Chapter 2
Arte stood frozen like a statue, staring at the man before her.
Was this just another dream within a dream? How else could any of this make sense?
Her thoughts, clinging to denial, spiraled endlessly.
She nearly rubbed her eyes despite knowing it was improper—that’s how shocking this was, how impossible it felt to believe.
The man in front of her matched the one from her dreams exactly.
The more she looked, the more she was struck by his perfectly balanced features, his mesmerizing presence that seemed capable of enchanting all things. Everything was the same.
She tried desperately to find any difference, but it was futile.
All she could come up with was that his body looked more toned than in her dreams, and he gave off a stronger, more primal aura—like a full-grown predator.
It felt as if the youthful trace he once had had completely vanished, replaced by a man in his prime.
He was even more stunning than she remembered from the dreams.
Arte, who had scoffed at the idea of falling for someone based on appearance alone, now had to admit she’d been wrong.
With a man like this—it was entirely possible.
“His eyes are deeper, his jawline more defined… his whole impression feels stronger. His shoulders were broad even in the dream, but now they’re even more—ah.”
Her face flushed as her gaze instinctively landed on his shoulders.
It reminded her of what had once rested there in the dream.
The image of pale, slender legs draped over them flashed through her mind, and with it came the flood of sensations she had felt in those dreams.
How that gorgeous man had touched and tormented her most secret places, how he had built her up until she burst—all of it returned with agonizing clarity.
It had been four years since the dreams began.
Repeated over such a long time, those dreams had etched every intimate sensation into her body.
Arte quickly dropped her gaze. She couldn’t face him while burning with that same shame and tingling heat.
If she looked into his eyes now, her face would erupt into a flame that would likely reach the tips of her ears.
“Wait. Could it really be…?”
As she sifted through her memories, a thought that had plagued her before resurfaced.
What if it wasn’t a dream, but a memory?
Arte had often questioned the source of those dreams.
They were too vivid, too persistent, to be mere dreams.
What if they were fragments of the year she had lost from her memory?
She had suspected it before, but ultimately dismissed it.
After all, she had only lost one year of memories.
And in none of her remaining memories did the man from her dreams appear.
So she brushed the idea aside—it felt meaningless. It was easier to believe it was her subconscious playing tricks on her.
“But things are different now. He’s standing right in front of me.”
This wasn’t some illusion from her sleep. This was a real, living man. Which made it all the more likely that he truly was part of that missing year.
“…!”
And then, she saw the man’s expression change.
He looked like he’d seen a ghost.
His body went stiff, the only movement in his face coming from his wildly trembling eyes.
“He looks like someone who’s seen me before.”
Her heart pounded in her chest at the unexpected turn.
The heat and embarrassment melted away, overtaken by a familiar thrill—hope.
After all her fruitless efforts to recover her lost memories, the possibility that they might return now swept away all other emotions.
As if hypnotized, Arte parted her lips. She was about to ask—have we met before? do you know me?
But the man was faster.
“Peria?”
He beat her to the question, and her heart dropped.
〈…ria?〉
He completed the name she’d only ever heard in fragments in her dreams.
Her heart thudded so loudly she feared everyone in the room might hear it.
This man from her dreams—was now staring at her, calling out that name, with eyes full of sorrow.
“Dimion.”
While Arte stood frozen like an idiot, unable to think of what to say, the marquis who had accompanied him grabbed Dimion’s shoulder and called his name.
As if that low, firm voice triggered something between them, Dimion’s eyes shook again.
He stared blankly at the marquis for a moment, then turned his head and slowly scanned Arte’s face.
His gaze traveled from her large, clear eyes, to her gently arched brows, to her flushed cheeks, lingering on her slightly parted lips before returning to her golden eyes.
It was a bold, unflinching look—so much so that Arte’s fingers curled from the heat that suddenly returned.
But this time, she didn’t blush.
“…Ah.”
With a quiet exhale, the man seemed to shake off his confusion. As he returned to reality, the waves in his eyes calmed.
The tremble, the pity, the fleeting trace of longing—they all vanished.
“My apologies. That was rude of me.”
His voice, though calm, cut straight through her—it was piercingly cold.
And just like that, he walked past her.
As if nothing had happened.
The man’s name was Dimion Lokata.
It was hard to believe she had forgotten who he was. He was an enormous figure.
Every citizen of the empire knew the House of Lokata.
Its influence, wealth, and prestige sometimes even rivaled the emperor’s.
Dimion himself was a decorated war hero, a renowned captain, and a frequent subject of conversation.
Even Arte, who never paid attention to news or gossip, had heard his name more than once.
“It’s an honor to be welcomed so warmly on such short notice, Count.”
“The honor is mine, truly.”
The Count’s voice, brimming with delight, pulled Arte from her thoughts.
He responded to Dimion with genuine happiness.
Among the nine formal dinners held so far, the Count had never looked more pleased.
‘It must be from hope.’
Hope that the Duke’s visit would somehow help resolve the problems of the Count’s household. That hope had him visibly elated.
Thanks to that, the atmosphere at the dinner table was lighter and more cheerful than ever before. Laughter, big and small, floated across the table.
“…”
Only Arte was inwardly burning. Even Dimion, the man who had thrown the bomb, looked perfectly calm.
And that made it worse.
He deliberately avoided Arte’s gaze. He spoke with the Countess, with Risa—but never once looked at Arte.
Even when she stared at him as if trying to burn a hole through his head, he never looked back.
‘Haa…’
No matter how she looked at it, they had definitely met before.
She had to find out when, how, and why.
‘Why he… did that while calling me a different name.’
The memory of the dream resurfaced, and heat rushed to her face.
If those dreams were actually memories, then she and Dimion had done some pretty scandalous things together.
She had so many questions: How did it happen? Why hadn’t he contacted her after the accident? Were they not that close after all?
‘The only way to find out is to ask him directly…’
But she couldn’t do that in front of others. She had to find a way to speak with him alone.
Yet with him refusing to even look at her, she had no opening.
She had no idea why he was treating her like a ghost, and that made her even more frustrated.
There wasn’t much time.
Dimion was leaving in a few days, and it was highly unlikely he’d ever visit this estate again.
She had to catch his attention as soon as possible.
Whether it was a dream or a memory, the clue she’d been missing was finally in front of her—and she couldn’t let it slip away.
‘What should I do? How can I catch his attention, and speak to him alone? If I ask Father or Peter to arrange it, they’ll think I’m interested in the Duke romantically…’
Her thoughts spun like a machine, desperate to find even the smallest clue or excuse to act on.
With so much on her mind, the conversations flowing around the table didn’t register.
She made a show of poking at her food with her fork and knife, pretending to eat and listen, but it was all an act.
“Lady Tian, do you have a fiancé?”
“No. I haven’t thought about marriage yet. I’m more interested in other pursuits. I’ve heard many ladies in the capital choose sponsorships or businesses over marriage these days.”
“That’s true. Salons are thriving now more than ever. Are you of the same mind, Miss Tian?”
And so she missed it when the marquis casually asked about Risa’s marital status—and when the question naturally shifted to her.
“Arte?”
“…”
“Arte!”
When no answer came, the Countess called her sharply.
“Ah, I’m sorry. I was lost in thought for a moment… Could you repeat that, Marquis?”
Startled, Arte gave an apologetic look and asked him to repeat the question.
“I was just asking if you also do not have a fiancé.”
It was a harmless question. And the answer was obvious.
“I…”
But just as she began to respond, Dimion looked at her for the first time.
Over such a simple question—whether or not she had a fiancé.
