Chapter 1
A guest of noble standing had arrived.
The moment the message reached her, Alexa rose from her chair. She slipped out of the third-floor meeting room and hurried down the employee-only corridor, descending the grand spiral staircase at the heart of the department store with a glide-like urgency. It was an afternoon bathed in the radiant spring sunlight streaming through the domed glass ceiling.
At the midpoint of the second-floor staircase, the store’s general manager awaited her, his face clouded with unease the moment he saw her. As they made their way together toward the glove counter on the first floor, Alexa’s voice carried a note of skepticism.
“Are you sure you didn’t mistake him for someone else?”
“No, it’s definitely him,” the manager replied. “One of the staff overheard the noblewoman accompanying him address the gentleman as Duke Belsmeyer.”
Even the general manager, a seasoned veteran with over twenty years of service, couldn’t conceal his tension at the duke’s presence. And who could blame him? The man they were about to attend to was adorned with the title of the youngest and wealthiest nobleman in the land.
“That’s absurd,” Alexa said. “He’s not the sort of man to come to a place like this.”
“Could it be… perhaps he’s here to see you, Miss Winterborn?”
“Absolutely not,” Alexa cut in sharply, dismissing the suggestion before the manager could finish.
“The last time I saw that man, I was fifteen. I’m twenty-three now. We haven’t exchanged so much as a letter in all that time.”
As they reached the first floor, her heart began to race. To mask her unease, Alexa forced a calm smile, willing herself to appear composed.
“At this point, aren’t we practically strangers?” she said lightly.
“Perhaps,” the manager conceded, though his expression grew grave, sensing the complexity of the situation.
As they entered the section lined with specialty goods, curious glances darted their way. Beyond the display racks, the staff wore expressions of eager anticipation, as if hoping for a spectacle to unfold. The manager’s thick eyebrows twitched in a silent reprimand, and the employees reluctantly busied themselves—polishing shelves or adjusting their name tags with feigned diligence.
But Alexa knew better. The Duke of Belsmeyer’s visit would fuel gossip for at least a month, twisted and distorted with each retelling. Her name, no doubt, would be dragged into the fray.
“The countess requested the highest-ranking person available, so I’ll wait here,” the manager said, stopping just short of the glove counter.
A few steps more, and there it was—the glove section. Alexa’s gaze caught the silhouette of a tall man beyond a pillar, and she bit her lip.
To face the Duke of Belsmeyer alone, as a mere guest in her store, felt like standing on the deck of a ship caught in a storm. Her stomach churned. The manager, reading the despair in her expression, spoke cautiously.
“Think of him as just another customer. The owner would trust you to handle this smoothly, Miss Winterborn.”
The store’s owner, Harrison Winterborn, was Alexa’s adoptive father. Generously, he had entrusted her with the store’s operations years ago. Alexa had grown up nourished by her late mother’s dream of Everheart, and she took pride in her role. She couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing the man who had placed such faith in her.
Stay calm. He might not even recognize me.
Clinging to that fragile hope, Alexa nodded and stepped forward alone. The heads of the staff, who had been pretending to focus on their tasks, turned awkwardly to follow her movements.
As she passed the pillar, she saw them—a young man and woman standing side by side at the display counter. Alexa first studied the female customer. The haughty noblewoman was busy airing her grievances to a visibly distressed employee. The young man, presumably her escort, gazed with bored indifference at the gloves behind the glass.
Oh.
Alexa stifled a sigh.
He was still the same—Raymond Belsmeyer, exuding the cool, untouchable aura of a frozen winter lake. An effortless elegance surrounded him, as if the world had never dared to shake his place in it.
Raymond Belsmeyer.
She couldn’t stop the memories of their first meeting and parting from flooding back. A boy of eighteen in the sunlight, a young man of nineteen fading into the rain. But the Raymond Belsmeyer who once stood at the crossroads of wariness and bravado was gone. In his place was the duke, revered by all, commanding her attention with an almost magnetic pull.
“I was told you requested the manager,” Alexa managed, her voice tight.
The man, who had seemed disinterested in the scene, slowly raised his head. Their eyes met in the air. His wild, ash-tinged green eyes locked onto hers, narrowing slightly—as if questioning something, or perhaps accusing. Then, a spark of recognition flickered in them. A faint smile curved his lips.
Regaining his air of nonchalance, Raymond offered her a brief nod of acknowledgment.
He might not recognize me. How foolish that hope had been mere minutes ago. As she returned his polite greeting, Alexa silently mocked her own naivety.
There was no way this man wouldn’t remember her. The humiliation of their shared past, the blemish on his otherwise perfect life—he couldn’t have forgotten. Whether she wanted it or not, Alexa was a presence he could never erase.
