WRDP~15

Chapter 15

Valderion did not avoid her gaze.

His hands moved calmly as he lit a cigar, holding her eyes all the while. From the tip of the match, the flame spread and caught the end of the cigar. A moment later, a thin haze unfurled into the air, drifting languidly like mist.

Even so, the man’s blade-like stare remained unshaken. Thoughts as precise as a transparent retina coiled tightly within his mind.

It was already suspicious enough that the butler who came and went from here several times a day—ostensibly to attend to both him and her—was making frequent visits.

Especially since this annex had been unused for a very long time.

And yet, relocating her elsewhere was also unsettling. Perhaps it was because of her past record—he could not bring himself to feel at ease unless he confirmed with his own eyes that this woman was still breathing, still here.

He ran a hand through his hair and let out a sharp, irritated laugh.

“If it’s money you need, I can give it to you.”

“No. I’ll earn it myself.”

“What meaning is there in choosing hardship like that?”

“For me, there is.”

Valderion stared at her as though he meant to dissect her intentions down to the bone. After scrutinizing her tightly concealed motives, he murmured as if in faint admiration.

“So money isn’t your true goal.”

Lirette flinched slightly. Yet she did not even realize she had reacted—something else was pressing down on her entirely.

Those eyes, which refused to look away again today.

Pale in color, yet so firmly embedded that no force seemed capable of breaking them.

Was she born that way?

Or had Dailen shaped her into such a stubborn thing?

He was now curious about her past.

Not that it was a pleasant line of thought.

“Ha.”

He exhaled slowly, smoke heavy with bitterness spilling from his lips.

Through the hazy veil, Valderion’s gaze traveled—over her slender neck, down her thin arms, and to the hem of her dress where her legs were concealed.

If he were honest, he would have liked nothing more than to chain that insolent woman—neck, arms, and legs—and bind her to a bed where she could not move at all.

But those eyes…

If he did that, she would likely bite down on her tongue and kill herself the moment food was forced into her mouth just to survive.

Her will was sharp enough to make that scenario entirely plausible.

Even now, he still remembered her lying in the snow. That fearless, distorted dignity that accepted death as if it were nothing.

Why am I entangled with something like this…

He had already thought it dozens of times today—and now again.

He rubbed his brow lightly.

Smoke drifted out with each breath like a dense fog.

Still…

Her words were not entirely wrong.

Using the annex as a prison was impractical. The estate had too many eyes. Someone was always watching. Even his frequent visits—and the butler’s—could be noticed at any time.

And yet, accepting her absurd demand was also a problem.

After all… that face.

It was dangerously beautiful.

It would draw attention no matter where it went.

But…

A maid.

If he disguised her as a maid, there would be no need to worry about how the annex was being used. And it might also reduce concerns about her identity being exposed.

The eye that marked her as belonging to the Blewit Marquessate was troublesome, but that house had already been erased into history.

Enough time had passed since that incident.

New history had been layered over what had once shaken the Empire.

The Blewit Marquessate, implicated in treason, had been recorded as entirely executed—no blood relatives spared—and it had been officially declared so.

It had been handled by the House of Justitia.

The Crown Prince’s arbitrary decision to spare a woman tied to treason would have been nothing short of a stain on the imperial reputation, and so the matter had been quietly corrected.

She had been reduced to a commoner in all but name, expected to remain in the prince’s palace until his interest faded—then either die quietly, be cast out, or perish wandering the streets.

In other words, even if someone noticed her appearance, it would be difficult to associate her with the Blewit Marquessate at once.

Even suspicion would struggle to become certainty.

And even if it did, acknowledging it would mean denying history itself—and by extension, the imperial family and House of Justitia.

The situation was not entirely disadvantageous to him. In fact, acting first could be an advantage.

But there were too many variables.

A life drawn with ruler-straight precision.

A blueprint planned since childhood without interruption.

Because of that very nature, he despised uncertainty.

Of course, at present, the greater variable was not her existence—but the possibility of what would happen if he truly imprisoned her here against her will.

Damn it.

Unintentionally, Lirette’s threat had struck deeper than expected.

“Honestly…”

Since when had things become so complicated?

The answer was obvious.

Since the moment he brought Lirette into this estate.

And yet, he could not throw her out either—which made the situation all the more maddening.

Suppressing his inner turmoil with an expressionless face, Valderion took a long drag of his cigar, then removed it slowly. He could not tell whether the bitterness he felt came from the smoke itself or from the uncertainty he could no longer avoid.

“This might actually be… interesting.”

After all, this was House Justitia’s private estate—his own domain, filled with things he could control with a single gesture.

And if things went wrong, he could simply use that as an excuse to lock her up again.

“You stubborn creature… where else would I ever get to see someone like you willingly submit and serve me?”

How could every word he spoke be so poisonous?

Lirette forced herself to remain expressionless. If she showed even a hint of satisfaction here, he might cancel everything out of spite.

“However, there is a condition.”

He extinguished the half-burned cigar, pressing it into the crystal ashtray with deliberate slowness, as though savoring the moment.

“Condition?” Lirette asked, unable to hold back her tension.

“Your thirty minutes.”

“….”

“From now on, during that time, I will touch your name.”

At first, the words seemed unclear. But between the two of them, understanding them was almost too easy.

Lirette’s face went pale.

It felt as though he had already touched her back—like the same suffocating sensation when someone once tried to grab her foot without permission.

Valderion’s lips curved faintly upward. The more her face twisted, the more a strange pleasure rose from deep within him.

“Isn’t this enough treatment already…?” she tried weakly.

“No.”

“….”

“If you’re going to work as a maid and move around outside, you’ll need more careful management. Especially if we’re to ensure your identity isn’t exposed, as you requested.”

He was never going to be easy, she had expected that—but this was worse than anything she had imagined.

Lirette unconsciously crossed her arms over herself, a defensive posture born from old discomfort.

She still remembered it.

Not quite memory—more like something her body had never forgotten.

It hadn’t even been direct contact.

He had only traced the mark etched beneath her chemise.

And yet, something like an electric current had surged through her from somewhere she could not even define in her body, stealing her strength entirely.

It was unlike anything she had ever felt before in her life.

And now she was supposed to endure that every night.

Worse, touching the “name” meant it would no longer even be hidden beneath clothing.

The one who hesitated had changed.

First it was Valderion.

Now it was Lirette.

When one stepped forward, the other retreated. When one backed away, the other advanced.

And yet the distance between them did not close.

Strangely, however, their steps were perfectly synchronized.

“Isn’t it only natural that more effective treatment is required if those arms and legs are going to be used constantly from now on?”

Valderion watched her with faint amusement.

Half of it was mischief, half curiosity. But seeing her struggle so intensely over it made him realize just how desperately she needed this arrangement.

And how much she despised his touch.

As her downcast eyes deepened, she looked almost like she was shuddering in silent resistance.

Valderion waited patiently.

And finally—

“…Alright.”

“….”

“Yes. I’ll do it.”

He had briefly thought she might refuse entirely, but as always, she surprised him in a different way.

She endured what she hated most just to achieve what she needed.

Valderion let out a breath that almost resembled a sigh.

That was enough.

An agreement had been made.