I, Who Was Betrayed By The People I Loved Most - Chapter 1

Bathed in the warm light of spring, I let out a soft laugh as I lay in my husband Oswald’s arms, in the comfort of our bedroom.

“I wonder… is it really alright to be this happy? Every day feels like a dream when I’m with you.”

At my whispered words, Oswald smiled gently.

“Of course it is. As long as you’re in my arms, smiling like this, that’s all I could ever ask for.”

He was so kind—too kind, really. With a husband like him, my heart always felt as though it were basking in sunlight. I never imagined married life could be so fulfilling and joyful.

Among the nobility, most marriages are arranged for political reasons—rarely do they involve love.
But ours was different.

We grew up together as childhood friends. Somewhere along the way, a quiet flame began to burn in our hearts. We fell in love, and with all sincerity, we pleaded with our parents to allow us to be engaged—and eventually, we were wed.

We were happy. Truly, deeply happy. We were more than satisfied with the life we shared.

“You like this, don’t you? Here, have mine too.”
At every meal, Oswald would gently serve me my favorite dishes.
“You should have this. It’s your favorite,” I’d say in return, offering him what he loved most.
“No, I’m fine. Watching you eat happily brings me more joy than anything.”

Oswald always smiled with that same warmth. He always put me first.

At balls, he would be the first to offer me his hand.
“There’s no one I’d rather dance with. No matter the moment, being with you is what I treasure most.”
When he whispered such things at my ear, my cheeks would flush. The days we spent together—sweet, peaceful, and tender—felt like they would last forever.

Time passed, and I turned twenty-eight.

Though we had no children of our own, five years ago, we took in my late sister and brother-in-law’s daughter—Camille. I raised her as if she were my own. Now eighteen, she had grown into a refined, graceful young woman, often turning heads with her beauty.

Marie, my personal maid, had served me faithfully since I was ten.
Seven years older than me, she remained by my side, always ready to lend a listening ear. I relied on her deeply.

Surrounded by Oswald’s love, watching over Camille’s growth, and with Marie’s steadfast support, my days were calm and content—filled with a happiness that left nothing to be desired.

Then came that day.

I was hosting a tea party for my close friends. The afternoon sun shone golden through the stained-glass windows of the salon, painting everything in gentle hues.

Delicately, I lifted a rose-colored teacup to my lips. Around me, ladies dressed in elegant gowns exchanged smiles and laughter, their voices soft and graceful. There were about twenty of us—dear friends who gathered regularly to share news and enjoy each other’s company.

That peaceful atmosphere was quietly disrupted as Marie approached with careful steps. In her hand was a single envelope.

It was made of fine paper but sealed without wax, and bore no name to indicate the sender.

“Milady, I found this in the powder room. It wasn’t there this morning. I’m not sure who might’ve left it… would you take a look inside?”

I frowned slightly but accepted the letter from Marie’s hand.
With slender fingers, I opened the envelope and unfolded the single sheet of writing paper tucked within.

On it, written in bold black ink, were the following words:

“Duke Oswald von Rubert has a mistress.
She is someone close to the Duchess—someone she trusts deeply.
How very unfortunate… isn’t it?”

A cold, invisible hand seemed to seize my chest. The lively chatter of the salon faded into the distance, becoming a far-off murmur.
My face turned pale, and before I realized it, the letter slipped from my hand and fell silently to the floor.