Translator: Nox

Chapter 9

“Who exactly sent me a bouquet?”

Classie’s focus wavered, and her knife slipped against the mussel shell she was cleaning. She shifted her attention toward Merran.

The younger woman was slumped over, her face resting in her palm as she let out a bored yawn. This wasn’t a boast; she seemed genuinely indifferent.

Classie offered a quiet, dismissive grunt, her mind immediately jumping to that silver-haired madman, Dernick.

She had no fondness for the man. It was irrelevant to her whether he showered Merran with floral arrangements or constructed a botanical fortress in her honor.

What truly stung was the timing of it all. To bring up such a romantic gesture for Merran the very moment Classie had been discarded felt intentionally malicious. He truly possessed a streak of cruelty.

Merran continued to drone on.

Apparently, the gift was quite lavish. Even with the winter chill still gripping the air, the basket had been packed with vibrant, fresh petals. Classie could easily envision the sort of over-the-top display Dernick would commission.

“I see. That tracks,” Classie remarked.

“Does Auntie have any idea who the sender might be?”

“Why would I be privy to that?”

Hiding her knowledge, Classie went back to her task with the mussels.

Admitting she recognized the gift would force her to confess that Kishin had dumped her the previous day. That was a humiliation she refused to share with Merran.

However, the next few words out of her niece’s mouth caused Classie’s hands to freeze entirely.

Her head snapped up, her heart thundering against her ribs like a heavy iron clapper hitting a bell.

Merran remained in her sluggish posture, lazily swirling her spoon through her soup. There was no hint of the smugness she usually displayed when she successfully lured a man away from Classie.

It was strange. Merran typically treated the suitors she poached like gleaming medals, never discussing them with such a lack of interest.

Classie’s thoughts whirled in confusion. If the basket wasn’t from Dernick… why on earth was Kishin sending flowers to Merran?

“He’s been acting interested ever since I stopped by the guard station. I must have made quite an impression,” Merran mused.

“He seems like quite a catch. Despite his youth, holding the position of deputy commander in the First Platoon is impressive. People say he’s cold and completely unreachable for women. Could I be his first real infatuation? It almost feels like a pity. He was remarkably attractive when I saw him last.”

Merran’s rambling sat somewhere between a complaint and a humblebrag.

The subtext was clear: Kishin was handsome enough, but his personality was odd, and his choice of romantic gestures was dreadfully unoriginal.

Classie tried to tune her out, letting the chatter fade into the background—until it became unbearable. She slammed her fork down.

Her hunger had vanished.

The puzzle pieces finally clicked into place. She understood now why Kishin had severed ties with her, and why Dernick had been so eager to have her deliver flowers to Merran immediately afterward.

The whole situation was built on a misunderstanding. Kishin had been captivated by Merran during her visit to the guards, and Dernick had been fully aware of it.

There was no other logical explanation.

A sharp, hollow ache settled in her stomach. Classie pushed her plate away; eating any more would only lead to a bout of indigestion.

“I’m heading out,” she announced.

Classie rose from the table, drowning the remains of her coffee with hot water.

“Is something wrong? Are you still feeling poorly?”

Merran was at her side in an instant, checking Classie’s temperature with a soft palm.

“No sign of a fever. Do you need me to summon a physician?”

To the outside world, Merran’s behavior was that of a devoted relative. Only those in Classie’s inner circle saw the subtle ways she undermined her aunt.

Whenever Merran drove a wedge between Classie and a potential lover, onlookers saw it as harmless playfulness. Her sweet expressions and doting eyes made it impossible for others to see the malice.

Even Classie found herself doubting her own resentment.

Even in private, Merran maintained this facade. As long as there wasn’t a man to compete for, she played the role of the perfect, loving niece.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Classie muttered.

She grabbed her mug and retreated toward the lounge.

However, as she reached the midpoint of the grand staircase, a forceful knocking thudded against the front entrance.

She wondered who would be visiting at this hour.

Pausing, Classie peered over the railing.

The butler emerged from the office and hurried to answer. When the door swung open, a man in the distinct regalia of the palace guards stood on the threshold.

Classie felt a surge of irritation. Had they forgotten something when they came for the permit earlier?

She remained still, bracing herself for whatever new complication had arrived.

“How can we help you?” the butler asked, his voice wavering with nerves.

Drawn by the noise, Merran peeked out from the dining room.

The soldier removed his cap, offering a curt nod of respect.

“Pardon the intrusion. I’m here on behalf of Sir Kishin. He has requested that I fetch the lady of the house.”

Classie assumed he was there for Merran.

With a weary sigh, she turned to continue her climb.

Below her, she heard Merran ask, “What could Sir Kishin possibly want with me?”

Classie was no stranger to rejection. Usually, a few days of moping was enough to clear her head—perhaps four at most. She never let the heartbreak last more than a week.

“Is that Miss Classie?”

The voice from the foyer made her stop.

