She thrashed like a fish on a hook.
“‘What—'”
But Kael only pressed closer.
She was frightened of what might come next. The memory of what had happened when she had barged into his bedroom had been very thoroughly learned.
‘Thud. Thud.’
With movements that suggested barely contained impatience, he stripped off his uniform jacket and shirt. She was too busy trying to track the ripple of muscle and process the situation simultaneously to do either properly. His clothes fell to the floor one after another, like autumn leaves dropping without ceremony.
She inched her way backward, and he advanced to close the distance immediately.
‘Is it time for another round of revenge?’
“I’m sorry! I was wrong! I won’t say strange things again, I promise!”
The apology accomplished nothing. He had already buried his face in her neck, occupied with biting and pressing his lips against her skin.
He had lost his mind. In broad daylight, no less.
“Damn.”
He bit her earlobe sharply and let out a low curse. The sensation made it quite difficult to keep her eyes properly open. She felt like a deer caught in a very fast current.
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
He had, it seemed, already worked out exactly what she had been trying to do.
His hands were anything but restrained as her blouse was swiftly reduced to disarray. He kissed her as though he were being chased by something, leaving marks wherever he pleased as he pressed his way downward. There was something familiar about this — hadn’t something like this happened once before—
“Wait — ‘wait’! Not there! That is absolutely not allowed!”
Kael pushed her skirt up and disappeared beneath it.
“‘Eek!'”
And a very different category of sound altogether escaped her.
* * *
“Good heavens.”
Emily, who had come to meet her at the entrance, took a startled step backward. Half-dead and barely upright, she could hardly keep her eyes open. An inexplicable wave of sadness was washing over her.
In the afternoon light, Emily seemed to be surrounded by a faint halo.
“Emily…”
“Were you dealt with again?”
A nod. She lacked the energy to answer in words.
She leaned her thoroughly wrung-out body against Emily, who braced her without a word.
In her hand was today’s work-status report — pressed upon her by Kael when he had walked her to the front gate moments ago.
She wanted to throw it in a bush. She had no idea when she was supposed to read it.
“Let’s get you to your room first, Miss. Your face is in a complete state.”
She recounted everything that had happened.
“I’m afraid we may have met our match. As I suspected — he’s not ordinary.”
“Did I use the method incorrectly?”
“No. You didn’t.”
“So I did use it correctly? But Kael’s reaction — it seemed almost more intense than before.”
Emily shook her head in silence. Her expression was gravely serious.
“The technique appears to have ‘stimulated’ the Duke, rather than put him off. This plan was a complete failure.”
“Then what do I do?”
“We’ll have to find another approach.”
Emily pressed her lips together, eyes narrowing in thought.
“Before that, though — I want to clarify one thing.”
“What?”
“Are you absolutely set on being broken up with, Miss? Because from where I’m standing, this is genuinely not looking feasible.”
…But marrying a sociopathic villain was somewhat more concerning.
“Yes. I’m absolutely set on it.”
“Of course you are.”
“I really do wonder — is he actually annoyed and punishing me in the only way he can justify, since he can’t hit me outright?”
“With a club? Surely the Duke hasn’t been striking you with an actual weapon, Miss?”
“…No, that’s not what I meant.”
She omitted the specifics on the grounds that they would constitute an inappropriate disclosure.
“What am I going to do. I’m genuinely in trouble.”
She sighed deeply.
Emily had been certain this plan would work. And yet it had failed completely.
Exhausted beyond all recovery, she finished venting her grievances and drifted off to sleep without meaning to.
* * *
Ivelina was sleeping the deep, untroubled sleep of a newborn.
The only sound in her quiet bedroom was the soft, rhythmic cadence of her breathing.
Emily sat in the small chair beside the bed and watched her.
Ivelina lay completely still — no stirring, no turning over — as though genuinely unconscious rather than simply asleep. She looked almost medicated.
‘It’s strange, isn’t it.’
