“This is going nowhere.”
In the main drawing room of the Vendia mansion, Yulizé slumped onto the sofa with a sulky face.
With no progress, Vendia rested her chin on her hand, deep in thought.
Just like Baldini tried to snatch the coconut shop, they too had tried to take over the tart shop.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
But they hadn’t even managed to meet the owner of the tart shop. When they visited, only an employee was there—the owner was never to be seen.
They ended up simply buying a bunch of tarts and returning home.
Vendia picked up an egg tart from the table in front of the sofa and took a bite.
The crisp, flaky pastry layers and the soft, sweet custard filling inside—
A taste that lingered in the memory.
“Sis, maybe we should just give up…”
Before Yulizé could finish her resigned words, Vendia stuffed a tart into her mouth.
As she chewed the tart that had naturally entered her mouth, Yulizé’s face brightened dramatically, and her eyes lit up.
“Knowing this taste and giving up? That’d be a crime.”
Seeing her make a declaration like that, Vendia nodded.
“Hey!”
While wondering how they could meet the shop owner—maybe even go to their house—an assertive voice rang through the hallway, growing louder with heavy footsteps approaching the drawing room.
Before long, the closed door burst open.
“If you lock someone up, you should take responsibility!”
Peter stormed in and strode toward her.
“…Huh.”
Vendia stared him up and down, utterly dumbfounded.
She had told Shasha to keep an eye on Peter and make him help with tasks.
Had the training worked too well?
Lately, she had been too busy to return home often, and now Peter stood there, wearing an apron and holding a rag—he looked exactly like a housemaid.
“Take responsibility for what?”
“You locked me up and never showed your face! How could you just ignore me like that?! Is this the treatment for a man who’s already in your net?!”
Peter stood right in front of her, sulking like a scorned lover.
“What are you even saying? That line doesn’t even make sense!”
“Take responsibility! You’ve caught the great Peter, now you have to take responsibility!”
He shouted like someone who had lost his virtue.
“You’re insane…”
Vendia felt dizzy, suddenly feeling like a terrible flirt who had been stringing people along.
“Sis. When did it get this serious between you two?”
Yulizé giggled from the side, grabbing another tart.
Peter snapped his head around to glare at her.
“Don’t eat while dropping crumbs!”
Then, he grumbled while wiping up the crumbs Yulizé had spilled with his rag.
“Typical. One eats, another cleans.”
“Uh… sorry.”
Yulizé apologized sheepishly.
“Such a strong work ethic in every job, huh?”
Still in disbelief, Vendia quietly watched Peter. Then Peter straightened up and stared intently at the tart on the table.
“Why is this tart here?”
“You know it?”
“It’s from that tart shop in the capital.”
Peter picked up a tart from the box and examined it closely.
“Yeah, you can’t fool these eyes. That glaze, that perfect bake—this is definitely from that shop in the capital.”
“So what? Maybe the shop just moved.”
His words had initially sparked some hope, but now disappointed, Vendia responded nonchalantly.
The once-popular tart shop in the capital had simply moved to Heden territory.
“Do you know why that shop left the capital?”
“What? What is it?”
Vendia straightened up eagerly, curious if he had some juicy gossip.
“The old lady who ran the shop liked handsome young men. She used her tart money to chase after them—even hit on married guys.”
“…”
“She got publicly shamed in that district and had to flee.”
Vendia and Yulizé stared at each other in stunned silence.
“Handsome young men?”
They both turned to look out the window at the same time.
“Mmm. The taste hasn’t changed. As expected, only this tart satisfies the great Peter’s palate. I was sad when the shop disappeared, but this is perfect. Where is it now?”
Whatever Peter was saying didn’t matter. Vendia and Yulizé’s eyes were fixed outside the window.
“What? Hey! Are you even listening to me?”
“Peter! Slacking off again?!”
“Eeeek!”
Peter flinched in horror, making a strange noise.
When he turned his creaking head toward the now-open door, Shasha was standing there holding a frying pan.
“Slack off? What’s in your hand, then?”
With a chilling tone, Shasha asked, and Peter looked at his own hand with trembling eyes. A half-eaten tart.
“This is… No, I was cleaning! I cleaned up the crumbs, I swear!”
“Looks like your training wasn’t thorough enough. Come. With. Me.”
“Eeeek! Help! Someone save me!”
Peter pleaded as Shasha dragged him off, but neither Vendia nor Yulizé heard him.
Their eyes were locked on Chris, who was patrolling outside, checking the surroundings.
Chris, sensing something eerie, turned his head toward the window—then jumped.
Two women were pressed right up against the glass, staring straight at him.
He glanced around, but there was nothing unusual nearby. Which meant—they were staring at him.
Feeling awkward and embarrassed, Chris gave a sheepish smile.
In the sunlight, his face looked radiant.
“This is it.”
Vendia’s eyes sparkled.
“L-Lady Vendia, this is really embarrassing…”
Chris tugged uncomfortably at the tie around his neck, looking like he was about to cry.
“Someone preserve that tie.”
Vendia murmured as if entranced, eyes locked on him.
Hearing her dramatic comment, Chris’s face flushed bright red.
Chris, who had once sported shaggy hair, now had a clean haircut and was dressed in a full suit.
And it didn’t look out of place at all. Though it wasn’t custom-tailored—just something off the rack—it looked like it had been made just for him.
Even though the suit wasn’t particularly expensive, Chris’s fit body made it look like a designer masterpiece.
And his face—
His neatly styled hair revealed a smooth forehead and a sharp, handsome profile. A cool, long gaze, a sleek nose, a defined jawline.
He was always good-looking, but with his features fully revealed, he was mesmerizing. And that subtle, sorrowful air he naturally gave off made him look like a refined young man from a noble family, hiding emotional wounds.
The kind of gentle, tragic beauty that no woman could resist. Even men would fall for that look.
“I still don’t think this is going to work… I-I’m not even that good-looking…”
“I’m sorry for asking this, Chris. But could you please help me just this once? You don’t have to do much—just walk around First Street with me.”
Seeing Vendia pleading with both hands clasped, Chris, who had been fiddling nervously with his clothes like someone wearing the wrong outfit, finally nodded.
“A-Alright. If you need me, I’ll help.”
He couldn’t bring himself to say no after seeing her sincere eyes.
Yulizé, who had sponsored Chris’s outfit, was out of the mission today, attending tea with Marchioness Laviang.
“Let’s circle the area a few times, then head to the tart shop.”
“Yes.”
The two of them walked confidently down the main street of First.
“Did you see…?”
“I did…”
“Is it my birthday today?”
“I feel like my eyes have been blessed.”
“Which noble house is he from?”
“Who’s that beside him? His fiancée?”
Just as expected, people on First Street—nobles and commoners alike—were whispering and gawking at Chris.
At this rate, word would spread about him in no time.
If they kept walking around for a few more days, and if the shop owner really liked handsome men, she was bound to show up.
“L-Lady Vendia…”
Overwhelmed by the stares, Chris shrank closer to her, his shoulders trembling.
“You okay?”
Vendia looked up at him with concern.
Knowing how shy and reserved he was, she worried that being the center of attention might be too much—maybe he even had social anxiety.
“I-I’m okay. I was just surprised by the sudden attention…”
“You look pale. Are you sure you’re okay? Should we go back?”
“No! C-Could you… maybe hold my hand?”
Chris reached out his hand.
متى ستفتح باقي الفصول 😢😢😢😢