“I felt bad for missing your engagement ceremony, so I thought I’d drop by to see your face after a long time. But this is the welcome I get?”
“I thought you came for military supplies.”
“What are you talking about? You haven’t even paid me yet.”
Pylon grinned shamelessly in response to Decarno’s cold gaze. He was technically obligated to report to the Senate whenever a naval vessel docked at the capital port. Some grumbled about bowing their heads to a duke who had long since left the military, but not Pylon. He knew better.
His friend was sharper, braver, and more meticulous than any officer he’d ever served under.
“So… is this really the last chance to see the next Duchess’s face?”
“…Why you?”
Decarno’s voice dropped an octave, laced with subtle displeasure. At the tone, Pylon raised an eyebrow.
“What? Don’t tell me the rumors were true.”
“What rumors?”
“That you’ve locked yourself in your estate, so obsessed with Lady O’Hara that you won’t leave the house.”
“……”
Decarno didn’t even bother replying. He simply crossed his arms, exuding a quiet, unapproachable air. If he had reacted with irritation, it might have been fun to tease him—but this silence was no fun at all.
Pylon gave a light shrug.
“Well, I don’t believe any of that nonsense anyway. They say you’re marrying her just because you’ve fallen head over heels for her beauty, but come on. You’re not the kind of man who’d do something so sentimental.”
“Get to the point.”
“Relax. I just wanted to see your face.”
Pylon dragged his chair closer and leaned forward, chin in hand. Between Decarno’s perfectly even brows, a faint line appeared.
“I don’t know when I’ll see you again after this break. It might be years. As your friend, don’t I at least deserve to see your bride-to-be before I go?”
“She has a full schedule.”
“Tch. If I’d known this would happen, I would’ve just crashed your banquet and seen her there. She’s going to look stunning, especially since it’s her birthday—”
“…What?”
“It’s her birthday. Today.”
Decarno’s ash-gray eyes flickered. Pylon’s widened in return.
“Wait… don’t tell me you didn’t know? You forgot your fiancée’s birthday?”
“Get out of my way.”
Decarno brushed past him, voice sharp. But his eyes, for once, didn’t regain their usual calm.
Michael, sensing the change in his master’s demeanor, quickly stepped forward.
“My apologies, Your Grace. I had assumed… you already knew.”
“……”
“It’s late, but I will prepare an appropriate gift immediately.”
As the duke’s aide, it was Michael’s job to handle such occasions. Without waiting for another word, he swiftly left to handle the oversight.
Pylon, now the only one remaining in the room, chuckled under his breath.
“If you keep being this indifferent, one day it’ll blow up in your face.”
“What now?”
“Do you even know how terrifying a woman can be when she’s angry? Take my sister, for example. She’d smile sweetly right up until the day she divorced her husband—then kicked him out without blinking.”
He laughed to himself, knocking his knuckles on the table.
“Just because she’s Lady O’Hara doesn’t mean she’ll tolerate neglect forever. You shouldn’t—huh?”
Knock, knock.
Pylon’s words trailed off as he turned toward the open door—and his jaw slackened.
A figure stepped into the room. Even without introduction, her presence announced itself. Her beauty was arresting, effortless—so absolute that all he could do was stare.
Click. Click. Click.
Her heels echoed crisply across the polished black marble. Slowly, she lowered the silver fox-fur hood from her cloak, revealing her pale, luminous face.
“…Let’s talk,” Evangeline said coolly.
◇ ◆ ◇
“How did you get here?”
Decarno dismissed Pylon with a glance and turned to face her. No matter how secure Roark, capital of the Belize Empire, might be, it was far too late for a woman to be walking alone. His brows furrowed in concern.
“I assumed you’d be enjoying the festivities by now.”
“Festivities?”
“It’s your birthday.”
His tone was casual, but Evangeline’s expression was anything but. She let out a dry, hollow laugh.
“You knew?”
“…I did.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter right now.”
She placed a hand on the edge of the table, steadying herself. Her teeth sank lightly into her lower lip.
Decarno, misreading her tension, stood.
“If you came here because you’re upset about that…”
“Upset?”
“……”
“Forget it. Since when did we ever care about birthdays?”
It wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t a lie either.
Months ago, for his birthday, she had arranged a grand celebration herself. It had felt natural—obligatory, even. She was the lady of the house, in name if not in heart.
But this… This was different.
She’d never cared much about birthdays. She would’ve preferred to spend them in peace. Talking about trivial things like this now only made her feel absurd—like none of it mattered anymore.
No. Maybe that would be easier. If none of it mattered anymore.
“I came because I have something to tell you.”
“I’m busy. The meeting resumes shortly.”
Decarno glanced toward the door. Most of the councilmen had probably returned by now.
“Go back to the mansion. Once the meeting ends—”
“You won’t be coming home.”
“……”
“I know you won’t. During budget week, you stay at the palace for days.”
Evangeline lifted her chin, bracing herself. If she didn’t, she might collapse where she stood. He wouldn’t even blink.
But this wasn’t about him.
“Please. Just a moment. It’s urgent.”
“If it were truly urgent, you should’ve called ahead and scheduled an appointment.”
She exhaled sharply, a tired, bitter laugh escaping her lips.
Of course. That was just like him. A man whose schedule was carved in stone, down to the minute. No room to breathe. No room for her.
“I could wait until after the meeting. Or I could follow Michael to a side room—”
“My father is missing.”
“……”
Decarno froze mid-motion, his hand still hovering over the bell he was about to ring for Michael. He slowly turned back toward her, his silence an unspoken question.
Evangeline smiled faintly, bitterly.
“Would it help if I started by saying we’re bankrupt?”
“…Tell me everything.”
“It’s just as I heard. Father set sail from Addis and disappeared in a storm. All his belongings, all the assets—gone. I need your help.”
As she laid bare the news, her composure finally cracked. Her shoulders trembled. The reality settled like lead in her bones.
But he didn’t push her away.
Perhaps that was why she let herself go too far.
“I heard about it during the banquet. I left right away to—”
“Go back.”
“Your Grace—”
“You were at a banquet?”
His ash-gray eyes, once momentarily shaken, were cold again. Still. Clear.
Evangeline stared at him in disbelief.
A banquet. That was what he heard? That was all?
She clenched her fists, blinking back the tears stinging her eyes. She didn’t ask again. She didn’t need to.
He had returned to being the perfect Duke of Thèse.
Unmoved. Unreachable.
“You’ve made quite the scene rushing in like this. If things escalate, it won’t reflect well on anyone.”
“There’s no need for concern. I’ve held on long enough.”
“Then hold on a little longer.”
“……”
He took a step toward her, hand reaching out. Reflexively, she stepped back.
His eyes narrowed—but he said nothing.
Instead, he reached for her cloak and gently pulled the hood back over her head. Slowly. Deliberately.
Then, with practiced precision, he tied the ribbon beneath her chin.
His hands were steady. Frighteningly so.
“That’s what you need to do now.”