On every day that Miss returns from Hardeion Estate, she sleeps exactly like this. Like clockwork.
“I don’t know what’s happening over there, but it must be exhausting her considerably.”
The white pillow Ivelina had curled herself around held her tight. For a moment, a strand of her hair slipped free and tickled at her face, making her brow twitch in mild protest.
Emily reached over and smoothed it gently aside.
‘What exactly do men and women get up to together, anyway.’
She filed the thought away for later and remembered the errand the head housekeeper had asked of her.
“Oh dear. Look at the time.”
She tidied herself quickly and headed to the market square.
“One set of orange macarons, please.”
“Of course! Just one moment — I’ll have that wrapped up for you right away!”
In that instant, the image of Ivelina came to her — nibbling macarons with the furtive speed of a squirrel pilfering acorns that didn’t belong to her.
“Two sets, please.”
“Certainly!”
There went her weekly wages.
Emily found an empty seat nearby. With the housekeeper’s errand complete, she had a little time to herself.
Since she was already at the square, it had seemed natural to pick up a box of Ivelina’s favorite orange macarons to bring home. Fortunately, they still had stock — unusual, since they typically sold out by morning.
The wages were gone, but what of it. Emily pictured Ivelina waking up with a puffy face and squinting eyes, nibbling at an orange macaron in sleepy contentment.
She was satisfied.
“Sweetheaaaaart. Open wiiiiide!”
Emily’s spine went rigid. Every hair stood up.
The voice that had produced this extraordinary sound was coming from the table immediately beside her.
Unpleasant as it was, it had a gravitational quality that was difficult to ignore. Emily found herself paying attention despite herself.
At the neighboring table, a couple sat side by side. The woman was plastered against the man’s arm. He wore the expression of a person who found the situation mildly offensive but was nonetheless accepting bites of cake with reasonable cooperation.
“Was that yummy?”
“…Yes.”
The woman’s pronunciation was remarkable — she seemed to be operating with only a fraction of a working tongue — and her expressions were extraordinarily varied. She appeared entirely unaware that a packed café full of people surrounded her.
The man, by contrast, kept darting glances around the room. His gaze landed on Emily for a moment. He looked away immediately, as though caught at something shameful.
“Sweetheaaart. Feed Pepe tooooo!”
Without comment, the man fed a bite of cake to the woman.
“I wanna have dat one too. Da stwawbewwy and da owange!”
The man, again without speaking, picked the strawberry and orange garnishes off the cake and placed them in her mouth one by one. Emily, still watching, caught his eye again.
He flinched as though she had walked in on him in a state of complete undress, and produced a short, strained cough. At this, the woman’s brows crashed together in displeasure.
“Oh, sweetheaaart. Were you looking at anudder girwl?”
“No. No, I wasn’t.”
“Sweetheaaart is meaaaan! Pepe is angwy!”
“Pepe, please. I’ve asked you not to talk like that in public.”
The voices were getting louder. Emily observed the scene with calm neutrality.
“Sweetheaaart… are you mad at Pepe? Waaaah, I’m scaaaared, waaaah!”
The woman put on the eyes of a wounded puppy, and then burst into tears.
“I’ve had enough. We’re done.”
The woman was dumped in an instant. The man, now visibly furious and deeply embarrassed, shoved his chair back and walked out.
“SWEETHEAAART!!!!!!!!!!! WHERE ARE YOU GOOIIING!!!!!!!!!!!”
The tongue that had been apparently severed moments ago was suddenly operating at full capacity. The woman launched herself after him at a run, her voice carrying impressively across the entire square.
Two minutes.
That was how long it had taken for the woman to be broken up with. From the first “sweetheaaart” to the door slamming shut: two minutes.
Emily watched the breakup unfold at the speed of light.
A thought illuminated itself in her mind with quiet force.
‘That’s it. Aegyo.’
At the same moment, she found herself mentally retrieving a textbook she had once studied — a volume on human behavioral psychology.
