Chapter 17
“Is it because that man will soon become a marquis?”
“Do you think status is the issue?”
“Yes. For a count’s daughter, being a marchioness is certainly a tempting position.”
Although Rainier was smiling, it felt cold. Layla sensed something was off—was he smirking?
She looked more closely. He was smiling properly. And yet, his face looked like he was angry, which made her instinctively shrink back.
“Status doesn’t matter to me.”
“Then why?”
“I want to get away from House Avier. How long do you think I’ll even live?”
Rainier’s expression gradually relaxed. Sensing that her words were having an effect on him, Layla continued, thinking perhaps sympathy would work in her favor.
“I want to be free before I die. And I think Sonet would let me live freely.”
“That’s your only reason?”
“Yes.”
Layla wasn’t crying. But Rainier gently brushed her eye with his fingertip.
“Strange. You look like you’re crying.”
“You’ve been saying that since earlier. Please stop. I’m not crying.”
“Yes.”
After replying, he pulled back the hood of her robe and began unbuttoning it.
“What are you doing?”
After removing her robe, he took off his own cloak and extended his arm to her like a gentleman offering an escort.
“Let’s go in.”
“Eclair? They’ll recognize me.”
“They should.”
Rainier was essential for Layla’s recovery. And somehow, he seemed to treat her kindly.
So if he wanted something from her, she would have to give it. You can’t get something without offering something in return.
Resolving to remain level-headed, she took his arm.
Whatever else he may be, Rainier was a reliable superior and comrade to his subordinates.
“Just help me look the part.”
“What are we even doing?”
“I want to make a lady feel good.”
And with that, they entered the Eclair boutique.
The spacious interior was divided like a department store: dresses on the first floor, perfumes on the second, teaware on the third.
“Oh my, that hair color—isn’t that Lady Layla Avier?”
As soon as Layla entered, the young noblewomen inside started whispering loudly enough to be heard.
She stood out. People with pink hair were rare in the Sigmund Empire’s capital—no more than a handful.
Even the first-floor manager, upon seeing Layla, sighed but didn’t come over.
The manager knew her well. She had snuck in several times before.
“Here again?”
“Hugo told me to wait here.”
“Lord Ronald said that? I doubt it.”
“I swear it’s true…”
“Fine, go sit over there. Though who knows if he’ll actually come.”
Hugo had stood her up many times. And whenever that happened, the manager was quick to ignore her.
He knew she couldn’t complain to Hugo anyway, no matter how badly she was treated.
“Oh, is she here to beg Lord Ronald again?”
“She waited forever last time, too.”
“She can wait all she wants—he won’t come.”
The noblewomen giggled, speaking just loud enough for her to hear.
The room, which had been lively before, fell silent the moment Layla entered, leaving only their voices. They were all gathered on a luxurious leather sofa near the fitting area.
“If it were me, I’d just leave the country. What’s the point of clinging so pathetically?”
“Right? It’s not like Lord Ronald is handsome or tall.”
“She has no taste at all.”
Rainier turned to look at them as he heard the snide comments during the fitting.
“Who’s that with her?”
“Her lover,” Rainier answered with a smile.
Realizing he had replied, the women fell silent. But when their eyes met his, a strange fear washed over them, and they trembled.
“Lord Ronald is rather plain-looking, isn’t he? You ladies have quite the eye.”
Layla broke into a cold sweat at Rainier’s mocking tone.
“Don’t you agree?”
“Ah… Yes. It’s been a while, Lady Layla.”
“It has, Lady Bellia.”
Layla forced herself to greet Bellia Ivelle, who had addressed her.
“Lady Ivelle. Tell me—what do you think of him?”
“Pardon? Of whom?”
“Do you still think Layla has bad taste?”
“Ah… That…”
Rainier looked at her with a smile that still somehow seemed angry—just as Layla had felt earlier.
The other young ladies, too intimidated by his pressure, couldn’t speak.
Though his tone was polite, it had a subtly condescending edge. No one seemed to realize he was pretending to be a commoner.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongues?”
