On the first cold morning of White Night Castle, only the sound of the merciless north wind beating against the castle walls tapped at the window frame.

Sitting across the dining table with a flawlessly noble posture was Waldemar V. Valentine. His bloodlessly transparent silver eyes and unwavering gaze seemed to demonstrate his high status as a great aristocrat.

In contrast, Guest had been at a loss since last night due to the intense heat blooming from deep within her body. That rough breath that pressed down on her under the cover of darkness, the words of desire whispered as if to swallow her ears, and even the grip that seized her slender wrists. Like a beast starved for instinct, he had indulged in and trampled Guest from head to toe. Every time her thin silk dress touched the traces of that oppressive affection, a haze of chilling heat rose up.

However, the man placed under the morning sun was so harshly cold that it was doubtful if he was the same husband who had just devoured Guest. Nowhere in his elegant handling of the teacup did the remnants of last night exist.