Translator: Nox

Chapter 2

“Count Albert.”

Classie conceded the introduction with a heavy sense of defeat.

She felt the weight of another loss today. It was always the same when Merran was involved.

From across the room, Florence caught her eye and signaled frantically for her to stay put. But Classie knew better; what was the point of lingering when the outcome was already decided?

The moment Merran had skipped over, her voice ringing out with a cheerful cry of “Auntie!”, Count Albert was a lost cause. Classie had seen this play out too many times to count.

Usually, men were initially drawn to Classie’s own striking looks. However, as soon as Merran appeared—blonde hair shimmering as she called out to her relative—half of those men would immediately shift their focus, utterly charmed by the younger girl. The other half might try to stay focused on Classie for a moment longer, but even they would eventually drift away as Merran’s persistent, sweet calls of “Auntie, Auntie” wore them down.

Younger suitors like Albert, who were close to Merran in age, seemed to soften instantly at the title. Hearing her called “Aunt” relegated Classie to the status of an elder in their minds. It didn’t matter if Classie tried to point out that she was only five years older or that she was more like a big sister than an aunt; that only made things worse. The men would look at her with a sort of pitying awkwardness, as if she were an aging woman desperately clinging to her youth. Merran looked like a literal angel by the water’s edge, and the label of “Merran’s Aunt” was a shadow Classie couldn’t step out of.

Accepting her fate, Classie wove through the crowd toward Florence. Florence’s husband, who understood the situation all too well, gave Classie a sympathetic, stiff nod before making himself scarce.

Once he was out of earshot, Florence turned to Classie, gesturing pointedly with a tiny dessert spoon. She wanted to know when Merran had even arrived. She reminded Classie that she had specifically told her to leave the girl at home.

“I didn’t bring her,” Classie replied wearily. “She found her own way here.”

Florence frowned, demanding to know why Classie had revealed their destination.

“I didn’t say a word,” Classie insisted. “She figured it out herself. I had no idea she was coming until she showed up just now.”

Florence let out a sharp tsk and glared across the room. Classie followed her gaze to see Merran already spinning across the dance floor in Count Albert’s arms. The man had clearly wiped Classie from his memory entirely.

Florence muttered a curse under her breath, wondering why Classie’s niece felt the need to sabotage every potential romantic interest. She questioned if there was something wrong with the girl’s motivations.

“She doesn’t want me to get married,” Classie explained. “She claims she views me as a mother figure and can’t stand the thought of me belonging to another man. She told me that if I have to marry, she wants to be the one to go first.”

Florence looked incredulous, asking if the girl had lost her mind. She pointed out the absurdity of the “mother” claim, noting the negligible age gap and the fact that Merran was older than Florence’s own sister.

Classie let out a long sigh. She noted that since she had been the girl’s guardian since she was eleven, that five-year difference felt like a lifetime to Merran back then.

Florence looked ready to launch into a more venomous critique of Merran, but Classie wasn’t in the mood to endure it. She knew that unless someone was a close friend like Florence, speaking poorly of her niece would only make her look bitter. It was a lose-lose situation.

Exhaustion finally took hold. Classie shook her head, thanked Florence for the evening, and made a quick exit before she could be stopped.

She hurried to her waiting carriage. Her driver, who had been passing the time with the other servants, scrambled to his post as soon as he saw her approaching. He seemed surprised to see her so soon, but Classie simply told him the event had become tedious. When he mentioned seeing Lady Merran go inside and suggested Classie join her, she remarked that Merran’s arrival was exactly why she was leaving. The driver laughed, assuming she was making a joke.

As the carriage pulled away, Classie watched the world go by and felt a familiar ache. Back in her home province, she had been quite popular. Everyone had liked her—until the day she became responsible for Merran following the death of her sister, Mary.

Classie had been the sole survivor of the carriage accident that killed Mary and their entire escort. That tragedy had birthed a dark cloud of gossip. People found it suspicious that a sixteen-year-old girl had returned alone. The rumors grew teeth when the official investigation contradicted Classie’s account. While the guards had died in a crash, the investigators claimed Mary had actually died from a fall.

To shield her, Classie’s parents had claimed she was too injured to leave her bed for months, which kept her away from the investigators but allowed the rumors to fester unchecked. Despite her family’s wealth, her father’s rank, and her own beauty, those nine-year-old whispers had kept suitors at bay.

She cursed the laws of the empire. She didn’t even care much for the idea of romance or a husband, but marriage was a legal requirement. Only those who were wed could inherit titles and estates.

When she turned twenty-five, she decided she needed a fresh start away from the gossip. When Florence’s husband took a position at the Imperial Court, Classie jumped at the chance to move to the capital with them.

Florence had been full of optimism during the move. She promised Classie that the capital was full of newcomers and that through her husband’s new connections, they would find plenty of eligible bachelors—men who, like Classie, might have their own reasons for being unmarried.

Classie had allowed herself to be swept up in that hope. She remembered the excitement of arriving in the city, her heart racing as she breathed in the rain-scented air. It was her first time leaving home in a decade.

Florence had secured a beautiful white mansion. Classie’s own new home was more modest—not the kind of estate that required a carriage just to reach the front door—but it was perfect for her. She had felt a surge of joy as she watched the servants unpack her things.

In her new bedroom on the second floor, she had looked out at the palace spires and the distant, storied temples glowing in the sunset. For the first time in nine years, she was free of Merran. She felt a twinge of guilt for feeling relieved, but at twenty, Merran was an adult. Classie felt she deserved this peace.

She had taken a long bath and crawled into fresh, clean sheets, feeling truly happy.

Then, the memory shifted to three months ago. She recalled walking into her parlor to find Merran sitting by the fire, sipping coffee, with her old nanny, Karen, standing awkwardly behind her.

Merran had smiled that shy, innocent smile and announced she was moving in, claiming she had received permission from Aunt Rize. Classie had realized then that her other sister, overwhelmed by her own young children and pregnancy, had simply pawned Merran off on her again.

A violent jolt snapped Classie back to the present. The carriage lurched and came to a sudden, grinding halt.

Rubbing her bruised forehead, Classie called out to the driver, but there was no reply. A sense of dread pooled in her stomach. She knew the impact hadn’t been enough to kill him, and she hadn’t heard him fall.

She opened the small partition window to the driver’s bench and nearly screamed.

Her driver was slumped over, unconscious. In his place sat a man covered in blood, gripping the whip.

Classie instinctively reached for her umbrella to defend herself, then swapped it for a heavy glass perfume bottle from her bag. She was ready to hurl it when the man spoke, his voice urgent.

He pleaded with her not to throw it, insisting he had only taken the carriage because he was in a desperate hurry. He told her he wasn’t a bad man.