Late at night, all was still, and the moon hung low in the west.
In the bedroom, the small lamp on the bedside table was still lit, casting a faint, dusky glow.
Half-reclining against the pillows, Ronan let out a long breath and reached out to stroke the beauty in his arms across the face.
Dolores gave a soft hum and slowly opened her tightly shut eyes.
Her eyes shone like stars, brimming with endless tenderness and deep affection.
Ronan asked softly, "Does it still hurt?"
Dolores shook her head, then pressed her burning, flushed face tightly against Ronan's chest, listening to his heartbeat.
That powerful throb made her feel incomparably safe and content.
Ronan could not help asking, "Janice?"
"She's my older sister's daughter."
Knowing what Ronan wanted to ask, Dolores replied quietly, "The Toran Family's only descendant."
The Toran Family had a history stretching back several centuries. At its peak, it had even produced a marquis, but over the past hundred years it had steadily declined, reduced to a fallen noble house.
Dolores' sister and brother-in-law had been the last heirs to the family estate. They had tried to restore the family, only to die together in an accident. Before their deaths, they entrusted Janice to Dolores.
Dolores then took the Toran name and struggled to survive in Ceres with Janice.
Since Janice had still been wrapped in swaddling clothes when her birth parents died, she knew nothing of her origins and had always regarded Dolores as her mother.
In truth, Dolores was her own maternal aunt!
"Luckily, I met you."
Dolores murmured, "Otherwise, I really don't know whether I could have kept living with Janice."
When she had first met Ronan, her circumstances had actually been terrible. She had nearly been unable to hold on.
Without Ronan's