Chapter 146: A Step Closer
Damian pulled out the glass bottle and peered inside. The dark, crimson tea leaves looked familiar.
“My mother used to drink this often,” he said. “She told me a friend gave it to her when she was young, and she grew fond of it because it suited her taste.”
“What’s the tea called?” Aracila asked.
“I don’t know. I only heard it was brought from some far-off foreign land.”
Damian had seen his mother brew these leaves countless times, but he knew little beyond that. The image of her sitting by the window, bathed in sunlight as she sipped her tea, flickered in his mind. A pang of longing softened his gaze as he looked down at the bottle. Was this her favorite tea, kept here to preserve a piece of her?
His fingers grazed the cold surface of the glass before he carefully placed the bottle inside the jewelry box. Aracila, who had been watching quietly, unfolded a small note and held it out to him.
“And the person written here?” she asked.
“Hmm.”
Damian’s brow furrowed slightly as he stared at the name scrawled on the paper: Cyan Mondor. No matter how many times he turned it over in his mind, it remained unfamiliar.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
“No friends or relatives of your mother’s with that name?”
“Not that I’m aware of. I suppose it’s possible there’s something to find, but I’ve never heard of the Mondor family before.”
Not only had he never encountered the name among friends or kin, but even among the nobility, the Mondor house was unknown to him. Of course, neither he nor Aracila were particularly active in high society, and their disinterest in others might explain their ignorance. Perhaps it’s some minor noble family from the hinterlands, he thought. But why would such a name be tucked away in his mother’s private jewelry box, tied to a duchess no less? The mystery gnawed at him.
“Should we look into it?” Aracila suggested.
“…I’m not sure,” Damian replied honestly. Would digging into his late mother’s traces truly help him? His love and longing for her were undeniable, but he had no time to spare for distractions. His grandfather’s will needed to be found, and vengeance against the Vandemir Duchy demanded his focus. Even if that vengeance was partly for his mother, some things had to take precedence.
Yet, standing before her keepsakes and calculating his priorities left a bitter taste. His expression hardened, and Aracila, catching his glance, spoke up.
“If you’re too busy, I can look into it for you. This person might have meant something to your mother.”
“You’re busy enough yourself, my lady. There’s no need to trouble yourself.”
“It’s no trouble. I’ll look into it in my spare time. How hard can it be to ask around about someone named Cyan Mondor?”
Aracila flashed a warm smile. All she needed to do was inquire if anyone knew of a Cyan Mondor. More than anything, she wanted to do this for Damian—someone important to Monica might hold meaning for her son, too.
Damian tilted his head, gazing at Aracila. Every time she stepped forward for his sake, his heart stirred, a quiet thrill rippling through him. Being treated as someone special made his chest flutter with a mix of excitement and yearning. He wished she would always see him this way, though he knew it was a selfish hope. All he could manage was a quiet, “Thank you.”
Then, his eyes caught a stray white speck of lint nestled in her lavender hair. Without thinking, he reached out to brush it away, assuming it was fine—she often did the same for him. But Aracila, unusually tense, instinctively grabbed his wrist as he drew near.
“…”
“…Oh.”
A brief silence hung between them. Damian, flustered, withdrew his hand. Aracila was just as startled, realizing her reaction might have seemed like a rejection. She opened her mouth to explain, but the words tangled in her throat. Before she could speak, Damian apologized first.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, no, it’s not that. I was just… startled. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
“I didn’t mean to startle you, my lady.”
His face fell, a trace of dejection in his eyes. Aracila waved her hands frantically.
“No, that’s not what I meant! It wasn’t that I was startled, I just…”
But no proper excuse came to mind, and her words trailed off. Embarrassment and nerves had made her push him away instinctively, but she couldn’t admit that aloud. It wasn’t as if they’d never touched before—yet now, she couldn’t recall how she used to react when their skin brushed. Even though it was just days ago, the memory felt hazy.
Unable to find the right words, Aracila changed the subject.
“Anyway, I’ll look into this Cyan Mondor person.”
“Thank you,” Damian said, bowing politely.
And so, their conversation ended in an awkward, stilted air.
With Travis and Fernando’s crimes exposed, the lamp business, which had been on the verge of collapse, began to recover. It hadn’t returned to its former glory, but thanks to the support of prominent figures like the Archduchess Keystone, it was seeing steady growth. The damages from the explosion had been calculated and formally charged to Travis and Fernando, whose entire fortunes were subsequently seized. Aracila, however, had little interest in their fate.
Lately, her focus was on reviving the newly reopened laboratory.
“Alright, everyone,” she announced, “Phase Two of our lab begins now. Let’s rebuild it with fresh determination.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Sally and Rudy replied with enthusiasm. Aracila smiled warmly. Though the team hadn’t changed, calling it “Phase Two” was her way of leaving past hardships behind and restoring the lab’s vitality.
With the same passion she’d felt when she first joined, she turned to her eager juniors.
“I’ve been thinking,” she began slowly, “what if we researched a truth serum?”
Sally and Rudy, who had been leaning in to listen, widened their eyes.
“A truth serum?” they echoed.
“Yes. After everything we’ve been through, I’ve seen too many people lie through their teeth without a shred of shame. And there’s no easy way to uncover the truth.”
