~Chapter 7~
Overwhelmed by grief and frustration, Winter couldn’t hold it in anymore. She burst into tears, unable to finish her words.
She hadn’t even told him she was pregnant.
All she wanted to ask was, “Didn’t you love me too?”—but even that question only hurt her more.
Why did everything have to end so cruelly? Was it all because of her father’s past?
When Winter couldn’t say a word, Eden tilted his head slightly.
“Miss Wood, what exactly do you want to hear from me?”
“…”
“You should already know that there’s nothing more for us to discuss.”
His tone was completely detached. No hint of emotion remained. Looking around the room with cold eyes, he added,
“This place—keep it. I gave it to you. Think of it as my sponsorship for your art career. It’s more than generous for a new painter. If you want anything else, tell Parker. I’ll see what I can do within reason.”
Sponsorship.
The word hit her like a bucket of ice water.
So that was all it had been for him? She had truly thought they were lovers. Even if things had started to fall apart, she still believed it had once been love.
“Did you just… call it sponsorship?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Well, what else could our relationship have meant?”
“…”
“You’re not that naïve, are you? You knew why we met in secret. Or were you expecting something more?”
He tilted his head again, as if genuinely confused. His blue eyes, colder than ice, looked straight at her.
At that moment, Winter finally understood everything.
How foolish and innocent she had been.
What their relationship—their secret meetings in this house—had really meant.
People could share a night together without love.
Why hadn’t she thought that his gentle kisses and warm hands might have been only desire?
“So it was all just my own delusion,” she whispered, her voice dry and cracking.
Now she could see how pathetic she must have looked—asking for something she never had the right to.
Artists and nobles forming secret “patron” relationships weren’t unusual.
She had even heard of fellow apprentices having hidden affairs with wealthy women.
In such relationships, no one talked about marriage. It was always one-sided, controlled entirely by the patron.
She had been blind—too caught up in her first love to see reality.
“I’m pregnant.”
The words burned in her throat, but she swallowed them down.
This wasn’t her place anymore.
She refused to use the baby as an excuse to keep him near.
Even if she had nothing, she still had her pride.
Winter pushed herself up unsteadily to her feet. There was nothing more to say, nothing more to hear.
Eden watched her small figure slowly walking away, his eyes dark and heavy.
His heart, which he’d tried to hold back with reason, twisted painfully inside him.
A fierce urge rose in him—to take back everything he’d just said.
The moment her thin shadow disappeared down the hall, his clenched jaw tightened.
The veins stood out sharply on his hand as he gripped the armrest of the sofa.
Eden sat there, frozen, as time crawled by painfully slow.
It didn’t matter how they had met that sunny spring day, or how their memories had built up since.
The ending would always be the same.
This was the end—between him and Winter Wood, the daughter of Geoffrey Wood… or rather, Archer Helburn.
***
Two weeks later, on the final day of the exhibition, the gallery was lively with late visitors.
Turning down a hallway restricted to staff, Winter stopped in front of the office door.
Her hand rested on the doorknob, and she caught her reflection in the mirror beside it—pale, thin, and tired from the fever she’d just recovered from.
Before she could study herself further, someone called out.
“Oh! You’re here. You must’ve been really sick—your face still looks pale.”
A staff member who had just come down from upstairs greeted her kindly.
Winter smiled awkwardly as she stepped inside.
“I’m okay now. I heard there were some documents I needed to check?”
“Yes, right here. Have a seat. This is the list of your paintings that sold during the exhibition. Just review it and sign at the bottom. The other artists have already signed theirs.”
The staff’s tone was professional and friendly. It was routine work—the final day always involved sorting out the sales.
Winter looked over the document quietly, confirming the total sum.
It should have made her happy, but her heart was elsewhere.
She had once made plans for what to do when she finally earned this kind of money.
Now, she couldn’t think of a single one.
Her dry eyes scanned the papers once more before she slid them back.
“All done?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. Here’s your payment, minus the commission fee. Please check the amount. If you have any questions later, shall we contact your atelier?”
“Yes, that’s fine,” Winter replied softly.
She accepted the envelope of money, thanked the staff, and left quietly.
To exit the building, she had to pass through the main hall again.
Keeping her head down, Winter retraced her steps.
She still had a commissioned painting left unfinished, and even though she hadn’t fully recovered, she needed to return to complete it.
She tried to focus on that—on work—so her mind wouldn’t wander.
But as her shoes tapped across the polished marble floor, Eden’s face appeared in her thoughts again.
That day had been their last meeting.
That memory would be the final trace of Eden Mayer in her life.
From now on, they would never meet again—unless by pure accident.
Their relationship, which she once believed was love, had been so painfully shallow.
***
“Winter, sit down for a moment.”
The sharp voice stopped her the moment she stepped into the studio.
Ellen, who had been dark-faced ever since the doctor’s visit, got straight to the point.
“How are you feeling now?”
“I’m fine, ma’am. I’m so sorry for worrying you.”
“Alright. Then tell me what you plan to do next. You’re not seriously thinking of having that baby while still working here, are you?”
“…”
“I respected your talent. I had such high hopes for you. So how could this happen, Winter? I’m really disappointed.”
Winter hesitated, unable to answer.
Every time she thought of the baby, her chest ached and she couldn’t sleep at night—but she still didn’t know what to do or where she could raise it.
Her clothes still hid her belly easily, but she nervously adjusted them anyway before looking up.
She had decided—she would ask for a break after finishing her last commission. She needed time to think.
But before she could speak, Ellen sighed heavily.
“Finish your current painting, and then pack up your things. You’ll be leaving the studio.”
It was sudden. A dismissal.
Winter’s pale face stiffened in shock.
“Teacher…”
“I know you’ve worked harder than anyone, Winter. But I can’t have rumors spreading about this place. I won’t allow that.”
The cold practicality in Ellen’s words made Winter’s lips tremble.
She knew she was at fault, but she didn’t want to leave like this.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disappoint you. I just—”
“If you had thought even a little about the studio’s reputation—or mine—you wouldn’t have let this happen.”
“……”
“I don’t want to say more. Don’t make me out to be the bad person here.”
Ellen shook her head firmly. She had always been strict but fair, and once she made a decision, there was no turning it around.
With the owner of the atelier having made her choice, Winter had no power to argue.
She suddenly felt lost, as if the world had gone quiet.
“Finish what’s left, then go back home to your father,” Ellen said.
She stood up, clearly uncomfortable, avoiding Winter’s eyes.
It wasn’t easy for her either—to send away a student she cared about deeply. Winter’s talent was undeniable.
But Ellen couldn’t bear to see her wasting away here—pregnant, frail, and skipping meals.
If she left, at least she could go home and be cared for by her father.
Besides, the Duke of Mayer was soon to be married—everyone knew it. The grand wedding in Batz would be impossible for Winter to avoid seeing if she stayed.
Men… never reliable, Ellen thought bitterly, shaking her head.
Without looking back, she walked away. Her heels clicked sharply against the floor, then faded into silence.
Winter was left alone in the studio she had practically lived in for years.
Still weak and mentally exhausted, she sank into a chair.
It had been a long, long day.
