Duke Damian, The Duchess Wants a Divorce!

"Madam!"

"Madam!"

The screams echoed from below. Every eye was fixed on the castle’s highest tower, where a woman in a blood-stained white gown stood precariously on the edge.

Selene Moreau Leventis was the Duchess of Leventis. She was a woman known for her quiet, submissive nature. But now, she was standing in the most dangerous of places. The guards behind her moved with agonizing caution, fearing that a single misplaced step would send her plunging into the abyss.

She broke down, her sobs clear and heart-wrenching. Selene clutched her aching abdomen. She had just suffered her fifth miscarriage. But this time, she knew the truth, it wasn't due to illness or the fragility of her body. It was the calculated work of her own husband, a man who refused to let her bear his heirs.

"Selene!" a deep voice commanded from behind. It was Damian, the Duke. Her husband.

Selene heard him, but she refused to turn around. Her disillusionment ran too deep.

"Is this another trick to get my attention?" Damian asked coldly. He loathed being inconvenienced. Selene knew he had only come because he couldn't stand the whispers of the staff seeing his wife atop the tower.

Selene let out a bitter, hollow smile. Her voice was hoarse as she replied, "Shouldn't you be apologizing?"

Her gaze drifted to a beautiful woman standing among the servants—perfectly composed and impeccably dressed, a sharp contrast to Selene's own disheveled state. That was the woman Damian loved. A woman Selene could never hope to rival in his eyes.

"Have you gone mad?" Damian retorted, his tone dripping with disdain.

Selene finally turned to face him. His eyes were bloodshot, yet they remained icy.

"Yes, I am mad! I was mad enough to love you, even as you murdered five of your own children!" she screamed.

The guards gasped in collective shock. Even Damian fell silent for a heartbeat.

"Selene, stop talking nonsense," he said, struggling to maintain his composure.

Selene laughed, a sound full of grief. Blood continued to seep through her gown, staining the white fabric.

"Did you ever love me?" she asked, her eyes momentarily flickering with a final, desperate spark of hope.

Damian remained silent. He looked away.

"Never," Selene answered for him, interpreting his silence. The weight of her own words crushed her. She took a shuddering breath.

"Stop this at once and come down. You need rest," Damian ordered.

"Don't pretend to care!" Selene snapped, tears streaming down her face. "Why didn't you just kill me instead of those innocent children?"

"Selene, enough! Come down now!" Damian bellowed, his voice echoing with authority.

"I will jump. I will die and meet my children, so I can beg their forgiveness for failing to protect them from their own father!" she shouted back.

"Don't be foolish, Selene! You are not allowed to die!" Damian cried out, his composure finally fracturing. He watched in agitation as Selene took a step backward, teetering on the brink of the ledge.

Selene actually smiled. "For the sake of the children you killed, I make this vow! You will pay for everything. I will haunt you for the rest of your life with regret and endless suffering!"

Then, she let go.

"Selene!" Damian shrieked, lunging toward the edge alongside the guards. But they were too late. Selene’s body plummeted, cutting through the air until it hit the ground.

Crack!

The sickening sound of shattering bone echoed as a pool of blood began to spread.

Her eyes remained open. For a fleeting second, she saw Damian’s distorted, panicked face looking down at her broken form. The screams of the maids filled the night air. The starless, black sky stood as the only witness to the tragedy of the Duchess of Leventis.

-

"Selene!"

Selene jolted awake, her eyes snapping open. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps, like a person newly rescued from drowning. Standing before her was Damian. His expression was calm, cold, and sharp. Behind him stood a doctor and several servants; the clinical scent of medicine filled the room. It felt hauntingly real—the same stage upon which her life had ended.

She glanced to the side. A clock on the bedside table ticked steadily. The date and year displayed were two years before her death. A night breeze drifted through the cracked window, carrying the exact same scent from the moment she fell. The memories rushed back, the impact, the excruciating pain, and then the darkness. She fumbled for her stomach, searching for the trauma. Her hands were wrapped in gauze—warm and blood-stained. She was lost in confusion; she had died, yet here she was, breathing.

"Madam, your hand is bleeding. I need to start the IV," the doctor said urgently. Selene watched his movements with stiff, disbelief-filled eyes.

Damian spoke, his voice laced with irritation. "Don't make things difficult for the doctor."

Selene took a long, deep breath. Her mind was a chaotic blur of her own corpse, the screams of the crowd, and above all, the five unborn children. It all hit her at once.

She turned her gaze toward Damian. Her voice was soft, but terrifyingly clear.

"Damian."

Damian looked at her. "What is it?"

Selene looked him straight in the eye.

"Let’s get a divorce."