“Are you the manager of this store?” the noblewoman asked, flicking her fingers impatiently as if summoning her.
“Yes, my lady. You may address me as Miss Winterborn,” Alexa replied.
The woman eyed Alexa with suspicion, as if questioning her status, but her eagerness to air her complaints took precedence.
“Very well, Miss Winterborn. Let me explain the issue. First of all, this employee’s hands are utterly hideous.”
The countess’s daughter spoke with grave seriousness.
“I want gloves that suit my hands, but what’s the point if they’re modeled on those stubby fingers? I’ve seen the other staff, and they’re all equally unimpressive. I can’t very well try them on myself and risk ruining my hands.”
Her complaint boiled down to the absence of a suitably attractive hand to model the gloves. It was the kind of baseless arrogance Alexa had come to expect from those of high station. Familiar as it was, it still turned her stomach.
“Then perhaps you’d like to inspect my hands,” Alexa offered. “If they meet your approval, I can try on gloves that might suit you.”
She extended both hands over the counter. The noblewoman tilted her head, studying the pale hands under the light. They were long and slender, smooth without blemish.
Alexa focused intently on the customer, but she couldn’t shake the awareness that the duke was watching her hands too. Her fingertips trembled slightly as she held them steady. Even noticing her tension, Raymond made no effort to avert his gaze.
“Show me your palms,” the woman demanded, suddenly tapping Alexa’s hands with her thin fan, as if testing a lifeless object.
Raymond’s head tilted slightly as he observed the rude gesture. His gaze slid from Alexa’s hands to her face, still wearing a practiced smile, as if curious about her reaction to the affront.
Alexa, accustomed to enduring such slights, maintained her courteous expression and presented her palms for inspection. The woman pursed her lips before speaking.
“They’ll do. There’s a scar on one finger, though.”
“An old injury,” Alexa said. “It’s fully healed and clean now.”
“Fine. You model them. I trust the manager’s selections will meet my expectations?”
“Of course, my lady.”
Alexa gently reassured the near-tearful employee and sent her to the break room. Then, for the demanding noblewoman, she tried on nearly twenty pairs of lightweight spring and summer gloves, presenting each with care. The woman seemed particularly taken with a pair of riding gloves and a floral lace pair suitable for evening wear.
“I’ll take these,” the noblewoman decided.
The counter was strewn with gloves. As Alexa busied herself packaging the purchases, the woman looked down at her with a condescending smirk.
“You choose well. I didn’t expect much from a department store—it’s no designer’s atelier, after all—but I suppose it’s true what they say about the quality of your goods.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Alexa replied politely, tying a blue ribbon around the box.
As she deftly knotted the ribbon, a low voice interrupted.
“Miss Winterborn.”
Alexa looked up, startled to hear the name from his lips.
The man, whose thoughts were as unreadable as ever, gazed down at her dazed expression with those striking green eyes, unrelenting in their scrutiny. Realizing he had indeed addressed her as “Miss Winterborn,” she quickly lowered her gaze.
“If you could direct my secretary to the payment counter, I’d be grateful,” he said. “We’ll settle for the items chosen for Miss Dobins as well. It would be ideal if they could be delivered directly to her residence.”
“A surprise gift! Thank you, Your Grace!” the noblewoman exclaimed, her cheeks flushing with delight.
Lovers? Or perhaps on the verge of becoming so?
Alexa, caught off guard by her own speculation, shook herself mentally. She signaled a nearby employee, who led the duke’s secretary to handle the payment.
The noblewoman, insisting she needed the riding gloves immediately, kept Alexa under the duke’s watchful eye as she finished the packaging. When she handed over the carefully wrapped gift box, Raymond accepted it on the woman’s behalf.
“Well done,” he said.
Though the praise was fitting for a subordinate, an uneasy silence settled between them. Before it could linger, Raymond spoke again, as if confirming something unnecessary.
“Miss Winterborn.”
Avoiding his gaze, Alexa dipped in a brief curtsy. The sound of two sets of footsteps faded into the distance. As the staff, who had been covertly watching, resumed their chatter, Alexa lifted her head, her tension easing. The store’s opulent decor gleamed under the sunlight pouring through the ceiling, as if gilded.
There had been moments when Alexa’s life shimmered like that too. But, like fool’s gold, it had inevitably tarnished.
All that glitters is not gold.
Back when she lived in the same manor as Raymond Belsmeyer, Alexa had learned that lesson. Back then, her name wasn’t Alexa Winterborn—it was Alexa Belsmeyer. And she and Raymond had spent a swelteringly bitter summer despising each other.
It had all begun because Alexa’s mother had married three times.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
