoke again.

"Ah, Lady Whitmore, my apologies... there is one more thing."

"What is it now?" Helena asked impatiently.

"What should we do about Her Grace?" the servant asked worriedly. "Shall we prepare lunch for her?"

"Yes, do it!" Helena commanded without hesitation. "Call the Duchess’s personal maids and have them attend to her immediately!"

With that, Helena marched toward Alwyn’s office, her mind swirling with questions. Each step felt heavier, weighed down by the growing tension.

Upon arriving, she forgot to knock and stormed inside. Alwyn looked up in shock.

"Lady Whitmore! What do you think you’re doing?!"

Helena didn’t care. She got straight to the point. "What was the meaning of the documents you handed me this morning?"

Alwyn’s expression hardened. "You mean the divorce papers for Her Grace?"

"So you knew?!"

"Of course, I knew. I was the one who gave them to you!"

"Why? What happened between them? What is the real reason behind all of this?"

"That is not our concern, Lady Whitmore. We only follow orders."

"Her Grace is under my care. I have to know what is going on!"

Their argument was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.

"Pardon me, Sir Gusev, is Lady Whitmore inside?"

Alwyn allowed them in, and three breathless maids entered, their faces filled with worry.

"We cannot find Her Grace anywhere..."

"One of the guards saw her leaving through the back gate."

"WHAT?!" Helena and Alwyn exclaimed in unison, their shock evident.

Helena's heartbeat quickened, her worry morphing into outright fear.

"Where?! Why are you only telling me this now?!"

---

At the manor, Atthy rarely complained. She was a quiet young lady, a reserved woman. She kept her distance from the chaos around her. But when necessary, she would not hesitate to act. Most of her time was spent indoors, enjoying the solitude while bearing her responsibilities. This had surprised the manor’s residents, who had initially viewed her with suspicion. They had heard rumors about the Duke’s future wife—a flamboyant socialite with a trail of lovers. But reality had proven them wrong.

At first, she was unwelcome. A lady from a lower noble house, entering a political marriage for ambition. But time revealed a different truth. Atthy carried herself with dignity, showing intelligence and an unexpected sense of calm. Yet, one thing truly stunned the manor’s inhabitants—Atthy left. Alone. Without guards, without maids, without anyone. Just like that, she walked away.

---

"What do you mean?!"

Alwyn's shout echoed through the room, his voice trembling with barely contained fury. His sharp eyes bore into the trembling servant standing before him.

"I'm sorry... Forgive us, Sir Gusev... We... We did not know\..." one of the servants stammered, his face ashen. "But one of the guards saw the Duchess leaving through the back gate."

"What?!" Alwyn's eyes widened. Before he could say another word, a knock sounded at the door.

"Enter!" he commanded sharply.

A young guard stepped in hesitantly, his face tense as he faced Alwyn.

"You... Aren’t you the new guard?" Alwyn narrowed his eyes.

"Y-yes... Forgive me, sir. I was stationed at the back gate... The Duchess asked me to deliver this to you..." His hands trembled as he handed over a large envelope.

"Ah!" the guard gasped upon seeing Helena in the room. "Lady Whitmore, the Duchess also entrusted this to you."

Helena took the envelope with a suspicious expression. "Why did she have you deliver it?!"

"I... I don’t know, my lady... The Duchess only said that His Grace already knew of her departure," the guard stammered.

"Then where is she?!" Helena’s voice rose, her gaze as sharp as a blade.

"S-she... is already gone..." he answered helplessly.

"What?! Gone?! With whom?!" Helena nearly lunged forward.

"A-alone... S-she did not tell me anything... I am truly sorry..."

Silence swallowed the room. The servants lowered their heads, afraid to make a sound. The young guard looked like a shadow wishing to disappear, his body shaking violently.

---

"WHAT IS THIS?!"

Alwyn slammed the envelope onto the table, scattering the papers as his breath came in sharp bursts.

'I do not need a divorce settlement. As long as your lord leaves me alone, that will be enough for me.'

A single slip of paper with two cutting sentences accompanied the signed divorce decree from Atthy.

No one dared to speak. All eyes were fixed on Alwyn, who stood rigid, his face flushed with barely contained fury.

"S-Sir Gusev..." the guard murmured weakly.

Alwyn’s piercing gaze locked onto him. "Who recommended you?" His voice was lower now, but far more menacing than his earlier shouts.

"I... I was only following orders, my lord..."

"Fool!" Alwyn’s voice exploded. "Your carelessness could bring disaster! Did you not think twice when you saw a Duchess leaving the manor alone?!"

The guard nearly stumbled backward, his legs trembling. But before he could say another word, Alwyn raised his hand, cutting off any attempt at an excuse.

