Chapter 3
"...Huh?"
A heavy silence and tension hung between the intruder and Catherine. Ignoring it all, she lifted her chin as if to say, go ahead, spit it out if you have something to say.
"Not even funny. Isn't pretending not to know a bit too obvious a trick by now?"
The man's icy gaze wavered strangely. Along with a twitching eyebrow, a long silence enveloped the basement, but his blade remained pressed tightly against her throat.
"Your nerve is commendable enough. And since my mood's decent today... if you open up nicely, I might let you keep your life. Unless you fancy your head scraped against the wall while you're still breathing—tell me your purpose."
The words that finally emerged after an eternity were no apology or reflection, just a threat. As irritation began to bubble up, Catherine shoved the sword away from her neck once more.
"My purpose is wiping out this damn huge graffiti, and unlike you, my mood's in the dumps. I don't know what delusion you're nursing alone, but could you either get out or help clean up without acting like you own the place?"
With that, she strode pointedly to the stairs and mopped up the mud with the mop, only to sigh deeply upon realizing more tracks would appear as long as the man lingered.
Already complicated enough, and now some weirdo rolls in...
Was a lion eyeing its prey like this? For whatever reason, the madman had sheathed his weapon but stood frozen in place, eyes never leaving Catherine.
What to do. He didn't seem the type to listen to reason, so as she racked her brain...
The red-glowing pattern on the floor flickered, then abruptly died to black.
Whoooosh.
To add insult to injury, even the single candle snuffed out on an inexplicable draft.
No way. Tell me this is a lie.
It was a hollow feeling that drained the strength from her legs.
"My last candle..."
How much had she suffered today just to protect that thing!
Catherine leaned against the wall and slid down slowly. If she could, she'd hurl everything in reach.
Wait. Calm down, Catherine. First... deep breaths. Better to head upstairs. It's too dark here.
From the moment the light vanished, the man's presence had vanished from her mind too. Catherine could hardly believe how violently pessimistic she'd become in just one night. Poverty was a terrifying thing!
Self-loathing made even grabbing the wall and staggering up a chore. Without light, she could at least climb the stairs and rely on moonlight and starlight to reach her bedroom. The bed was filthy, but flipping the sheets over and crashing...
"Remor."
As she half-rose, fumbling for the wooden door handle—
A brilliance beyond the candle's glow illuminated the basement. Catherine slowly opened her eyes, squeezed shut against the sudden flood of light. No time to panic; it happened in an instant.
By the time her vision cleared, a silver-haired man with an impassive expression loomed over her.
"I thought you'd offed yourself from that gasp... just throwing a tantrum, then?"
This man was a mage.
Catherine's body went rigid.
'My dear Catherine, if you want to live happily with your mother forever, never get close to outside mages. Understand? Never forget your mother's words.'
Like instinct, she recalled the warning from her birth mother at age five, after years.
Orbs of light floated around the man, circling slowly. The intruder was ragged and torn in places, but his striking features exuded a commanding presence that belied his disheveled state.
"Getting annoying to humor you. No more stalling—state your purpose before I really kill you."
But a handsome face wouldn't mop up the mud on the floor. Utterly exhausted, Catherine ignored him and unbuttoned her blouse one by one.
"What..."
Pop, pop. The shirt buttons came undone slowly. Yet the man showed no change in expression, merely twitching an eyebrow as if to say, what's your game?
Catherine undid more than half, pulling out the house deed hidden in her undergarments, and recited calmly.
"Take a good look. My name is Catherine Panya, and this paper proves Catherine Panya owns this mansion. The land, the building, the basement, even the sky above—it's all mine. Get how ridiculous it is for a trespasser like you to threaten the owner? Need me to spell it out slower?"
She'd shaken the deed in case he tried to burn it with magic, then folded it neatly back into her undergarments.
"...Catherine Panya?"
"Yep."
"You bought this land?"
"Yep."
"This mansion?"
"Yep."
Her curt replies crumpled the man's previously stoic, cold face mercilessly. Only now grasping the situation, he clutched his forehead like a headache brewed. Catherine tsk-tsked at the sight.
But... he looks kinda familiar.
His face was a masterpiece worthy of a lifetime's craftsmanship. Unforgettable at a glance, yet she couldn't place where.
