Translator: Nox

Chapter 17

Since her sixteenth birthday, Classie hadn’t experienced a carriage ride this delightful. She hummed a soft melody while watching the scenery roll past, though her focus remained fixed on Merran’s reaction.

The girl was clearly fuming, sitting perfectly still with her face scrunched up and her cheeks puffed out like an angry blowfish.

“By the way, didn’t you leave the majority of your mother’s mementos back at the estate?”

Attempting to ease her slight sense of guilt, Classie tried to start a conversation. Merran responded by snapping her head away with a loud, theatrical huff.

“I’m not speaking to you, Auntie.”

Classie had to remind herself constantly that she wasn’t the girl’s mother. Yet, having practically raised her, she found this display of pouting rather endearing. After all, she was the only person Merran felt comfortable enough to be difficult with.

“Have it your way,” Classie said airily.

Merran muttered something incoherent under her breath before sliding across the seat to latch onto Classie’s arm.

“I suppose you’re right,” the girl conceded.

Classie let out a laugh, playfully tugging at a few of Merran’s golden, spiraling curls. Merran swatted at her leg in mock protest before snuggling deeper into her aunt’s side.

The time flew by as they playfully bickered and readjusted their seating. Before long, the carriage pulled to a halt. Merran popped up like a spring-loaded toy and hurried out the door.

Classie wondered if Merran truly felt something for Dernick. This behavior was entirely out of character for the girl.

Stepping out, they saw Dernick waiting by a massive monstera plant. He turned at the sound of their arrival, offering Merran a polite smile that transformed into a beaming grin the moment he spotted Classie.

“What luck,” he remarked. “I asked one beautiful woman to join me, and two appeared.”

“Auntie wouldn’t let me come alone because she was so concerned,” Merran explained with a sheepish mumble, casting a quick glare at Classie.

Normally, Classie would have bristled at being identified merely as an appendage to the Omel family rather than as Classie Kalashi. In Dernick’s presence, however, she didn’t mind the secondary role.

“My niece is simply too precious,” Classie added, leaning into the role of the overprotective relative with a smug grin. “I couldn’t bear the thought of her meeting a stranger without supervision.”

By establishing this dynamic now, she could ensure she’d be present for any future encounters between the two.

“She really does look out for me,” Merran agreed, giving Classie’s arm an affectionate shake.

A sudden realization struck Classie. Perhaps Merran actually enjoyed this. Maybe she craved this version of her aunt—a guardian who centered her entire world around the girl’s well-being.

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor broke her trance.

Dernick was already holding a chair out for her. Merran stood by, looking slightly dazed. When Classie met his gaze, he gave her a knowing smirk.

“Please, Auntie, you sit first.”

Classie felt a sudden urge to swing her handbag at his jaw. The man was clearly enjoying himself at her expense.

Swallowing her annoyance, she took the seat with as much grace as she could muster. Only after she was settled did Dernick assist Merran and finally take his own place.

The arrangement was absurd. Classie sat in the position of honor, looking like a family matriarch, while the two younger people flanked her. It was clear Dernick was leaning into the ‘protective guardian’ bit she had started, but his cooperation was entirely unwanted.

Still, she couldn’t call him out. Their previous encounter had left her with a nagging suspicion that he carried royal blood. Instead, she offered a polite, hollow laugh and turned her attention to the menu.

As they waited for their meal, Merran finally broke the silence.

“What was the reason for this invitation?”

“It concerns Mary’s daughter. There was an important matter I needed to clarify,” Classie and Merran spoke simultaneously.

“Not all of them, but most,” Classie added.

“Isn’t it getting a bit tedious to keep calling me ‘Sister Mary’s daughter’?” Merran asked.

Dernick looked back and forth between the two women, seemingly undecided on who to address, before ultimately settling on Classie.

“And the rest? Where are they?”

Merran’s brow furrowed. She was visibly irritated that Dernick, who usually treated her like a child from the neighborhood, was suddenly giving Classie his full attention.

“My brother-in-law, Marquess Omel, has them.”

