**Chapter 31**
**Thud.**
The blindfold slipped off as if it had been gently nudged, revealing his eyes for the first time.
Crystalline irises, glowing as though holding the light itself.
Those luminous eyes stared directly at me.
I couldn’t look away. No, I *couldn’t* look away.
A gaze dark and heavy, coiled with tension—
The kind that made you feel like if you averted your eyes, you’d be bitten at the throat.
Even my breathing, which had been calm just moments ago, faltered and became uneven.
“……”
His gaze slowly dropped.
Down past my flushed cheeks to my parted lips, which trembled with shallow, ragged breaths.
His Adam’s apple bobbed.
Ah.
“……My apologies. I think we should end this here tonight.”
A brief silence passed. Then he rose, slowly.
The shadow that had loomed over me began to retreat.
But I remained stiff, barely able to nod in response.
*Just now…*
I had truly thought he was going to—
I swallowed.
My heart was pounding. Much too fast.
“I’ll go wash up,” he said.
I heard the rustle of the blanket, the soft thud of his footsteps fading, and finally, the door closing behind him.
Only then did I release the breath I had been holding.
“*Hoo…*”
Even I could feel the heat in my breath.
But it wasn’t just my breath—my whole body was flushed, from the tips of my ears to my toes.
His image refused to leave my mind—
His damp lips, and that gaze looking down at me…
“……Ughhh.”
In the end, I squeezed my eyes shut and dove under the blanket.
I bit my lip, afraid I might scream.
I had no idea how I was supposed to face him tomorrow.
*No. It was just a moment of weakness.*
He must’ve been caught off guard, too. That’s why he ran off.
If I acted awkwardly around him, it would only make him feel uncomfortable as well.
And then, the routine we’d established—the nightly kisses—would become strained.
*Just act like nothing happened.*
Yes, that was best. Nothing had happened. Nothing at all.
As I pulled the blanket off my face, a cool breeze washed over me,
a stark contrast to the stifling warmth inside it moments ago.
I cast a glance at the still-closed door, then turned away and closed my eyes.
Sleep didn’t come easily. My mind was a tangled mess.
Eventually, my consciousness began to blur.
And Denok… did not return for a very, very long time.
—
But the resolve I’d made to act like everything was fine dissolved the moment morning came.
Finding the space beside me empty when I awoke—I could accept that.
But when he didn’t show up for breakfast either, citing a heavy workload…
Well, even that was something I could understand, as Vernon explained it later.
Maybe he had simply forgotten to tell me. That was plausible.
I braced myself and waited for lunch instead.
But he didn’t come then, either.
—
**Knock knock.**
Denok’s hand, flipping through documents, froze mid-motion.
He slowly looked up at the solid red door.
A color that reminded him vividly of someone.
For some reason, the words caught in his throat.
“Your Grace, it’s Vernon. May I come in?”
Ah. Vernon.
Denok exhaled involuntarily and furrowed his brows.
Why… why had he just felt relieved?
“Your Grace?”
The voice on the other side called him again—gently, carefully.
He had forgotten to respond.
Running a rough hand through his hair, he finally said, “Come in.”
The door creaked open, and Vernon stepped inside with a silver tray.
On it were a few simple refreshments.
“I brought these… since you haven’t eaten at all today.”
Denok felt the tension in his expression ease slightly, despite himself.
If Gerald had been like a brother or uncle to him, then Vernon had filled the absence of a parent.
When he was young, tormented by his madness and unable to sleep,
Vernon was always there outside the door.
After those long, agonizing nights, Vernon would wrap him in a warm blanket and whisper, *You’ve done well,* while holding him close.
And Denok had—until now—never once stopped to consider that.
A realization from the festival resurfaced.
After a moment’s hesitation, he said quietly,
“……Thank you.”
“…Ah.”
Vernon’s eyes widened in soft surprise.
His lips parted slightly, as if to say something, but he closed them again.
Then he smiled—a tender, weathered smile.
Denok took the tray without a word.
He pretended not to hear Vernon’s faint chuckle and placed the tray at the edge of his desk.
The stack of papers next to it shifted.
“Are those important documents?” Vernon asked, concern in his voice—likely worried the food might spill.
Denok set aside the sheet he had been reading and placed it on the tall pile.
“They’re already reviewed. It’s fine.”
He picked up a pen and resumed writing—consolidating years’ worth of business data onto a single page.
By comparing these figures with reports from his parents’ time, he could begin to analyze discrepancies.
Vernon watched, visibly disheartened.
“At this pace, Your Grace, the work will never end.”
He was right. The workload that began in the morning showed no sign of letting up.
After all, Denok was confronting years’ worth of neglected duties.
He had to start over with every operation, organize everything.
This wouldn’t be resolved in a matter of days.
Which was why he hadn’t been able to go see Edith.
There was, in a way, a valid reason.
As he dotted a sentence, Vernon spoke again.
“Still, I think it would’ve been better to share a meal together.
The Madam must’ve been disappointed…”
Denok paused and slowly looked up.
Vernon, unaware, sighed and muttered to himself,
“She looked so lonely, sitting alone at that long dining table…”
“……”
Of course, when Vernon had told Edith that Denok couldn’t make lunch,
she hadn’t looked particularly sad.
Just curled one corner of her mouth into a dry smile.
Vernon glanced at Denok, who seemed oddly tense, and continued calmly,
“You didn’t have a quarrel, did you?”
“……”
“If you did, then perhaps a little concession would go a long way.”
*It wasn’t a fight,* Denok thought—but the words wouldn’t come.
He didn’t want to dig up that memory again.
After a long exhale, he muttered,
“Tell her I’ll be there for dinner.”
But that evening, it was *Edith* who didn’t show up at the banquet hall.
—
“What’s going on?”
I had just returned from finishing my work and barely had time to sit down when the door burst open.
Rachel stormed in.
I had quite enjoyed not seeing her for a while. So for her to appear now… something was clearly wrong.
“You’d better see for yourself.”
She spoke flatly as she strode toward me, extending a silver tray.
I scowled at the sudden intrusion—but then a faint scent brushed past my nose.
A gentle fragrance, floral and unmistakable.
Roses.
*No… it can’t be—*
A chill crept down my spine as I looked down.
On the tray lay a single letter.
Its red wax seal caught the light.
A rose vine curling up two crossed swords.
The crest of House Sertia.
My father.
