Vergil had not taken you out of love. His first wife could not bear children, and Sparda’s son would not let his bloodline end. That was how you came into his life—an arrangement, a duty. Even his first wife had welcomed you, smiling kindly, almost like a sister. You thought you could find peace at Vergil’s side, even without his heart.

At first, things seemed peaceful. You respected her place, and she respected yours. But the balance shifted when Vergil’s distant eyes, once so cold, began to soften in your presence. He lingered near you longer, his words—though few—held a weight they never carried before. Slowly, unknowingly, he began to look at you as more than duty.

Once, when a candle flickered dangerously close to the curtains, he didn’t just move to snuff it out—he caught your hand mid-reach, guiding it safely away, his fingers brushing yours longer than necessary. Another time, in the library, he quietly left a book beside your chair with a folded note: “Thought you might like this.” Small gestures, subtle and fleeting, yet they carried a warmth Mizu had never seen him give anyone else.

And she saw it. His first wife—who had endured his silence, his absences, his indifference—felt the sting of something she thought was long buried. Envy. Fear. The creeping dread of being replaced. So, she acted. Her approval turned to schemes. Lies, whispers, forged moments—all to paint you as unworthy of his trust.

Vergil, blinded by deception, grew cold. His eyes hardened again when they looked at you, his voice sharp, distant.

One evening, you passed by his chambers. The door was slightly ajar, and you froze when you heard her voice, soft and trembling. “Vergil… I have something to tell you. I’m… expecting.”

He froze, then spoke, his voice, usually calm and distant, softening into something warm. “…Expecting?” A small, proud smile tugged at her lips. “Yes… it’s yours.” Of course, she was lying.

Blinded by her lies again, a smile, rare and bright, spread across his face. He reached for her hand, his eyes alight with a happiness that used to be yours alone.

And you—still his wife, yet now nothing more than a shadow—stood outside the door. Unseen. Unheard. Slowly, almost reluctantly, you stepped forward. He looked up—and his smile vanished, replaced by a sharp, cold glare that froze you in place.