Chapter 65 –
Although Aisha was raised in a fairly liberal household, she was still born a noblewoman. What’s more, with three older brothers, she was taught with a surprisingly conservative view on relationships between men and women.
A society that condemned relationships with men as sinful. The belief that hiding things from one’s parents was morally wrong. Growing up in such an environment, Aisha carried a heavy sense of guilt about her premarital relationship with Ian. To make matters worse, Ian’s attitude never gave her any real sense of security, leaving her in a constant state of unease.
She did her best to maintain a calm expression, but the eyes never lie. Her trembling pupils betrayed her inner turmoil. Like a cat eyeing an injured bird, Helen watched Aisha’s every flinch before opening her mouth with a sneer.
“Pfft. You really believed that, didn’t you?”
Aisha had no idea how to respond. She tried to regain her composure, but her mind turned blank.
“Ian may appear cold on the outside, but he’s incredibly gentle in bed. Sometimes I wonder if he’s even the same person when he stays beside me until I wake up.”
Helen deliberately twisted the narrative, fully enjoying Aisha’s reaction. She knew all too well the psychological turmoil that pure, sheltered noblewomen—those still ignorant of or newly aware of physical intimacy—would suffer.
“Don’t you think so, Miss Aisha?”
“……”
“For now, enjoy it. While you’re still Ian’s fiancée, I’ll look the other way even if you sneak into his bed. When else would you get the chance to share a bed with such a wonderful man?”
Aisha was far more shaken than Helen had expected. Losing her rationality, Aisha took Helen’s words literally. The implication that Ian wasn’t just involved with one woman shocked her deeply, and the comment about him being gentle in bed left a painful scar.
Is she trying to use the fact that we slept together to claim more than she deserves…?
Ian’s recent words echoed in her head. At the same time, a sharp, cracking sound seemed to reach her ears. It was a bizarre noise—like wind hammering against a weakened glass pane or a cracked statue slowly eroding from its weakest point.
Barely holding together the shards threatening to collapse, Aisha pulled together what remained of her pride and forced her expression into calm neutrality. If nothing else, she refused to show her weakness in front of this woman.
But her body couldn’t lie. As her pale fingers curled into trembling fists, Helen smiled and bid her goodbye.
“I’ll be off now. You don’t look well—get some rest.”
Helen would’ve loved to see Aisha in tears, but it seemed her pride was harder to break than expected. Giving Aisha one last once-over, she turned away. Her steps were lighter than when she had entered—proof of her satisfaction.
Only after Helen fluttered away like a butterfly did Aisha exhale the breath she had been holding in. Her tear-filled eyes distorted the world. Yet she stubbornly swallowed her sobs.
I can’t take this anymore!
As she choked back the tears, a hoarse sound escaped from deep within her. She was sick of crying because of Ian. Her raw, irritated eyes, her soaked and discolored sleeves—she was tired of it all. How much longer did she have to endure this? Was Ian even worth this pain? A tidal wave of negativity surged through her shattered mind.
“Ah… Uh, hng…”
In the lounge, a string of anguished moans echoed. But eventually, the sounds slowly faded. And in sync with the diminishing cries, Aisha’s expression began to still.
“Look who it is! Ian! It’s been ages!”
At the sound of a booming voice, Ian, who was standing with some noblemen connected to his business dealings, turned his head. A middle-aged man with chestnut hair swept stylishly back was approaching.
“You didn’t even invite me to your engagement ceremony, and now you’re pretending not to know me in public? I’m offended!”
Recognizing the man, a flicker of annoyance crossed Ian’s face. Still, he couldn’t ignore the greeting.
“Count Floran. It’s been a while.”
The man was Count Iron Floran, whose southern estate was famous for its rare roses. He was someone Ian had known since childhood—an acquaintance of both his father and Count Parden. As such, Floran treated Ian without formality.
“Yes, yes. And you’re still as handsome as ever. Easily the most good-looking man in the capital!”
With a loud voice that drew attention from all around, Count Floran boomed praise that was so exaggerated, even Ian looked embarrassed.
