Chapter 15
Natasha knew it—Sieghart would never welcome the child. A man who didn’t love her wasn’t going to change just because she was carrying his baby. She had no real expectations of him.
Still, she had to stay at the duchy.
For the sake of the child, it was far better to be born as the heir to the great House of Aschart than as the child of a fallen princess. As painful as it was, Sieghart possessed things Natasha did not—wealth, status, honor, and power.
After returning to the estate, Natasha went straight to Sieghart’s office. He looked up with a startled expression when she entered without knocking, as if something had just dawned on him.
He sighed, as though already tired, and opened his mouth to speak—
“I have something to say.”
Natasha quickly seized the moment, not letting him take control of the conversation. She knew that once he did, not only would this discussion fall apart, but even the meeting itself might be brushed aside.
“I saw a doctor today. I confirmed a blessing from the heavens. I’m pregnant—with our child.”
Her voice trembled slightly, nerves slipping through despite her resolve.
She wasn’t asking him to love her. All she wanted was for him, at the very least, to protect the child—as a father should—and to acknowledge its dignity.
With that alone in her heart, she laid down the physician’s report and the flowerpot test that confirmed her pregnancy.
But his response didn’t come. And oddly enough, the silence didn’t make her nervous. A part of her understood how overwhelmed he might be.
“It’s not my child.”
When he finally spoke, his words shattered everything.
A cold denial of the very life they had created.
“It may be the princess’s child—but it is not mine.”
“…Sieghart.”
Natasha called his name in disbelief.
“What are you saying? Of course, it’s ours!”
She couldn’t hide her frustration. She had brought evidence—the medical report, the flower—but he outright refused to acknowledge any of it.
“It’s not my child, so I’ll say this plainly: get rid of it.”
He just kept repeating the same thing.
“Since it is our child, I have every right to speak as well. I won’t get rid of it.”
“If this is some shameless attempt to register another man’s child into the House of Aschart, I’ll turn a blind eye no longer.”
“…Are you saying I’m carrying someone else’s baby?”
“There are far too many convenient pieces of ‘evidence’ for this to be a mere misunderstanding on your part.”
After glancing at the physician’s note, Sieghart tossed the paper aside in irritation. It flew back and grazed Natasha’s cheek.
The sharp sting, however small, snapped her back to reality—and made everything painfully clear.
This was his way of rejecting her. He refused to recognize the precious life she carried as part of his noble house, so he was accusing her of infidelity instead.
“If you didn’t want the child, you could’ve just said so! I wouldn’t have forced you to care for it! But how… how can you deny our baby and accuse me of being with someone else?”
Her voice trembled with anger, grief, and humiliation. Every word tore her open.
Her lips burned and split as they moved. Blood slowly welled up, leaving a bitter, metallic taste in her mouth—so much like the bitterness filling her heart.
“You claim we never even had a relationship. And yet, I’m standing here, pregnant with your child.”
It was cruel.
Unbearably cruel.
So much so, she thought she might rather die.
“Or maybe your body is so ‘blessed’ that it can conceive without intimacy? That would be convenient—continuing the bloodline without having to mix with such lowly flesh.”
“…Lies. You know the truth better than anyone, Sieghart. You know I’m innocent. If you’re slandering me just to abandon this child, it won’t work. I’ll raise this baby no matter what—even if it means continuing this ‘lowly’ bloodline on my own!”
“Then let me be perfectly clear. I won’t raise a child with tainted blood in the Aschart name. Deny me all you like, but the one who’s acted dishonorably is you.”
It hurt. More than she thought possible.
Even death, she believed, would be less painful than this moment.
Sieghart’s rejection. His cruelty. The complete collapse of any remaining trust between them.
She’d been hurt before—but this time, it cut deeper. Like a blade straight through the heart.
In the cold, silent room, Natasha sat alone—completely numb.
Across from her, on a small table, sat a vial of liquid, glinting under the low light.
“Drink it, and I’ll pretend this never happened. This is the last mercy I’ll offer.”
Sieghart had handed her the abortion medicine himself, saying it was her last chance to be accepted back into the duchy—her last chance to be seen as clean.
“I’ll give birth to this child. I’ll prove that it’s yours.”
If she took that medicine, it would be like denying everything—her purity, her truth. It would erase the sleepless nights she’d spent cherishing the tiny life inside her.
No. No matter what, she had to protect this child.
Even if it meant protecting herself in the process.
This baby was the only way she could prove her innocence as the Duchess.
She suddenly woke from sleep and turned to her side.
That’s when she felt something wet between her legs.
Alarmed, Natasha quickly sat up, struck a match, and rushed to check the bedsheets.
“…No.”
The pure white sheets were stained red.