Unless you set traps or pressured someone into confessing, people rarely admitted their lies. Aracila was thoroughly fed up with the ordeal. Why should I have to work myself to death proving my innocence when the liars are the ones at fault?
“Wouldn’t it be useful to have a serum that makes people spill the truth?”
“That’s true,” Sally said, “but didn’t they stop making truth serums ages ago because the main ingredient, the Dilai flower, went extinct?”
Sally raised her hand cautiously before speaking.
“Naturally, you’re not the first mage to try making a truth serum,” she said. “Someone already attempted it and even succeeded. But the essential ingredient was a rare flower that ran out quickly, and the serum vanished within a few years. That was over twenty years ago.”
“Yes, I know,” Aracila replied. “So I was thinking—what if we researched a way to bring the Dilai flower back?”
“Bring the flower back?” Rudy asked, his eyes widening.
“Exactly. The reason truth serum research stalled is because no one could find a substitute with the same potency as that flower. So why not try to revive the flower itself?”
“It’s a proven ingredient,” Sally chimed in, nodding. “If we could cultivate it ourselves, it’d be a huge advantage for production. Truth serums are in high demand, after all.”
“And the people who need them don’t care about status,” Rudy added, his tone enthusiastic.
Sally’s expression was equally approving.
“So, our lab’s Phase Two kicks off with truth serum research?” Aracila asked.
“Yes, let’s do it!”
“It’s been a while since we worked on a potion with you, ma’am. I’m thrilled!”
The three clasped their hands together, their voices brimming with fervor. “Let’s do this!” they cheered, the sound echoing down the corridor.
As Aracila returned home, Albert, the butler, greeted her at the central entrance.
“Welcome back, my lady,” he said warmly.
“Everything alright?” she asked.
“Of course, my lady.”
His kind smile accompanied the familiar exchange. Aracila was about to head upstairs to her room when she placed a foot on the staircase, only for Albert to call out, his tone tinged with hesitation.
“Um, my lady, if I may have a word?”
“What is it?”
“Well, the master’s birthday is coming up soon.”
Aracila’s eyes widened, caught off guard. Damian’s birthday? She’d already celebrated her own earlier that year before their marriage, so the news hit her unexpectedly, leaving her momentarily stunned. Her expression seemed to ask, Why tell me now? Albert gave an awkward smile.
“I wasn’t sure if the master had mentioned it to you, so I delayed bringing it up. My apologies.”
“No, it’s fine. When exactly is Damian’s birthday?”
“Next Friday, my lady.”
Aracila’s mouth fell open. Today was Friday, which meant exactly one week remained. To think her husband’s birthday had crept up so suddenly! She felt a mix of exasperation and urgency—she’d have to scramble to prepare. If I’d known sooner, I could’ve planned properly!
Why hadn’t Damian told her? At dinner that evening, she confronted him.
“Damian, I hear next week is your birthday.”
“What? How did you—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her tone was sharp, almost accusatory. Damian rubbed the back of his neck, his expression sheepish.
“I just… didn’t want to trouble you,” he said softly.
“Trouble me? Are you kidding? Celebrating a birthday isn’t trouble!”
Aracila’s brows furrowed, her voice rising. Damian, startled by her intensity, set down his utensils and glanced at her cautiously.
“…Are you angry?”
“Yes, I’m angry! You kept something so basic from me!”
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with regret. “It’s just… since my mother passed, I haven’t really celebrated my birthday. It didn’t occur to me to mention it.”
His quiet apology and explanation stopped Aracila in her tracks. She hadn’t imagined that could be the reason. Of course—thinking about it, there was likely no one in his family who’d made a fuss over his birthday. Imagining Damian spending years alone on that day, with no one to celebrate him, sent a pang through her heart. It wasn’t mere pity; it was a tender ache rooted in affection. A birthday was something to be celebrated, yet no one had done that for him.
Something stirred within her—a fierce desire to give back the birthdays he’d lost since his mother’s death. She lowered her eyes for a moment, lost in thought, before speaking.
“From now on, I’ll take care of it.”
“You don’t have to—”
“No arguments,” she interrupted, her tone firm. “I’ll handle the birthday party, so you just show up.”
Damian hesitated, then nodded. Only then did Aracila’s expression soften into a bright smile.
For the rest of the evening, her mind buzzed with ideas for Damian’s birthday. Time was tight, but at least the recent chaos had settled, which was a small mercy. It’s been ages since he’s had a proper birthday party, she thought. Maybe going a bit overboard wouldn’t hurt.
Damian wasn’t one for extravagance, but this was practically his first real celebration in over a decade. A little fanfare might not be a bad thing.
“Audrey,” Aracila called out.
“Yes, my lady?”
Having returned to her room after dinner, Aracila faced her maid with a determined expression.
“Tell the chef I’ll be making Damian’s birthday cake myself.”
“…Pardon?”
Audrey’s eyes widened in alarm, her face a mix of shock and concern. It was no secret in the Hugo household that Aracila lacked any knack for crafts. Her maid’s skeptical gaze asked, Are you serious? But Aracila, resolute, doubled down.
“I’m making it. Go tell him now.”
“…Yes, my lady.”
Unable to dissuade her mistress, Audrey reluctantly shuffled off. As far as she knew, Aracila had never cooked, let alone baked, and her lack of dexterity was well-known. Audrey could only hope for the best, her heart heavy with unease.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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