"So, you're... no, miss, the new owner here?"
"Yep."
She no longer hoped he'd mop the floor. Catherine just wanted this oblivious pretty-boy intruder gone ASAP.
Soon, he slowly raised a hand to rub his dry face.
"Haa... what a mess. Well, apologies for the intrusion, then. And you should button up now."
"You leaving would be faster than me buttoning up."
The man, who had smoothed his brow with effort, furrowed it again and nodded, turning his back. Relieved that words finally got through, Catherine rose—but her gaze turned serious toward his retreating back on the stairs.
"Hey, wait."
Before he vanished, she hurried after. He turned at her call, struggling not to let his eyes drop to her chest.
For this gentlemanly mage despite being a trespasser, Catherine didn't hesitate.
"No candles left, so... could you leave that light behind?"
It was her most earnest wish.
✽ ✽ ✽
The light orb he left glowed tirelessly all day without pause. The first night, utterly drained, she crashed in her bedroom oblivious to the world. But it was so bright that the second night, sleep evaded her.
By the third evening, the glowing orb was banished to the hallway. The fourth day, it moved from hallway to basement storage.
Utterly exiled underground.
"Wait a bit longer. Once the mansion's cleaned, I'll erase you without a trace."
Having threatened the bizarre pattern, Catherine double-locked the basement for the day she'd return to clean.
After that, life flowed peacefully enough. Memories of Orleans only brought regret she couldn't make more fuss. Though the urgent cleaning nipped even that regret in half a day.
"Ahh, perfect. Living alone really is the best. Good call leaving home."
This was true peace. At least until afternoon teatime.
Plop, plop.
The freshly brewed tea's color was beautifully vivid. As it should be—Catherine had boiled it mere seconds ago. Red herbal tea steaming from the teapot, long white fingers gripping a cup, and...
"Am I hallucinating...?"
"Nice aroma."
She'd thought hallucination, but the voice proved otherwise. Catherine, standing dazed in the kitchen doorway, moved slowly forward.
Each step around the spacious kitchen caught his silver hair shimmering rainbow hues in the sunlight.
"Perfect temperature—not hot, not lukewarm. Ex-maid? Didn't get that vibe."
"...Who are you?"
"Me?"
The man with his nose in the cup looked up. Glass-clear cobalt eyes fixed on her. A faint smirk curved his picture-perfect face.
"Never thought I'd get such a dumb question. Memory loss in a few days?"
Memory? If he meant don't you know who I am?, Catherine would shake and nod her head.
The voice and silhouette rang familiar bells. But the eyes she remembered weren't crisp cobalt—they were violet.
Gazing steadily, he propped his chin slowly.
"You haven't really forgotten, right? Thought my looks were memorable enough... this bruises the ego a bit."
"No, I haven't forgotten."
His straight brows twitched nicely. Yeah. That irritating tone and attitude confirmed it.
He was the shameless basement intruder from days ago. Though the eye color differed greatly...
Must've been a trick of the light then.
Exceptional people often mesmerized. Especially lunatics—and his case fit perfectly. She'd been dazzled by his beauty that day. Catherine decided that was it.
Plop, plop.
But why barge back into her home after being chased out? Catherine grabbed a cup from the cupboard and sat in a chair far from him. She poured half the remaining herbal tea and savored the scent.
First pack bought in town—nice aroma, as he said.
Tap, tap.
One sip, two—the fingernail tapping on the table quickened. Soon too distracting to ignore.
As Catherine glared irritably, the bored, chin-propped man spoke.
"Do you struggle with talking to people or something?"
What? To the out-of-left-field remark, she replied.
"Did you lose your memory in minutes? We just chatted."
"Well, true, but..."
He trailed off, stroking his chin slowly. His gaze toward her held complex emotions.
"Normally, you'd ask my business by now. 'What are you doing here?' or 'Who are you?'"
He'd wanted her to ask? Easy enough. For this mystery man, Catherine kindly inquired about his intrusion.
"Why'd you come back? Want me to report you for breaking and entering?"
He shook his head with a short laugh. The sound rang true, but his elegant eyes and lips stayed rigidly set.
The answer came late.
"How about buying a different mansion?"