“Oh, there he goes again…”
People who recognized the count mostly chuckled fondly. Though known for his lack of tact, he was even more famous for being warm-hearted.
“And where is your lovely fiancée? Why are you surrounded by all these gloomy men?”
Ian didn’t dislike Count Floran. But his blunt, unfiltered questions were always troublesome.
“…She’s resting.”
It was rare for newly engaged couples to be apart during a major banquet—unless they’d fought. So while most nobles tactfully avoided mentioning Aisha, Floran shook his head with wide eyes.
“That won’t do. A man should always be good to his woman…”
“My, I’d heard rumors of the Count being a devoted husband, but now I see they’re true.”
As Ian and his companions’ expressions began to darken, a new voice cut in, drenched in a rich rose scent. A woman in red stepped neatly between Ian and Count Floran.
“Long time no see, Count. And greetings, everyone.”
Although the topic of Aisha had been dropped, the tension remained. It was Helen—everyone at the banquet had heard rumors about her and Ian.
“Oh my, if it isn’t Miss Helen!”
Unfortunately, Count Floran hadn’t heard the gossip. He greeted her warmly and made space for her.
“Ian—no, I should say, Marquis. I’m not that pleased to see you again. After all, we met quite recently.”
Helen smiled slyly as she glanced at Ian and whispered meaningfully. At her teasing tone, Ian frowned and stepped away. Helen’s eyes sharpened momentarily at his rejection, but she quickly masked it with a charming smile as she turned to the Count.
“Count, they say the rose business in your domain flourished because your wife loves roses. That’s so… admirable.”
“Haha! Hearing praise from a young lady at my age is quite embarrassing. But really, you’re the remarkable one. Didn’t you order some roses not too long ago?”
“Of course. The roses from your domain are so stunning… I told my designers to replicate them precisely in their designs.”
“And your designers are all top talents, aren’t they? You’re incredible, gathering such talent at your age.”
“You flatter me. I didn’t do anything. It’s thanks to people like the Marquis and others helping me.”
Once again, Helen made sure to mention Ian. But he didn’t even glance her way, his gaze fixed instead on a far corner of the banquet hall. The curtained lounge—where he’d just come from. Confirming his focus, Helen quietly approached and clapped her hands.
“Oh my. The next song is one of my favorites…”
Ian turned at the sound, and Helen met his eyes, hinting that she wanted to dance. Everyone but one man immediately knew whom she was inviting.
“You like the next song? Then may I have this dance—”
Count Floran, oblivious, extended a hand. But Ian turned just in time, prompting Helen to anxiously grab Ian’s sleeve and ignore the count.
“Where are you going, my lord? Surely one dance between us is acceptable?”
It was rare for a woman to ask a man to dance. Even more so for a woman to request a dance from a man with a wife or fiancée. Yet Helen couldn’t suppress the strange pounding in her heart and made the bold move.
As expected, the atmosphere turned icy. Even Count Floran gave her a disapproving look. It reminded her of the time when she wore the locket bearing Ian’s image in front of noblewomen and received similar glares. Helen bit her lip nervously.
Please… Don’t reject me. Please…
If he turned her down now, it would be the ultimate humiliation. She stared at Ian with desperate eyes. But Ian coldly removed her hand without hesitation. Her face flushed with embarrassment at the public rejection.
“I-I suppose I was too forward. I just… really like that song…”
She tried to salvage the situation with difficulty, but then Ian unexpectedly extended a hand toward her.
“……”
He said nothing, but the gesture was clearly an invitation to dance. Helen, and everyone around, stared at Ian in shock.
Is this… finally happening?
Until now, Helen had desired Ian but never truly believed she was in love. Yet, as she saw his emotionless face and perfect manners, she felt her cheeks burn.
This must be true love.
Her heart pounding out of control, Helen convinced herself that this was love, not mere infatuation. She saw several people frown and whisper as Ian took her hand.
It’s fine. Once I become Marchioness Lloyd, no one will dare make those faces again.
Even as they made their way to the center of the hall to dance, Helen only had eyes for Ian. But Ian… never looked at her. His gaze remained fixed, obsessively, on that curtained corner of the room.
