“I don’t follow. What do you mean by rumors?”

Kishin’s accusation hung in the air, leaving Classie’s thoughts in a tangled mess. She struggled to find her footing in the conversation.

“I have no idea what you’re referring to…”

Her voice trailed off into a hesitant mumble. Kishin’s eyelids lowered, his gaze sharpening into a cold blade.

She used to find that icy stare captivating, a hallmark of his severe beauty, but now it only stirred a sense of dread. She looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

“High society is a place I find repulsive, Miss Classie. It is crawling with people who invent stories for sport, bloating every small detail until they can feast on the drama.”

The carriage had slowed to a crawl and eventually stopped without her noticing. With a sharp, final motion, Kishin swung the door wide. The gesture was a silent, forceful command for her to depart.

Classie’s fingers dug into the fabric of her dress. She stared at him, her heart hammering against her ribs as she tried to make sense of the sudden hostility.

“There has to be a misunderstanding here.”

She gathered what remained of her dignity to offer a defense, but the moment their eyes locked again, the words died in her throat. It was clear that her perspective carried no weight with him; he had already reached his verdict.

This was a repeat of their very first encounter. No matter how much his companion, Dernick, had tried to intervene or explain, Kishin had remained immovable.

Initially, she had been drawn to that unshakable conviction. Now, that same stubbornness was a weapon turned directly against her.

“This day… wasn’t what I hoped for.”

“That is a relief,” he countered smoothly. “It ensures there will be no desire for a second outing.”

“Even so, I enjoyed your company.”

“Farewell.”

She didn't wait for another word, bolting past the iron gates and charging up the stone steps of the estate. A butler, caught off guard by her frantic pace, nearly dropped his tray.

“My Lady? Is something the matter?”

He stepped forward to assist, but Classie merely shook her head, darting past him with the frantic energy of a frightened animal. She knew that if she slowed down for even a second, the dam would break.

The moment she crossed the threshold of her chambers, she collapsed onto the mattress. A heavy, gut-wrenching sob escaped her, the kind of raw grief that would have moved even a stranger to pity.

The breakdown was brief, however.

Exactly five minutes later, the storm passed. Classie sat up, dried her cheeks, and splashed cold water on her face until the redness faded.

By the time she had smoothed her hair and stepped back out into the hall, she looked perfectly composed. Anna, waiting nearby, saw no trace of the earlier collapse.

“Back so soon, My Lady? Did the afternoon go well? What did that gentleman want?”

“Just clarifying some business from the past. It was trivial.”

Classie dismissed the questions with a wave of her hand, asking the maid to fetch a plate of something sugary.

While Anna headed for the kitchens, Classie retreated to the third-floor balcony. She settled into a wooden rocker, watching the clouds drift by as she reflected on the situation.

She realized that being turned down dozens of times had actually built up a strange kind of resilience. Five minutes of mourning was all she needed to reset her clock.

She wondered if she had inadvertently become a professional at handling rejection.

As she pondered the iron-clad state of her heart, her mind drifted to the man Kishin had tasked with looking after Merran.

He was likely a fellow member of the guard. While he lacked Kishin’s striking, ethereal features, he possessed a pleasant, tidy appearance.

He had seemed gentle enough, and notably, he hadn't seemed intimidated by Merran’s intense presence.

Thankfully, her first impression of Dernick had been so overwhelmingly negative that her current melancholy couldn't twist him into something romantic.

Still, the thought of him sparked a flicker of curiosity.

She wondered what had transpired between Merran and the guard in her absence. Had he actually tried to court her? She briefly entertained the idea of Kishin and Dernick coming to blows over her niece’s hand.

The thought of men fighting for her own affection crossed her mind, but she dismissed it with a bitter twinge of shame. It was too pathetic a fantasy to hold onto.

She decided then and there to scrub both men from her memory entirely.

That resolve lasted until dinner, when Merran herself revived the topic.

“So,” Merran began, her voice carrying a strange, taunting edge. “Did you enjoy your private time with Sir Kishin?”

The girl sounded somewhere between irritated and smug. Classie, feeling a surge of petty defiance, gave a non-committal shrug.

“That’s for me to know.”

Merran’s face fell into a pout. She clearly didn't appreciate being left out of the loop.

“I’ve told you a thousand times that I don't like this. Why are you still chasing after men? Why can't you just accept the single life? Is the idea of a husband really that important to you? More important than me?”

The girl was being unusually blunt, her frustration bleeding through her usual poise.

Classie’s patience snapped, and she let her fork hit the porcelain with a sharp crack.

“I’ve never even had a real suitor, Merran. I haven't even started, so why on earth should I quit?”

“Maybe because you’ve failed every time you’ve tried?”

“Keep out of my personal affairs. Why don't you give up on the idea of marriage? You won't, so why expect it of me?”

