Chapter 40
Ah… so nice.
I sank into the soft hotel bed, unable to help sighing in delight. Owen had been right—once I lay down, I realized just how tired I really was.
I lay crosswise on the mattress, my legs dangling slightly over the side. My thumbs fidgeted against each other. I was lying comfortably, but not at ease. My thoughts wouldn’t let me rest.
Because the day after tomorrow… I would finally meet the Duchess, Owen’s mother.
Of course, she would be curious about Arne. But what could I possibly say?
“One day, a child showed up claiming to be my son. So Owen and I decided to get married and raise him together. I don’t know his background, but he’s adorable, so please register him as the Duke’s fourth son.”
…If we weren’t thrown out on the spot, that alone would be lucky.
I could lie, of course. I could say Arne was the child of some obscure noble family, one so insignificant it wouldn’t even appear in the genealogies. Who would question it?
Or maybe say I knew his parents, and they entrusted Arne to me before they died. Something like that.
But… lying makes me uneasy.
The Duchess wasn’t just anyone. She had once been mistress of the ducal household, one of the highest ranks under the Imperial family. She cared about etiquette, propriety, reputation, appearances—more than anyone else.
Then again, maybe a bold, honest approach would work better. After all, Owen himself preferred straightforwardness.
As I wrestled with my thoughts, there was a knock at the door.
The hotel servants had already come and gone. So who—?
The door cracked open, and a tall man peeked in—dirty blond hair, gray eyes.
Owen.
“You’re still awake,” he said.
“Oh, Owen.”
He wore loungewear with only a coat thrown over it. As I moved to sit up, he stopped me.
“No need to get up.”
Striding in, he hung his coat on a chair.
“May I sit?”
“Uh—yes, of course.”
The mattress dipped as he sat beside me.
I blinked. Sometimes Owen surprised me in small ways. I never expected a man used to commanding others with a flick of his hand to actually ask permission before sitting at my side.
A coolness clung to him, as if he had just come in from outside. Curious, I brushed my fingers against his hand. It was indeed cold.
“Where did you go, Owen?”
“Ah, I just stepped out for a bit. To look around.”
A night walk? Well, that was plausible.
But then I realized—I still had one finger resting lightly on his hand. Hastily, I slid it away, pretending it was nothing. But somehow, I knew he noticed.
“……”
Strangely, my drowsiness vanished. My mind sharpened. I couldn’t keep my eyes closed.
Lately, this had been happening more often. Ever since that night at the Glentino estate—the night Owen and I had lain side by side—I found myself conscious of him, even during the day. If I looked too long, I grew flustered and had to turn away.
Owen sat at arm’s length, watching me with calm eyes.
“Are you busy?” he asked suddenly.
“As you can see—not at all.”
“Then… can we finally look at what Lady Enica gave you? I believe my name was mentioned. It must concern me too.”
“Mm…”
I hesitated. But he was right. Enica had said she worried about me because of rumors—and those rumors seemed tied to Owen.
Could it be that gossip about us had already spread?
“No…” I dismissed the thought. Impossible. We had left the capital too quickly. We’d worn cloaks the whole way until Cantalice. No one could have seen us together.
Then what was it?
My curiosity was piqued too.
“…Alright. One moment—”
I tried to rise, but Owen was faster.
“Where is it?”
“Uh… in my bag.”
He stood, fetched the red-covered booklet from my bag, and handed it to me.
Was it just me, or was Owen always moving in my place? Strange. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that.
It was time to uncover the rumor Lady Enica had hinted at.
Owen sat again, keeping that same small space between us. I flipped randomly to the middle of the tabloid. Immediately, my name appeared. My heart skipped.
I turned the pages more carefully, searching for the start of the article.
“Found it?” Owen asked.
“Yes… here.”
He nodded.
“Then let’s read together.”
But instead of leaning over, he lay down beside me. His face came into view, close enough that I could see the line of his nose at the edge of my vision.
I froze. My heart pounded. Up close, I still wasn’t used to his face—much less like this.
“…Sophia?”
Hearing him say my name, in that voice, at this distance—it was unfair. My breath caught before I realized it. I exhaled quietly, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
Steady, Sophia.
I tilted the booklet toward him.
“Can you see?”
“Of course. But your arm must be getting tired.”
I hadn’t even felt it, but Owen reached out, lightly grasped my elbow, and settled it against his chest.
I held my breath again. His shirt wasn’t even thin, but still—why could I feel his warmth so clearly?
I had always known Owen was fit, but this close, it was overwhelming.
“Th-thanks,” I muttered, my voice sounding distant, strange to my own ears.
How had things ended up like this?
I had been lying here… Owen had come in… asked if I was busy… suggested we read the Red Book together…
Right. The Red Book. The rumor. Focus, Sophia.
I flipped a few more pages until I found the beginning of the article.
It read:
[The eldest son of House Glentino, recently elevated to Duke, has long been rumored to be violent and arrogant, shunning women altogether. But were those only lies? Or does the Duke perhaps prefer dangerous love (Maledicta de Yupe)? For it seems he has set his sights on none other than Lady Sophia ta Bartoli, eldest daughter of the Marquis Bartoli—and once fiancée to his younger brother.]
What?!
[Yet, as any normal woman would, Lady Bartoli rejected him outright.]
Rejected him?! I agreed to him immediately! Are they calling me abnormal?!
[The beastly Duke then stormed the Bartoli townhouse and kidnapped Lady Bartoli before her father’s very eyes. He even surrounded the house with mercenaries, isolating the Marquis, and imprisoned the Lady in his ducal estate.]
Kidnap? Imprison?! I left of my own free will! I’m traveling freely right now!
[The Bartoli family has long been close with the Imperial family—even back before unification, when the Gasperaronche dynasty reigned. They produced the first and third Empresses. The late Marchioness Bartoli, who died a decade ago, was herself the First Princess. Currently, their second daughter, Lady Leonie, is the Crown Princess-to-be…]
“……”
I slammed the Red Book shut. The paper crumpled in my grip.
This was worse than I had imagined—outrageous, slanderous, and utterly unfair. Fury boiled up in me.
But I thought I knew the source.
“…My father spread this rumor.”
I spoke through clenched teeth.
Of course. He might be a wretched man, but he was still head of a great marquisate. He wouldn’t just sit still and take humiliation.
And strangely, the article tilted favorably toward the Bartoli family.
The Red Book usually mocked everyone equally, regardless of rank. The fact that it spared my family—and even painted us sympathetically—meant only one thing:
The Marquis had supplied the information himself, in exchange for protecting his house from criticism.
