Chapter 22
As dawn broke and the birds began to sing, Riena finished preparing herself for the day.
Her hair had loosened a little while she dressed and tidied her bedding, so she paused to smooth it back into a neat knot before finally stepping outside.
Instead of heading toward the café as usual, she turned onto the path leading to the marketplace.
Today was one of the café’s scheduled rest days, which came once every two weeks.
On these mornings, Riena would leave the house early to shop for groceries, make small repairs around her home, or pack a simple lunch and enjoy a solitary picnic on the beach.
To others, these things might have seemed ordinary and forgettable—but to Riena, they were precious.
The marketplace carried the scents of earth, fresh fruit, and vegetables instead of the faint salt air of the sea. She moved quickly through the stalls, filling her basket until it was pleasantly heavy, then made her way toward her final stop to end the outing.
The bell over the door jingled.
“Welcome! Oh, Reina! It’s been a while.”
“Good morning, ma’am. How have you been?”
“Oh, the same as always. If only I didn’t have that husband of mine driving me crazy!”
Riena smiled softly at the flower shop owner, who jokingly shook her fist in mock exasperation.
She remembered the woman’s husband well; he often stopped by the café on his way home from work, buying cookies for his wife.
“But Peter always looks so happy when he picks up those cookies. He brags to me constantly about your wonderful cooking.”
“Ha! If only you knew how much trouble he gave me when he was younger—summer dishes, winter dishes, always demanding something…”
Riena listened quietly, her lips curved in a gentle smile, as the woman vented.
Sharing in small, everyday conversations like this had become one of her quiet joys.
Eventually, after stories of quarrelsome husbands, troublesome yet beloved children, and local gossip, the woman let out a deep sigh.
She had finally run out of things to tell Riena after two weeks of saving them up.
In truth, part of this chatter was intentional.
With her wide network and quick ear for rumors, the florist had long noticed that Riena lived much like a recluse, cut off from the world.
Really, how could a woman working in the busiest café in town always be the last to hear anything?
But now, the florist’s eyes lingered on her guest.
There was still one question she hadn’t dared to ask until now.
She told me never to pry… but—
The woman drew in a breath, steeling herself.
“…Riena, can I ask you something? People have been so curious.”
“Of course. Go ahead.”
“You’re not married yet, are you?”
“…What?”
Riena blinked, caught off guard.
Why such a question, all of a sudden?
The florist pressed on eagerly.
“Well, you’re young, and you came down here alone—or, well, mostly alone. It just seemed unlikely you were married, but since you never actually said so, everyone’s been wondering.”
Her head bobbed in firm agreement with her own logic.
Riena gave a small, awkward smile, her brows slightly drawn.
She knew it was natural for outsiders to attract curiosity, for people to wonder about their stories.
She couldn’t even fault them—if anything, waiting a whole year before asking her was rather considerate.
After a pause to choose her words carefully, she answered.
“No, I’m not married. I just came here because the city felt too crowded, too noisy.”
“Oh, I know what you mean! I went to the capital once, long ago—such a mess! Fascinating, but I couldn’t imagine living there.”
“Yes, exactly. That’s why I love Florian. It’s quiet, peaceful… and there’s the sea.”
“True enough!” the florist laughed, then cleared her throat, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.
“And… well… what about you and Henry? Forgive me if I’m overstepping…”
Riena gave another soft, awkward laugh.
So this was what the woman had really been curious about.
Henry—who had practically raised her—had begged her not to answer questions about him, which only made people wonder more.
The florist swallowed, nervous, watching Riena’s face for signs of discomfort.
But Riena remained calm, her expression as composed as ever.
Her long lashes lowered and lifted again.
A question about Lieutenant Bailey—about the man who had saved her.
Hardly shocking.
Hardly troubling.
With a faint smile, she answered simply.
“Lieutenant Bailey is my benefactor.”
“Your… benefactor?”
The florist tilted her head, puzzled by the unexpected word.
Riena knew what kind of answer the woman had been hoping for, but she didn’t add more.
Instead, she only smiled quietly.
***
“Your Grace, a message just arrived from Calis. The construction is nearly finished. He expects completion within the month.”
“Faster than projected,” Dante mused, his lips curving faintly. “Sending him away did sharpen his skills.”
The butler, recalling what Calis had been like a year ago, allowed himself a soft chuckle.
“Shall I inform him about the dedication ceremony?”
“Tell him to skip it. It’s too far, and it’s not worth holding a ceremony for a building that isn’t even ready to open. That tradition is outdated anyway.”
The butler nodded and continued his reports until the last one remained.
“As you requested, the dinner with Mayor Lester is scheduled two nights from now. The car is already prepared at the front.”
Dante rose smoothly from his desk.
“Let’s depart.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Though the sun had barely risen, every servant of the Behern Palace stood lined before the gates, bowing in respect as their master passed.
Dante appeared with his usual unhurried poise, his footsteps sharp and measured against the marble floor.
The servants bowed low as one.
It was his first extended absence from the palace in quite some time.
Just before stepping into the waiting automobile, Dante turned his golden eyes across the row of servants.
His gaze was cool, drained of warmth.
The butler’s chest tightened.
He wished he hadn’t seen it—that hint of something buried, something the Duke never allowed to show.
Forcing himself to speak quickly, the butler bowed deeper.
“Safe travels, Your Grace. Until your return, I will guard Behern Palace with all my strength.”
“…Yes. I leave it to you.”
Dante inclined his head and stepped into the car.
This time, he had chosen not to bring attendants.
He picked up the stack of documents already prepared inside: architectural designs, financial reports, inspection records from Calis.
Most of them he had read many times before.
Now, he only meant to review them lightly as the car rolled forward.
Finally, he lifted the bottom document.
[La Floriena Resort – Operations Manual Draft]
La Floriena.
The Duke’s golden gaze lingered on the name, tracing it like a signature.
This was the masterpiece he had been building in secret for years, set to open with the coming summer season.
Uh oh 🫣