“I shouldn’t be bleeding. Not while I’m pregnant…”
As a soon-to-be mother, Natasha had studied everything she needed to know. She knew how a pregnant woman’s body would change.
And she knew one thing for certain—pregnant women don’t menstruate.
But there it was—bright red blood staining the white sheets. It looked just like menstrual blood.
More than suspicious—it was terrifying.
Natasha hastily bundled the sheets together, pressing them to her chest. With trembling hands, she reached for the bell cord and yanked it frantically.
Gripped by fear, she pulled again and again, unable to stop. The bell’s heavy weight swung wildly, striking the walls. The sound it made echoed like a pained cry—as if even the bell itself were weeping under abuse.
Surely the signal had rung throughout the entire mansion, yet no one came to Natasha’s room. In this vast estate, there was no one who truly worried for the Duchess—no one except Kayeina.
“Madam, are you alright? What’s wrong? You look so distressed!”
Kayeina burst into the room, breathless and worried. She rushed to Natasha’s side.
Still clinging tightly to the bloodied sheets, Natasha sprang to her feet and ran to her.
“K-Kayeina… pregnant women don’t bleed like this, right? But I—I’m bleeding. Something’s wrong with my body.”
“Bleeding?”
“Yes, blood. It… it looked just like my period. I don’t know what’s happening. Am I okay? The baby—what about the baby? The baby is safe, right?!”
Desperation made her wild. Her voice trembled, and tears brimmed in her eyes. Natasha—always so cautious about even touching others—was now gripping Kayeina’s collar with trembling fingers.
“Kayeina, please… tell me. We’re okay, right? The baby and I… we’ll be alright, won’t we?”
Maybe Kayeina didn’t have all the answers. But Natasha clung to her words like gospel. She was the only one who had stayed by her side, who listened and cared.
“…Actually, I think I heard something yesterday, Madam.”
“What? What did you hear?”
One person.
Only one person came, even after Natasha had cried out for help for over ten minutes.
Trusting Kayeina—her only friend, her lifeline—was as natural as breathing. It didn’t matter how unbelievable her words were. Natasha would believe her.
“I overheard some of the Duke’s maids… they were whispering about slipping you something while you slept. I thought it was just an awful joke, a cruel rumor… but…”
Kayeina trailed off and glanced toward the table. Natasha followed her gaze in a panic.
Their eyes landed on the same thing—the vial.
“Ah… ah…”
No. No—it can’t be.
Natasha collapsed to the floor, unable to stand. She clawed at the ground, fingers curled tight like talons, scraping the floor as if trying to peel away reality itself.
“Ah—ah, ah!”
This child was someone she had vowed to protect. A baby she had loved from the moment she learned of its life. The only piece of her that was pure and untouched. She had never imagined… not even for a second… that it would end like this. So suddenly. So cruelly.
Unable to believe it, she went to the doctor again.
Just days ago, the same doctor had smiled gently as he confirmed her pregnancy. But this time, as he examined her pale, hollow face, he already seemed to suspect the worst. His expression darkened before he finally spoke.
His words were exactly what Kayeina had feared.
The baby was gone.
The diagnosis was cold and merciless.
All of Natasha’s hope shattered. All the dreams she had carefully pieced together for her future scattered like broken glass. And when she tried to put them back together, what formed was nothing like the dream she had once cherished.
“You may experience mild cramping. The bleeding should last about five to seven days.”
Because the baby had still been small, there wouldn’t be lasting physical damage—at least, not according to the physician. The process of passing what was left of the child wasn’t even painful. No different from a normal period. Same symptoms. Same duration.
But Natasha knew—this was not the same.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my baby.”
She whispered it again and again, holding her belly in grief. She begged forgiveness from a distant star that would never hear her. She had wanted too much. She had been foolish. If only she’d run away. Even if life had been hard, at least her child would still be alive.
Tears streamed down as she whispered into the void. The blood soaking into her sheets was no longer frightening—only cruelly resentful.
Six days after the bleeding stopped, Natasha finally emerged from her room.
As she stepped downstairs, the scent of food wafted toward her. The clock pointed to noon.
Drawn by habit, she found herself walking toward the dining room.
And there he was—Sieghart.
Natasha took a seat across from him, in the chair opposite the one designated for the Duchess. Her voice was quiet but razor-sharp.
“It was your child.”
In that moment, his eyes seemed to twitch. Or maybe it was her imagination. Maybe it was just her eyes trembling, not his.
“Sieghart. It was your child.”
“…If you want to lash out, do it at the real father, Princess.”
“I am. You’re the one who killed our child, Sieghart. You destroyed everything—my dreams, my hopes… all of it.”
The miscarriage wasn’t just the loss of a child. It was the loss of the only dream she had left.
Unlike the shallow wound on her cheek that would fade with time, the damage Sieghart had inflicted would never heal—not even after a lifetime.
