~Chapter 20~
“This is strange.”
“……”
“Killian Winters is the most popular man in high society right now. So why Aisha Ashton of all people?”
Roselia was right. Killian was the star of the social scene.
Many noblewomen wanted him—some from far greater families than the Ashtons, even daughters of grand dukes.
So why?
“Hmm…”
“They say he brought Aisha Ashton to the Winters mansion for ‘education.’”
“Of course.”
Roselia smirked.
“In fact, the safest place for her right now is the Winters mansion. Even if Rohan Ashton increased his guards, other houses could still crush her easily if they tried.”
Her reasoning was simple:
Killian returned from war and fell in love with Aisha Ashton. But he knew their engagement could cause a backlash. So, under the excuse of ‘education,’ he pulled her into his mansion for protection.
It sounded logical enough.
“Keep watching. Not just Killian Winters’s movements, but also the Ashton family. You understand?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“And one more thing.”
Her pale, beautiful hand reached across the jeweled table, tossing down several thin booklets.
It was Sunday Exposé.
“Have you found the publisher yet?”
“…Forgive me. No progress.”
Roselia’s beautiful face twisted coldly.
She had known about Sunday Exposé since the very first issue.
In Draxion, newspapers were nothing more than the emperor’s mouthpiece. They always printed what the palace approved. There was no freedom of publication—every book, paper, or article required palace permission.
It hadn’t always been this way. Twenty years ago, Draxion had been more open, its trade and culture diverse. Even the palace had tolerated freedom.
But when Roselia became Empress Dowager, she crushed it.
She knew well—words were sharper than swords. They could kill, save, and last for generations.
So the sudden rise of Sunday Exposé was infuriating to her. She had hunted the publisher since the start, but never found them—thanks to Rune’s interference, though she didn’t know it.
“Killian Winters’s popularity pierces the heavens. As if he were an emperor himself.”
“…….”
“Doesn’t it?”
“…That’s impossible, Your Highness.”
Roselia’s hands clenched Sunday Exposé Issue No. 5 until it crumpled.
Thud.
She threw it to the floor, glaring at it with blazing eyes.
“What is Belmore doing?”
“He spent the day reading, then went to bed early, as usual.”
Roselia gave a bitter laugh.
He was her son, but she had no love for Emperor Belmore Allington. He was too weak, too soft, too dull.
She wanted a son who could be wielded like a sword. One who could cut down threats—like Killian Winters.
“…If only I hadn’t abandoned that child back then. If he lived, he’d be a man by now.”
But she shook her head.
“Foolish. The past is nothing. Power lies only in the present and the future.”
“Since Killian Winters dared to return alive from war again… I should show him my sincerity.”
Roselia’s angelic smile masked thoughts crueler than a blade.
Damn morning came again.
Luckily, Aisha woke up before 6 a.m.—at exactly 5:58.
“Damn it. Damn it…”
She was exhausted. Even as a reporter, she never suffered this much. At least then she managed naps.
“Bet they’ll make me bathe before eating again. Damn rules…”
There was no escaping the rules.
“Just get it over with—bath, breakfast, then check the article I wrote yesterday.”
Right as the clock passed six, a knock came at her door.
“Come in, El—”
“It’s me. Killian Winters.”
“…What?”
“What?”
“Ah, no, I was just… surprised.”
Why was he here this early? They’d see each other in the office anyway. Surely not to eat breakfast together? That would be unbearable.
“In situations like this, you usually say ‘come in’ first, Aisha Ashton.”
“…Right. Well… come in.”
The door opened. Killian stepped inside, his expression oddly stiff.
“…I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Aisha blurted nervously, still half-asleep.
“I woke up before six. Only about two minutes early, but still, before six!”
What excuse was he going to use this time? She eyed him cautiously.
But his words were unexpected.
“Walk.”
“…Are you worried I can’t?”
“I said, walk. In front of me.”
Confused, she climbed out of bed and walked across the room toward him.
“Pathetic. You walk like a thug. A gang boss, even.”
What the hell? Picking a fight first thing in the morning?
A vein popped on her forehead.
“Do you know how to dance?”
“…Dance?”
“Didn’t think so. Good thing I asked.”
Of course, the real Aisha Ashton might have known. A noble lady, raised with proper lessons. But this Aisha—who had lived a hard, messy real-world life—couldn’t even walk gracefully, much less dance.
“…Seems we’ll need real education now.”
“What? What are you even talking about?”
She scowled.
“You check my walking, ask about dancing, then talk about education—what is this?”
“Here.”
Killian handed her something.
“An imperial invitation. It arrived less than thirty minutes ago.”
“An… invitation? To the palace?”
Aisha’s eyes went wide as she snatched the envelope from his hand.