“Because people actually want to marry me.”

Merran didn't stop there. “Don't take it so hard, Auntie. It’s a natural reaction. Children always hate the idea of their parents finding someone new.”

“This isn't a remarriage, and I am certainly not your mother.”

“You might as well be.”

Exasperated, Classie tried to return to her meal, but the frustration was too much. She dropped the fork again.

“It’s not the same. And what about my future? If I don't marry, what happens to my portion of the estate? Am I just supposed to let it vanish?”

“When the grandparents are gone, I’ll take care of you. I’ll provide everything you need. Do you really doubt my ability to support you for the rest of your life?”

Classie was fuming.

The irritation only deepened when Anna walked by and murmured about how touching the sentiment was. The maid’s approval felt like fuel on a fire.

She took a long breath, reminding herself that she was the elder in this dynamic. She needed to maintain her cool.

After a silent prayer for patience, she forced a change of subject.

“And what about your afternoon? Did you have a nice time on your date?”

“It wasn't a date.”

Merran gave her standard, cold response regarding men, but Classie noticed a subtle shift. The girl was still acting moody, but there was a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Classie’s instincts flared. She knew her niece too well to miss such a tell.

She wondered if the girl had actually enjoyed herself with Dernick.

***

*A few hours prior…*

Merran had escorted the man she believed to be Kishin into her private drawing room.

“Sir Kishin, I requested this private audience because I want our boundaries to be perfectly clear.”

She took a seat on a velvet armchair, wasting no time on pleasantries.

Her goal was simple: if he wanted to court her, he needed to approach her directly and stop using her aunt as a middleman. She was prepared to be very firm about it.

But before she could launch into her prepared speech, the man began to laugh. It wasn't a chuckle; it was a full-throated, genuine burst of amusement.

Merran found herself staring, her annoyance rising. She was the one who usually controlled the flow of a room, yet here he was, laughing as if she were a comedian.

“What exactly is so funny?” she demanded, her eyes narrowing.

The man grinned, leaning back. “Nothing, nothing. Please, continue. What were you going to make clear?”

Merran’s temper flared.

She hated the way he looked at her—as if she were a toddler throwing a tantrum. He couldn't be that much older than her, despite his connection to her mother.

She sneered at him internally, trying to maintain her icy exterior.

When she tried to resume her lecture, the man’s smirk only widened.

She let out a huff of pure disbelief. He was easily the most irritating person she had ever encountered. Who had the audacity to smirk while a lady was speaking?

“I see. Well, unfortunately, I can’t do what you’re asking, Lady Merran.”

His flat refusal of what she considered a basic social courtesy sent her from annoyed to livid.

“And why is that?”

“Because I am not Kishin.”

The heat of her anger vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, jarring confusion.

Merran blinked, her brain struggling to reset.

When she finally managed to ask for clarification, Dernick gave a theatrical bow, his hand pressed over his heart.

Merran felt the blood rush to her face—a sensation she almost never experienced.

Seeing her flush, Dernick laughed again.

“Lady Mary’s daughter is quite a character. But tell me, why were you so certain I was Kishin?”

Merran bit her lip, glaring at the floor.

It wasn't an unreasonable mistake. The guards had told her Lord Kishin had requested her presence. Then he had appeared. The conclusion was obvious.

But his mockery stung. She had thought him odd before, but now he just seemed cruel for letting her embarrass herself so thoroughly.

Yet, despite the humiliation, there was something about his smile that didn't entirely repulse her. It was… different.

She caught a glimpse of his profile—he was undeniably handsome—before she turned her head away in a huff.

“It isn't my fault. Your men told me Kishin wanted to see me, and you were the one who walked in.”

Back in the present, Merran caught Classie’s inquisitive look and immediately wiped the softness from her face.

“It wasn't a date,” she repeated, focusing intently on her plate.

Classie didn't believe her for a second. She had been the one to practically raise the girl; she knew every one of her masks.

However, she also knew Merran would never admit to anything personal.

In truth, Classie didn't mind if her niece found someone. If Merran got married, she might finally stop sabotaging Classie’s own prospects. Provided the man was decent, it would be a win for everyone.

“If you say so.”

Classie propped her chin on her hand, letting the tension drain away.

She decided she was done with the whole mess—Dernick, Kishin, and whatever drama they brought with them.

That was exactly when the butler appeared.

“My Lady, a delivery for you.”

He was carrying a massive, overflowing arrangement of flowers that nearly obscured his face.

Classie stood up, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“For me? Who would send these?”

Merran’s eyes turned into tiny slits as she inspected the bouquet.

“Yes, who indeed?”

The butler gestured toward the stems.

“A member of the guard brought them by. There is a note inside.”

Classie’s heart sank. Why would he send flowers after telling her they were finished? It felt like a cruel joke.

With a frown, she reached for the envelope.