"Summon all the guards! Find the Duchess immediately!"

The guard bolted out of the room, leaving behind an atmosphere thick with tension.

Helena, still clutching her own letter, clenched the paper tightly. Her fingers trembled as her eyes darted over the words left by Atthy.

---

Dear Helena,

The ever-strict head maid, yet someone I hold so dearly. Thank you for everything. Forgive me for not being able to bid you farewell in a better way.

Send my regards to Lily and Miriam—I love them dearly. It is a pity that our time together was so short.

I have returned all the clothes and accessories your lord gave me. I took none of them, for they were never to my taste. The same goes for Stella, Bela, and Rosa. They were the maids your lord assigned to me, and I want you to take care of them now.

I cannot pay them, for I have no money. I can only entrust them to you. Please, ask your lord to continue their wages, for they were never my choice. I hope you understand.

Forgive me, Helena, for leaving like this without warning. But I know you—you would have stopped me had you known my decision.

I made a promise to your lord, and I must uphold it.

P.S. I love you dearly. You are like a mother to me.

---

A heavy silence filled the room.

Helena clutched the letter, her lips trembling. The servants lowered their heads, while Alwyn stared at the table with a dark expression. His fists clenched, as if trying to suppress the storm brewing inside him.

Suddenly, the door burst open.

"Apologies, I’m late!"

Sarah, the young physician, strode in cheerfully, carrying her medical bag. "I was called to the kitchen earlier—they said a servant had—"

She stopped abruptly, sensing the change in the room. Her smile faded.

Her eyes scanned the space—pale faces, a shaken Helena, and Alwyn standing rigid, his expression dangerously dark.

"What... happened?" Sarah asked quietly.

Alwyn turned to her slowly. "Dr. Sarah," his voice was low, almost a whisper, yet it made Sarah straighten her back instinctively. "This is not the time for questions. Gather all your medical supplies. Be prepared. You may be facing something difficult."

Sarah swallowed hard. "What happened?"

---

Snow continued to fall, each flake settling atop Atthy’s bowed head. She struggled to move, her legs sinking into the thick snow that buried the path up to her knees.

The biting wind gnawed at her skin, piercing even the thick coat wrapped around her frail body. Her breath came in ragged gasps, mixing with the warm mist that vanished the moment it touched the freezing air.

"Where am I supposed to go?" Atthy thought in despair, her steps growing heavier as if the earth itself rejected her presence.

For three months, she had lived in Skythia, yet the world outside the manor remained a mystery. She only knew the roads traveled by carriages, but now, they all looked the same—lost beneath the endless blanket of snow. The towering forest surrounding the estate loomed over her, its trees like black giants watching her in silence.

She kept walking, despite having no destination. The snow had erased all signs of direction, turning the world into a vast, white labyrinth. Her body, once accustomed to the searing heat of deserts and sprawling savannas, now faced a new torment—the merciless cold that stripped away what little strength she had left.

The wind howled, carrying an eerie wail like the cry of ghosts. Her body trembled violently. The sharp pain in her fingers had given way to numbness. When she could no longer take another step, she collapsed beneath a massive tree, its roots protruding from the frozen earth.

Leaning against it, her breath came in short gasps. She gazed at the gray sky, which darkened as night approached. Her eyes, distant and empty, reflected a life unraveling before her. From the granddaughter of a modest noble, to the Duchess wielding great power, and now—she was nothing. No longer a Galina. No longer a Griffith.

The merciless cold continued its assault, seeping into her very bones. The warmth of the manor, the loyal maids who once attended to her, the crackling fireplace—all seemed like a dream too far gone.

Slowly, her senses dulled. The agony that had once racked her limbs faded into nothingness. She knew what was happening—hypothermia. Her head grew heavy, her thoughts drifting between painful memories.

She saw her family—the proud yet kind grandfather, the strict but loving father, the laughter of her younger siblings in the golden fields. Tears welled in her eyes, freezing before they could fall.

Then, another figure appeared in her mind—cold, piercing eyes, an imposing presence, a voice that spoke her name in a tone both distant and captivating.

"Duke Hugh Griffith..." she whispered weakly, barely a breath.

A searing pain burned in her chest, mingling with an unbearable longing. Was this the end? Would she die alone in this foreign land, never resolving the burdens weighing on her heart?

As her consciousness faded, heavy footsteps approached from the distance. Something was coming—whether salvation or doom, she did not know.

She closed her eyes, surrendering to whatever fate awaited her.

The footsteps drew nearer, shattering the eerie silence of the frozen forest.

"Someone... help me..." she murmured weakly, before everything turned to darkness.

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