“Miss. You were out all night.”
Emily is angry. I’ll pretend to be asleep.
‘If I act as though I’ve just woken from a deep, sound rest—’
“I know you’re awake. You don’t need to perform for me. You’re a terrible actress, Miss.”
“I’m sorry. But I came home early. Early in the morning…”
“Miss. Do you have any idea how worried I was? If the master or mistress had found out, you wouldn’t have gotten away with a simple scolding.”
“But they’re not here…”
“That isn’t the point.”
Emily was right.
Her parents were strict, old-fashioned people. Her father was patriarchal and absolute in his authority. Her mother, by contrast, was the very image of a genteel and obedient housewife. There had been a time when her father had kept a mistress as a matter of course — and her mother had not seen fit to object.
These two people shared a peculiar conviction: that a woman ought not to be handled too freely by men before marriage.
Which was why they had arranged her betrothal at the earliest opportunity. Without an official fiancé in tow, she was forbidden from attending social events alone.
The reason she had been permitted to attend the Academy at all was their belief that an educated woman would be better suited to managing a household. That was the full extent of their ambition for her.
So if she had been caught returning to the estate in this state, at this hour — she would have been subjected to a sermon on the proper conduct of a lady, delivered at sufficient volume to make her ears bleed, followed by a complete ban on leaving the house.
‘My curfew is already suffocating. The thought of being confined to the estate entirely is genuinely horrifying.’
Fortunately, both of her parents had gone south to collect her younger brother Jacqueline and the house was empty. She had seized on that absence to slip away to last night’s ball without permission — partly because her fiancé Edwin had agreed to come along, and partly because she had wanted, just once, to stay out past sundown without a clock ticking in her ear.
What she had not anticipated was that she would end up watching Edwin’s bare backside in motion.
He had been on top of another woman, letting out sounds no human being should be making, in some shadowed corner of the garden.
‘Of all the things to stumble upon.’
She had been looking for him — he had disappeared from the party without a word, and she’d searched everywhere before climbing to the second-floor terrace. From there, the private corner of the garden was perfectly, mercilessly visible.
As were the two people writhing in the grass below.
She hadn’t even had time to register how ugly and shameless the scene was before she recognized the backside as Edwin’s.
‘Disgusting man.’
She had returned to the ballroom. Edwin, apparently having spotted her, had come hurrying after her almost immediately — still disheveled, still wearing the evidence of what he’d just been doing on his entire body.
Right there, in front of everyone, she had broken off the engagement.
‘Let’s end it, Edwin.’
‘What? Are you out of your mind? You can’t be serious—’
‘The one who’s out of his mind is you.’
‘Ivelina, listen to me. It was a mistake. She came at me first—’
‘Fix your clothes. My decision is final. I’ll write to my parents.’
Edwin had whipped around in shock and fumbled with his trousers. She had left without looking back.
‘And then I drank a whisky in a single furious swallow.’
That was where the clarity ended. After that — nothing. The film simply stopped.
She never would have guessed that one glass of whisky would destroy her completely. She had never really drunk before, so she had no idea what her limit was. And on top of that, the looming pressure of an impending marriage she dreaded had been weighing on her for weeks. She was going to spend the rest of her life as a proper, well-managed lady of the house — just like all the others.
Meanwhile Edwin, by virtue of being a man, had taken it as his right to do exactly as he pleased.
It wasn’t even a love match.
The one who had to endure and sacrifice and quietly accept — it had always been her.
‘Well. I didn’t want to marry him anyway. If anything, this is a relief.’
That’s right. Look on the bright side.
“Miss. Are you all right?”
Emily’s worried voice cut through her thoughts.
“Of course! I’m perfectly fine. I was a complete model of propriety — I just sat and drank and had a very wholesome evening, that’s all.”
Emily looked at her with unmistakable skepticism.
“Is that right?”
“…Yes.”
“Only — you’ve been clutching your lower back as though it’s causing you real pain. On and off, since I came in.”
“…”
“And you look as though every muscle in your body is aching. As if you’ve been through some kind of strenuous physical ordeal.”
“…”
“I was worried.”
“…Oh. I see.”
Emily had an uncanny ability to notice things.
Which was why Ivelina responded with complete composure and absolutely no hint of panic whatsoever.
“Hmm. How strange.” Emily tilted her head. “Miss, what is that?”
“…What?”
Emily’s expression turned serious as she came to the edge of the bed, her eyes sharp and attentive. Under that gaze, Ivelina felt herself instinctively shrink.
“Here. There’s a red mark — as though someone bit you.”