The girls considered talking back, but one glance at his face stopped them.
Even though he stood in the light, his presence was shadowy. His black hair didn’t shine reddish or brown in the light—it was truly night-black.
And his rare red eyes only added to the intimidating effect.
Yet his features were flawless and perfectly proportioned—strikingly handsome.
He towered over everyone and had a sturdy build, like a knight. But his attire was that of a noble, so the women exchanged glances, wondering if he was a foreign noble.
No, the way he spoke down to them—it felt more like royalty or even imperial blood.
“Better to keep your mouths shut than say something useless.”
“Ah…”
Bellia started to speak, then fell silent. The other ladies followed suit, coughing awkwardly while staring out the window.
“Wh-what brings you in today, sir?” the manager stammered, rushing over.
Rainier looked down at the clerk and said,
“I’ve come to collect an order under the name Abelon. I ordered Envelmark furs. I’d also like the items from upstairs. The perfume is Fairy of the Flowers, and the teaware was supposed to be imported from the Western Kingdom.”
All imported goods. Normally they were so expensive they’d be put up for auction.
“I’m giving them to my lover, so hurry.”
Layla already knew he was wealthy, even though he hid his status. So she wasn’t surprised by his nonchalant mention of such luxury.
What did surprise her was that he had pre-ordered these items months in advance.
The Envelmark fur had to be reserved at least six months ahead.
The Fairy of the Flowers perfume was crafted by the capital’s most famous perfumer, using secret ingredients from across the sea in Roten—another item that needed a three-month reservation.
Only the Western teaware could be obtained with a one-month wait.
“Ah, sir… would you please step this way for a moment?”
“That would be a waste of time. Just bring the items for my lover to see.”
Rainier suddenly looked gently at Layla. Caught off guard, she mimicked his expression and smiled back.
“I’m looking forward to it, Rain.”
“You should, Layla.”
At his gentle tone, Layla leaned her head on his shoulder to act the part. He gave a small jolt, then loosened his arm.
Thinking he was uncomfortable, Layla started to pull away—
“Hurry up.”
—but Rainier instead pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Her shoulder pressed against his chest—it was so firm beneath his clothes it felt like leaning on a rock.
“S-sir, I must ask you to enter the VIP room.”
“I told you I’m short on time.”
Rainier’s voice was cold. The staff member flinched as their eyes met—it felt like being stared down by a black panther.
“Or… has the order not arrived?”
Silence fell. Even the whispering ceased.
“I heard a trade ship wrecked in the Caspian Sea. Was it the Ronald family’s vessel, by chance?”
“Ah… I’m not sure.”
“Then where are my goods? I only came to collect them. Why insist on taking me to the VIP room? If the items are delayed, shouldn’t you have sent a notice? How dare you summon me with nothing prepared?”
As his words echoed, the ladies resumed whispering.
“Oh my…”
“So the rumor was true.”
“The ship that sank belonged to the Ethan firm!”
Rainier chuckled at their reactions. Layla called to him.
“Rain.”
“Yes?”
“Let’s come back tomorrow. I’m a little tired right now.”
“Shall we?”
He smiled, gently cupping her cheek with the same hand that had held her shoulder. Layla felt ticklish, but didn’t flinch.
“Yes.”
“Ah, s-sir…”
“We’ll return tomorrow. But if it’s still not ready, I can’t guarantee what will happen.”
“Y-yes, sir!”
The manager looked near tears.
As they left, the noblewomen exchanged glances, itching to confirm the truth. Bellia Ivelle was the first to speak.
“Um, manager.”
“Yes, my lady?”
“You mentioned before that the Western teaware could be reserved, right?”
“Ah… yes…”
“I’d like to place an order. The soonest available.”
The manager approached them, sweating nervously.
“I’m sorry… but we’re currently not accepting reservations due to certain circumstances.”
At his response, the ladies exchanged glances—and became certain.
The Ronald family’s trade ship had indeed sunk.
