Chapter 148: A Party for Him
“Oh, Damian.”
Spotting him waiting to greet her, Aracila’s eyes widened slightly as she reached out to clasp his hands. The moment Damian’s smile brightened, she spoke again.
“I haven’t told you to leave the study yet. Go back inside.”
“…”
Without another word, Damian was promptly banished back to his study.
Leaving him standing there, utterly bewildered, Aracila headed to her room. The gifts were ordered, the invitations sent—now only one task remained.
Writing the letter.
With a solemn expression, she sat at the table, pen and paper in hand. Writing letters wasn’t something she did often, and she found herself grappling with how to express her thoughts. I want to write something moving, something profound. Just as Damian had once lifted her spirits with a single line, Aracila longed to offer him words filled with heartfelt sincerity.
To focus her emotions, she sent Audrey away and sat alone, scribbling and erasing repeatedly with a soft groan of frustration. Outside, the sky had surrendered to full darkness. She moved a lamp closer and continued wrestling with the letter.
This phrasing might come off as confrontational in writing. I’ll leave that out…
Failed drafts were crumpled and tossed aside, piling up like a paper graveyard beneath the table. As Aracila scribbled on, her hand slowed. Her eyelids grew heavy, drooping more frequently, and her head began to nod. Still clutching the pen, she drifted off, her eyes fluttering shut.
The soft rhythm of her breathing filled the room until a knock at the door broke the silence.
“Lady Vandemir, are you in there?”
It was Damian, concerned that Aracila hadn’t appeared even after dinnertime.
Knock, knock.
“What are you doing in there? May I come in?”
No response came, no matter how long he waited. After a moment’s hesitation, Damian cautiously opened the door. Audrey had assured him Aracila was in the room, so she had to be here.
Stepping inside, he froze at the sight before him. The floor and table were littered with crumpled papers, and Aracila was slumped on the sofa by the table, fast asleep.
“Aracila,” he called softly.
She didn’t stir. Damian approached her slowly. His gaze was inevitably drawn to her peaceful, sleeping face rather than the mess of papers strewn across the table. Noticing her cheek slightly pressed against the sofa’s headrest, he let out a quiet chuckle.
Gently, he lifted her head and slipped his hand beneath it, acting as a makeshift pillow. As her warmth met his skin, Aracila instinctively nuzzled into his hand. The soft brush of her breath tickled his palm, and Damian flinched slightly.
“You lock your husband away in the study all day while you run around,” he murmured under his breath, his voice low and fond. “If you’re this exhausted, why sleep so uncomfortably instead of lying in bed?”
Even this gentle scolding, laced with affection, failed to rouse her. Damian gazed at her face, utterly unresentful despite her having stolen his entire day’s freedom. Even if she locked me in some remote cave instead of the study, I don’t think I could be angry with her.
Not when she’s sleeping like an angel…
With a soft sigh, he searched for a cushion. Moving as delicately as if handling fine glass, he slid it under Aracila’s face and carefully withdrew his hand. Straightening up, his attention shifted to the table, where papers lay scattered in disarray.
“What’s all this writing…?” he muttered to himself, thinking it might be best to tidy up. As he reached for the papers, a hand shot out from the side, grabbing his arm.
Aracila was awake, staring at him with bloodshot eyes, slightly wild from exhaustion. “Aracila, you’re awake—”
“You shouldn’t be here right now. Out,” she said flatly.
“What?” Damian, who had been about to offer a gentle greeting, blinked in confusion.
Without explanation, Aracila tugged him toward the door. Half-dragged along, Damian stopped short and asked, “Wait, aren’t you having dinner?”
“I’m not hungry tonight.”
“You shouldn’t skip meals,” he insisted, his face earnest with concern.
Aracila paused, seeming to consider his words, then nodded. “I’ll ask Audrey to bring something simple.”
“You’re not eating with me?” Damian asked, a hint of disappointment in his voice.
“No, I have something important to finish,” she replied curtly. Determined to complete the letter, Aracila was unrelenting.
The door closed firmly in front of him—his second exile of the day. Damian stared at the shut door, a mix of bemusement and resignation on his face. What could she possibly be working on so secretly?
If it was for his birthday, she really didn’t need to go to such lengths. But knowing Aracila’s stubborn resolve to see things through, he had no choice but to return to the study, swallow his curiosity, and wait.
* * *
Marigold Jewelers had met the deadline. Aracila smiled with satisfaction as she inspected the elegantly delivered brooch and cufflinks. Clutching the beautifully wrapped gift box, she left work earlier than usual. Tomorrow was Damian’s birthday, and she intended to prepare the cake tonight.
Upon arriving home, she changed into comfortable clothes and headed to the kitchen.
“Please do your best to guide me,” she said to the head chef.
“Of course, my lady! I’ll teach you with all my heart!” the chef replied enthusiastically. Audrey, standing behind them, watched with an anxious expression. Our lady struggles with anything hands-on outside of magic… Will this be alright?
Unaware of her maid’s fretting, Aracila rolled up her sleeves and began mixing the batter under the chef’s instructions.
The batter was baked, the whipped cream spread, and the fruit carefully arranged. The process, to everyone’s surprise, went smoother than expected.
“Oh, you’re doing wonderfully, my lady!” the head chef exclaimed.
“Am I?” Aracila replied, a hint of pride in her voice.
“Absolutely! It seems there’s nothing you can’t do, my lady.”
Under the chef’s barrage of compliments, Aracila’s shoulders lifted with confidence. Even Audrey, who had been watching with bated breath, began to relax. Just because she’s terrible at embroidery doesn’t mean she can’t excel at other things, Audrey reasoned. She’s never tried cooking before, but who knows? She might have a hidden talent.