Emily reached out and slowly traced the area just below Ivelina’s collarbone. The silk nightgown had slipped, revealing a vivid, unmistakable mark against pale skin.
The trace of someone who had been there before her.
“…!”
“It doesn’t look like an insect bite. There’s no swelling.”
“…You’re right…”
A chill crept up the back of her neck. A thin line of cold sweat traced down her spine.
She had been too exhausted to examine herself properly after bathing.
“It rather looks like a bite mark.”
“A — a bite mark?!”
“Yes. A human bite mark.”
Emily’s voice was calm and precise. Her dark brown eyes held complete certainty.
Ivelina yanked her nightgown higher and replied with great dignity.
“Oh, honestly… who on earth would be biting me? I’m not a snack.”
“Quite right. Though, Miss — are you warm? Your face is very flushed.”
“Hmm? What?”
“You look as though you’ve been exercising strenuously.”
“Oh! I probably just overdid it at the party last night!”
Emily made a considering sound — ‘Hmm, is that so?’ — and set a silver tray on the bedside table.
Ivelina exhaled quietly so Emily wouldn’t notice. It was fortunate she could hold a face so well.
Emily arranged the silver tray — warm chamomile tea and a small plate of delicate pastries — and added, in the same mild tone:
“Oh, speaking of — apparently the Duke of Hardeion has come to the capital. The servants have been in a complete uproar about it all morning. At least it’s kept your disappearance from becoming the main topic of conversation.”
“What? He’s here? Already? Why?”
“He must have business.”
“But he hates the capital. Too loud, too many people—”
“Perhaps he felt like a visit.”
‘Why is the villain supposed to be quietly lurking in his domain, and yet he’s already here?’
A sudden cold pricked at her stomach.
“Apparently he’s extraordinarily handsome?” Emily continued, straightening the tray. “Someone called him a walking sculpture.”
“…How handsome, exactly?”
“Enormously, by all accounts.”
“Is he seeing anyone?”
“Single, apparently.”
‘So the contract arrangement hasn’t happened yet. I thought the timeline might have shifted when I heard he’d arrived early, but perhaps not.’
The Duke of Hardeion, she recalled from the novel, selected a suitable woman to present as his companion — a contractual partner, installed specifically to ward off the families who kept trying to offer him their daughters.
Who that woman was, she had no idea. The contract lover was never named in the story.
“Ugh.”
She rubbed her arms, where the goosebumps had risen.
“Does it bother you that a handsome man is unattached?”
“Emily. I say this out of genuine concern — please be careful around that man. It might be nothing but rumor, but he is genuinely dangerous.”
“Even so, reality might be different. Everyone who’s actually seen him calls him impossibly beautiful, despite how frightening he’s supposed to be.”
“I’m serious. If you ever cross paths with him by chance, don’t make eye contact. Don’t speak to him. Do you understand?”
“Well. I’m just a common girl — when would I ever come face to face with a duke?”
Ivelina issued the warning firmly and unwrapped a piece of chocolate.
Emily was open-minded and unlikely to take idle rumors seriously — which meant she would have to listen carefully instead.
“Oh, come to think of it — the Duke of Hardeion was apparently at last night’s banquet as well, wasn’t he—”
‘Knock. Knock.’
The door opened with the knock. James, the head butler, stepped inside.
“Miss. You have a visitor.”
“A visitor? Who?”
“The Duke of Hardeion, Miss.”
The piece of chocolate she was about to eat slipped from her fingers and dropped to the floor.
* * *
‘Oh no. What do I do? Why is Kael here?’
She stood motionless in front of the parlor door. Behind it, the villain of a story was waiting for her.
She gnawed on her thumbnail the way a debtor gnaws on their knuckles when the debt collector arrives. She had absolutely no idea why he had come, and her palms were so damp that no amount of wiping them on her skirt made any difference.
“Come in, then.”
His voice found her before she even touched the door — low, resonant, unhurried, as though it had risen up from somewhere underground. He had known she was standing there, hovering just outside.
The faint note of command buried beneath that unhurried tone — was the edge of irritation she detected just her imagination?
‘All right. In I go. I haven’t done anything wrong, so there’s no reason to be frightened before he’s even said a word. It might be nothing. It could be completely innocent.’
She opened the door.
A man sat on the parlor sofa, dressed in a formal uniform.
‘…I can’t see clearly from here, but he really is extraordinarily handsome, isn’t he?’
Manners first. Be polite. She recalled that he despised rudeness above most things.
“Good day, Your Grace. What a pleasure to meet you at last. Were you looking for — ‘eeek!'”
* * *