“Sir Dernick, please call me Merran from now on,” the girl interrupted.

Dernick sighed softly, looking a bit awkward. “But you are Sister Mary’s daughter.”

“It’s just a mouthful,” she countered. “Why don’t you call my aunt ‘Sister Mary’s sister’ then?”

Classie suppressed a scoff. Because he calls me Miss Weapons Dealer.

Dernick looked momentarily flustered. “That’s a fair point. Why don’t I use that title for Miss Classie? I suppose… it just feels incorrect to address her that way.”

Classie rolled her eyes internally. He didn’t use her nickname in front of Merran, but he did catch her eye and offer a conspiratorial wink. The audacity of the man was staggering.

Merran, however, seemed to misinterpret the exchange. The pride she had felt earlier vanished, replaced by a twitch of resentment. Classie recognized the look immediately; her niece was genuinely offended.

To smooth things over, Classie pivoted. “Was there an incident?”

Merran’s curiosity was piqued. Dernick began a lively retelling of how he had essentially hijacked Classie’s carriage and the chaos that followed.

By the time the food arrived, the story was in full swing. Dernick proved to be a gifted narrator, embellishing the details of his encounter with Classie and Kishin to make it sound like a grand drama. Merran was so enthralled by the tale that she barely touched her plate, laughing throughout the meal. The tension from earlier had evaporated.

Classie, on the other hand, found the dramatization of her own life deeply embarrassing and kept her head down, focusing entirely on her food.

Once the meal wound down and Merran was in high spirits, she returned to the topic of the heirlooms.

“The majority of my mother’s things belong to me. I only have a few here, though—the rest are split between the Marquess and Count Kalashi. Since they’re in three separate locations, finding a specific item will be difficult. You’ll need to tell me exactly what you’re looking for.”

“I’m afraid it’s not something I can discuss openly,” Dernick replied.

“I’m not just anyone,” Merran insisted. “I am Mary Omel’s only child.”

“But you aren’t my daughter,” he said simply.

The comment hung in the air. It was a phrase Classie used often, but hearing it from him felt different.

Dernick crossed his arms, lost in thought for a moment before offering a compromise. “How about this, Sister Mary’s daughter? Invite me to your home. I can look through the items myself.”

He continued, “If you’re concerned about theft, you can have a guard present. Or you can watch me the entire time. What do you think?”

Merran paused, considering the offer. “I’ll give it some thought.”

Dernick stood up with a wide grin. “Fair enough.”

Classie, who had been staying out of the negotiation, looked up in surprise as he reached for his coat. “Are you leaving already?”

“I need to find a gift,” he said playfully. “Something to help Sister Mary’s daughter make up her mind.”

Merran laughed. “What kind of gift?”

Dernick checked his pocket watch and vanished without another word.

He truly is a law unto himself, Classie thought, clicking her tongue.

Yet Merran didn’t seem bothered by his abruptness. She continued to laugh even after he was gone. Classie found this fascinating. Usually, men were desperate to please Merran, following her every whim. All she ever asked of them was to stay away from her aunt. But here was Dernick, treating her like a subordinate and doing exactly as he pleased, and she was looking at the door with more genuine warmth than she had ever shown her suitors.

“Do you actually like Sir Dernick?” Classie asked.

The question seemed to strike a raw nerve. Merran, who had been browsing the coffee menu, turned on her sharply.

“What about you?”

“Me? Why is this about me?” Classie asked, taken aback.

Merran pouted, snapping the menu shut. “Have you moved on from Sir Kishin already? You looked so happy with those flowers he gave you, and now you’re eyeing Sir Dernick?”

She looked like a jealous sentry, terrified that Classie might find someone to love.

Classie couldn’t resist a mischievous grin. “You caught me. I’ve decided I’m interested in Sir Dernick. Like you said, Sir Kishin was rude and insulted me, so I shouldn’t bother with him, right?”

Nearby, Dernick covered his mouth with one hand, casting a sideways look at Kishin.

“I have to admit,” he whispered, “this wasn’t the conversation I expected you to overhear when I brought you here.”