Her cheeks burned with the realization that she’d been caught listening in on the conversation.

Squaring her shoulders, she looked down and spoke with a forced air of boredom.

“I am Classie.”

The guard looked between the two women, his expression turning slightly awkward.

“It is Miss Classie whom Sir Kishin has requested to see.”

For once, Merran looked genuinely stunned. A rare flash of humiliation crossed her face.

Classie felt just as unsettled. Why would Kishin reject her and send flowers to her niece, only to summon her now?

She suspected nothing good would come of this meeting.

“Inform him that I am unavailable,” Classie said, turning back toward her bedroom.

“He mentioned that he would remain there until you arrived,” the guard called out.

Classie hesitated. Had he anticipated her refusal?

Despite having done nothing wrong, she felt another wave of heat rise to her face. She couldn’t help but look at Merran.

For years, she had been the one left standing in the shadows while Merran was chosen. Now the roles were reversed, and she could see the embarrassment radiating off her niece.

“…I’ll be down shortly. I need to prepare. Where is he waiting?”

Ultimately, curiosity and a bit of spite won out.

She planned to give him a taste of his own medicine—to make him wait just as he had made her suffer.

And yet, a part of her simply wanted to look at him one more time.

“I will wait here to guide you. Sir Kishin was very clear that I must not fail in this task,” the guard said with a small smile.

Classie nodded and hurried into her suite.

The moment the door latched, she began a frantic search through her wardrobe, tossing her most flattering gowns onto the furniture.

The reason for the summons was a mystery, but she was determined to look breathtaking.

She wanted him to feel the weight of his mistake the moment he saw her.

She cursed her own lack of dignity even as she scrutinized her options.

Self-respect was a luxury she couldn’t afford if she wanted to win this encounter.

Eventually, she settled on a stunning rose-colored silk.

As she was dressing, the door clicked open and Merran stepped inside.

Classie tried to stay focused on her reflection, smoothing the fabric of her skirt.

She couldn’t resist glancing at her niece’s reflection.

She expected to see the same fury she had felt so many times before.

Instead, Merran appeared eerily calm.

Her composure was more frightening than an outburst would have been.

A sense of dread pooled in Classie’s chest. What was the girl planning?

“Auntie, I’m coming with you.”

Classie wasn’t surprised. Merran always had an angle.

“Absolutely not. Why would I take you?” Classie snapped.

“You’re really going to leave me here alone?”

“You aren’t a child, Merran. You can manage for a few hours.”

Merran walked over and plucked a pink silk ribbon from Classie’s fingers.

“Pink on pink? It’s a bit much, don’t you think? It looks immature. You should aim for something more sophisticated, like a real noblewoman.”

Though Merran’s tone was sugary, Classie could sense the underlying spite.

Merran knew pink was Classie’s favorite color.

In the past, she had always praised how the shade complemented Classie’s bright personality.

“You used to say this color suited me perfectly.”

“That was a year ago.”

“My social circle still wears pink accessories.”

“Your friends don’t have nieces who are nearly grown women.”

Classie let out a frustrated breath. This was a classic Merran tactic.

“My wardrobe isn’t your concern. You’re my niece, not my mother.”

Had her sister been there, she would have reprimanded them both for bickering like children.

But they were alone.

The comment clearly stung.

Merran’s eyes turned icy, and her voice dropped to a low, sharp whisper.

“You’re the one who raised me, Auntie. You’re the closest thing to a mother I have. And didn’t you once say that your own sister felt more like a parent to you?”

Merran sank onto the couch, tightly clutching the ribbon.

“The answer is still no. I’m not bringing a petulant girl along.”

“I’m not being difficult, Auntie. I’m being realistic. Do you honestly believe he sent for you because he’s had a change of heart?”

“What are you implying?”

“He likely wants to discuss the fact that I rejected his flowers. If you show up looking like you’ve spent hours getting ready for a date, imagine how pathetic you’ll look.”

“You’re wrong.”

“The only way to save face is to have me there. If I’m with you, he’ll think your outfit is just your usual style, not a desperate attempt to impress him.”

Merran spoke with the absolute certainty that she would get her way.

She didn’t even feel the need to change her own clothes; she was confident enough to face him as she was.

Classie felt a wave of defeat.

Merran’s logic was irritatingly sound.

Ever since the guard announced the summons, a knot of suspicion had been tightening in Classie’s gut.

She simply wasn’t as calculating as her niece.

Even so…

Classie stood her ground, refused one last time, and bolted from the room.

She raced down the hallway with Merran hot on her heels, shouting protests.

Classie was the more agile of the two.

Like a panicked bird, she flew down the stairs and threw open the front door.

“Auntie! Wait for me!”

The scream echoed behind her, but Classie didn’t look back.

Her frantic pace only faltered when she ran directly into the path of two very confused men.

She stopped dead. Kishin Hayward and Dernick were standing there, their faces twisted in identical expressions of sheer bewilderment at the spectacle unfolding before them.