Finally, they reached the last step: decorating the cake’s surface with syrup and writing a message.
“Would you like me to do it for you?” the chef offered.
“No, it’s only meaningful if I do it myself,” Aracila insisted, waving off his help. With a flourish, she alternated between chocolate and strawberry syrup, embellishing the cake with bold, swirling designs.
The chef and Audrey stood back, waiting to see the finished product hidden behind her.
“Phew, it’s done,” Aracila announced, setting down the syrup bottles with a satisfied grin. Her cheeks were flushed with effort, a faint rosy glow betraying how deeply she’d thrown herself into the task.
She stepped aside to reveal the cake. The chef and Audrey moved closer, their eyes bright with anticipation. The cake was ringed with plump, vibrant strawberries, and atop it, scrawled in syrup, were the words “Congratulations.” A drawing accompanied the text, though its subject was… unclear. The strawberry syrup, meant to form letters, looked disturbingly like dripping blood.
“…”
“…”
The chef and Audrey were speechless, confronted by a visual far from what they’d imagined. Aracila, oblivious to their shock, beamed with pride.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“Uh, well…” the chef stammered. “My lady, may I ask… what exactly did you draw?”
“Don’t you see it? Audrey, you know, don’t you?” Aracila turned to her maid expectantly.
“Me?” Audrey faltered, stealing a glance at the cake. It looks like an evil demon drenched in blood… Swallowing the truth that rose to her throat, she forced an awkward smile. “I’m sorry, my lady, I’m not sure. Could you tell us?”
“You all have no eye for art,” Aracila said with a playful shake of her head. “It’s Damian, obviously. Doesn’t it capture his sharp jawline? It’s pretty close, if I do say so myself.”
“Really?” the chef managed, exchanging a glance with Audrey. Sharp? That’s not sharp—it’s pointy as a dagger.
The same thought crossed their minds, but neither dared voice it. Aracila was far too delighted with her creation. With meticulous care, she placed the cake in a box, even casting a protective spell to keep it safe. Her devotion was undeniable.
“Well… it’s the thought that counts, right?” the chef ventured quietly.
“Absolutely. It’s all about the heart you put into it,” Audrey agreed, nodding. They sealed their lips, trusting Damian would handle his reaction to the cake with his usual grace.
* * *
Friday arrived.
The Vandemir household buzzed with activity from dawn. The staff scurried about, determined to make their master’s birthday party flawless.
Damian, adorned with rare finery, stood before a mirror, studying his reflection with unease. His pristine white uniform was embroidered with delicate gold thread at the collar. The grey vest beneath his jacket paired elegantly with a crimson cravat, lending him an air of refined sophistication. His silver hair, parted neatly, framed a strikingly handsome face that seemed oddly tense.
He’d attended countless birthday parties—more than he could count on both hands—but his own had always been few and far between. Is this really a good idea? he wondered, letting out a faint sigh as he rubbed his jaw. He still questioned the necessity of holding a party for himself. If it were for networking or some strategic purpose, he might understand, but this? This was purely Aracila’s gesture of kindness.
Would a pointless birthday party truly be enjoyable?
A light knock interrupted his thoughts, followed by Aracila’s voice from beyond the door. “Damian, are you ready?”
“Yes, I’m coming out now,” he replied, turning swiftly to step outside.
There stood Aracila, radiant in a cream-colored dress adorned with silver embroidery, accented by a vibrant red ribbon. The sight of his beautiful wife brought an instinctive smile to Damian’s lips. Suddenly, the idea of a birthday party felt meaningful.
“You look stunning, as always,” he said.
“Well, naturally,” Aracila replied with a playful, mock-haughty toss of her head before offering him a warm smile and extending her hand. “Shall we go?”
“Yes,” he answered, taking her slender hand and falling into step beside her.
As they approached the hall where the party was being held, the faint hum of voices grew louder. Sounds like more people showed up than I expected, Damian thought, his expectations low. He stood at the entrance, steeling himself as the doors began to open. Aracila put so much effort into this. I should at least show her I’m enjoying it.
He recalled his childhood, when birthday parties had felt noisy and bothersome. Still, for Aracila’s sake, he could play the part of a delighted guest. Should I smile as I walk in? That would look better, wouldn’t it?
As he stepped through the threshold, consciously lifting the corners of his mouth, a sudden burst of sound erupted.
Pop! Bang!
“Happy birthday, Commander!”
“Happy birthday, Sir Vandemir!”
Colorful confetti rained down from above, and cheers of celebration filled the air. Damian’s carefully composed expression faltered into one of stunned surprise. His eyes swept the room.
The hall was adorned with vibrant fresh flowers, filled with a crowd of familiar faces. Members of the Red Hawk Knights, Colin, Prince Lucas, the Marquis Hugo’s family, Aracila’s friend Paula, and other acquaintances—all gathered to genuinely celebrate his birthday, their faces alight with warm smiles.
It was like the birthday parties he’d envied as a child, the ones Oscar used to have.
The realization stirred something unfamiliar in Damian’s chest. Just moments ago, he’d felt nothing, no excitement or anticipation. Now, he was at a loss for how to react. As he stood rooted to the spot, Aracila gently tugged his hand and whispered, “Come on, Damian. This party is for you.”
Entranced, he followed her lead. A serene, warm atmosphere—one he’d never thought could belong to him—enveloped him naturally.
This was his first true birthday party, crafted entirely for him.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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