Chapter 44
He couldn’t stop the impure thoughts in front of that woman.
Sion’s emotions had always been neatly refined. Feelings of degradation, emotions stirred one-sidedly—those were foreign to him.
Whenever he looked into those calm teal eyes, it felt like he had become a criminal awaiting interrogation in a torture chamber.
What if she sees through these filthy feelings? What if she laughs at my desire?
‘What kind of victim complex is this? Sees through what? I’m the one with mind control powers, not her.’
‘Besides, even if she knew I had such dreams, would she even be shaken? She’d just laugh.’
But just imagining that calm, mocking smile made it feel like all the pride he had built up would crumble.
What made it worse was that even in that imagined mockery, there was something in her that stirred him.
‘You sick bastard. Maybe I should just cut it off and be done with it?’
If not for his transcendental body’s regeneration, he would have already done it long ago.
Chomp, chomp. As Sion anxiously bit down on his cigar, a trace of absurdity flickered in his purple eyes.
‘Why am I wasting so much time on a woman like that?’
What could possibly damage his pride about going to meet her? Why would facing her make him feel degraded?
What meaning did dreams have, anyway? Dreams were just the brain’s way of taking out the trash.
The strange anxiety he had felt until just moments ago now seemed like a mirage.
‘Maybe I’m just sleep-deprived and my brain short-circuited for a moment.’
Sion took off his monocle and let out a hollow chuckle. Rising gracefully, he straightened his clothes with a practiced hand.
“Is the torment finally over now?”
“What nonsense are you spouting?”
“Lady Albrecht. You left her in the drawing room just to torment her, didn’t you?”
Sion gave Max a look of pity and strode toward the door with long, purposeful steps.
“That wasn’t it?”
“Why would I torment her?”
“Oh. I see. I just assumed you hated her so much.”
“Honestly. Who’s tormenting who? You think she was the one suffering for that hour? It was—”
Sion didn’t finish his sentence. His hand, which had been reaching for the door handle, flinched.
“It was me, not her.”
He couldn’t bring himself to say the rest. Even he couldn’t believe what was about to come out of his mouth.
“Well… you’ve never been the type to hurt women, even if you hated them, right? Especially with what happened to your mother.”
Max, having not heard Sion’s last murmur, followed behind him without question.
Sion flung the door open violently, his brows furrowed.
He must be out of his mind. Was he really about to let that kind of drivel escape his mouth?
But when they reached the drawing room, it was empty.
“Huh? Where did she go? Did she head down to the lobby?”
While Max busily looked around, Sion turned his gaze to the table. On it lay a single envelope.
“Please forgive the rudeness of leaving first. I hope the accompanying gift is to your liking.”
The handwriting on the envelope was elegant—not something penned by someone who’d just recently learned to write. The precise dots hinted at her stiff personality.
A gift?
Only then did he notice the white handkerchief beside the envelope.
As soon as Sion recognized what it was, his body froze.
“May the grace and protection of the gods be with you.”
“Lord, what’s with that low-quality embroidery?”
Exactly. That’s how it should look. Anyone would say it was uneven and amateurish—far from the work of a professional.
Despite the finest silk and thread, the embroidery was clumsy to the point of absurdity.
It looked like someone’s first attempt at needlework—but Sion knew. He knew it was the result of countless, earnest efforts by someone with zero talent.
With trembling fingers, Sion touched the back of the embroidery. The habits of a woman he knew well. Tiny initials stitched discreetly into the reverse side.
He instinctively recognized it as his mother’s handiwork.
“……”
“Don’t laugh, Sion. Mom spent eight hours embroidering this.”
An S-rank transcendent. The brilliant heir of House Kleist. The twelve-year-old boy hero who would save the empire.
He had power—so much of it that no one dared worry about his future.
Except for his mother.
She had worried until the day she died—worried that the purifier might never appear, and that her son would live a life filled with pain.
To her, her son came before the empire he would save.
So the Marchioness had poured her heart into embroidering a gift for the future purifier. For her to have achieved even this level of embroidery with her skill, she must have made thousands of even worse ones.
Sion had thought she had asked the imperial palace to deliver it when the time came.
So he was all the more shocked. He never imagined anyone would still have it.
Even if someone had received it, the embroidery was too ugly to be cherished. The unembroidered silk would’ve been far more valuable.
Yet that woman… had kept it. Treasured it.
Which meant she knew it had been made by his mother.
But Sion and Odette’s relationship had already been shattered by hatred. Even if Odette had been a victim of abuse, to the transcendents, she was still one of the perpetrators.
So why—why would she hold onto something like this? Something she could’ve tossed away long ago?
“Uh, Your Excellency.”
Just then, a coachman who had come up the stairs called out to him.
“The young lady has left. I came to inform you.”
“I told you not to hand over the reins.”
Sion’s voice had turned icily cold.
“Of course, sir! I didn’t give her anything. But she insisted on walking!”
Sion was dumbfounded.
“That crazy woman…”
The area around the bank was all Kleist family land, so there were no hired carriages nearby.
To reach the plaza, it was quite a walk—and now it was close to midnight.
Even if she has no fear, this is too much.
He leapt from the window and checked the stable. Upon seeing the black horse still tied up, he felt strangely hollow.
Why was she in such a hurry to leave? Isn’t this drawing room better than her own mansion?
What could possibly be worse here than in that house where she was treated like trash?
He couldn’t make sense of it. Looking down at the handkerchief still in his hand, Sion’s mind drifted.
The Odette he had once glimpsed at night didn’t seem like the Odette he knew.
Not the composed, graceful woman who had sat tall and asked to negotiate.
“Is it okay to say this? I’ve actually admired you all for a long time. If that bothers you, I’ll take it back.”
He had dismissed those whispered words as mere sleep talk.
“I’m truly happy. It’s the warmest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
And yet… the handkerchief, kept so carefully, seemed to declare that that Odette was the real one.
It gnawed at him. Gave him a headache.
Sion hated anything that went beyond his control. But Odette kept defying his expectations.
From the moment she came to him and confessed the truth about the Albrecht family, to the tears he had seen by accident, and now—this handkerchief she had given him today.
What was the real Odette like? Were his feelings toward her pity, or loathing?
He shouldn’t care. These were useless things to know. So why couldn’t he stop thinking about them?
The handkerchief came back into view.
Damn it.
Sion made up his mind. He had no choice but to dig into her, piece by piece, until he found the answer.
And with that, Sion leapt into motion, racing across the rooftops.
