Chapter 038
This woman was a high-level schemer in a whole different league from the Muller Viscountess. One wrong move, and I'd get dragged right in.
"Then just tell me where they sell it. I'm not lost at all. I can go ask the clerk and buy it myself."
"No. Clerks will recommend anything to sell the expensive stuff. Someone who knows has to put the set together personally."
"No, Lady."
I crossed my arms in utter disbelief.
"You know exactly who you are—how could I ask something so trivial? Dragging a precious person to a cosmetics shop just to pick products?"
"A precious person?"
"Then are you some lowly nobody?"
This went beyond manners—it was a matter of survival. If Marie found out, she'd yell, "Young master! Are you insane?!" smack my back raw, and maybe foam at the mouth before passing out.
But Elisia didn't budge an inch.
"Do it. I was hoping you'd say yes."
"……Pardon?"
"I've been cooped up and wanted a walk. But strolling alone feels off, and having a destination and purpose means no guilt over wasting time. Perfect, right?"
She looked me straight in the eye and added, "Not for you—for me. Be my walking buddy."
"……."
Air-tight logic. Her words dodged every excuse like a pro.
I thought it over for a second.
Well, the disguise is perfect… voice modulator on top. What could go wrong?
I needed to buy stuff anyway, and she was bored. Win-win?
"Fine. Let's go. But if you pick anything pricey, I'll cut it with my wallet situation in mind."
My left hand had billions; my right, tens of billions. Still, I didn't blow money.
"Hehe, you're always so refreshingly blunt. Telling a lady you'll trim the expensive picks based on your wallet—without a second thought."
"I'm always honest. Even to a grand lady."
"Don't worry. I'll stick to the essentials."
Okay. Good.
Tap, tap.
We walked side by side down the bustling night street. Streetlights stretched our shadows long.
Elisia kept stealing glances at my profile the whole way. Each time, her lips curved up just a touch.
At first, I figured it was my imagination. By the third time, I was sure.
She was smiling at me.
"Lady."
"Yes?"
"Don't grin at people's faces like that. It's creepy."
I called her out dead serious, and her eyes went wide.
"Oh, was I smiling?"
"Yes."
"Can't I smile a little? It's not mockery. Just… you're fun."
"No. I've got a persecution complex."
"I don't buy it."
"For real."
I stopped walking and got earnest. "Giggling and messing around with someone who's taken… then rumors spread and heads roll. That's my very realistic, survival-grade persecution complex."
"……Ah."
She finally shut her mouth.
I pressed on. "An engaged lady parading night streets all happy with some random guy? Dangerous and wrong. Even a total bastard like me knows that line."
Sure, it might sound stuffy. Some hick's backward thinking—go ahead and laugh.
But what can you do? A hundred, a thousand times over, this was the right call.
She went quiet for a bit, then forced a bright joke. "Surprising. How's a conservative like you lived shrugging off infamy without a care for prying eyes? Doesn't add up."
"You wouldn't get it."
I shoved my hands in my pockets and started walking again.
"To live that freewheeling? You gotta guard your bare-minimum standards like a blade."
"Standards?"
"Yeah. No harm to others, own up to your moral duties. That way, no one's got leverage. Say whatever—they can't touch you when you're squeaky clean."
The price of true freedom? Ruthless self-control and hard boundaries. Fail that, and it's not freedom—it's recklessness, a one-way ticket to doom.
Elisia stole glances at Kasian's profile, hypnotizing herself.
No. Can't think he's cool. This is just… a chance walk.
That was the only way to rationalize it. To write off the pounding in her chest as cool night air or long-lost liberation.
But moments later, his offhand words snagged deep in her heart like a thorn.
Playing around with someone who's taken? That's head-on-a-platter stuff.
That blunt line paradoxically conjured her fiancé, Louis de Leopold.
He always addressed her with the world's smartest, most elegant rhetoric.
Yet those florid words were mere tools to justify his cold neglect—never once sparing her misery.
Always so logical, rational, rebuttal-proof. It struck her as cruel every time.
This man beside her, though?
He played the uncouth lout, the ignoramus, every negative stereotype in the book.
But at the core of that rough exterior lay a rock-solid righteousness and code. No pretense, no twisted schemes. Wisdom cloaked in feigned ignorance, straightforward purity without a trace of malice.
…Comfortable.
Just matching his stride lightened the burdens crushing her shoulders, one by one.
Her lips twitched. She wanted to hold onto him longer. A foolish greed bloomed: let this time never end.
But no… he finds me a hassle.
Scared of rumors chopping off heads, or so he claimed.
Still, she hated the idea of today etched in memory as another "obligatory chore" with Louis.
Selfish? She'd gladly take the hit.
She wanted this day remembered as this brief walk with Kasian.
Otherwise, she'd seem too pathetic.
After a lifetime craving a speck of attention, that hollow letdown when it finally came.
Her long years would feel so powerless.
But it wasn't just selfishness.
She thought to herself, Please, just a little more.
Wishing this street stretched on forever.
An hour later.
Rubinic Garden, the famous cosmetics shop in the bustling district.
Elisia scanned the display with careful eyes.
"Hmm… You said the head maid's skin is on the dry side?"
"Probably. She gripes about her face tightening up every winter."
"Then this combo. The brown-bottle essence, moisture-rich cream, and a drop of oil."
Truth be told, no real deliberation needed. This was the foolproof, empire-standard set for any age, any skin type.
But in front of the clerk, she put on a show—interrogating ingredients, agonizing over choices.
Only way to hide they'd come here on purpose.
"You sure? It's not what the clerk suggested."
"Don't trust me? I'm a VIP here."
"Ah, right. I trust you, sure."
Checkout done, bag in hand, I let out a relieved sigh.
"Thanks to you, I feel relieved. Alone, I'd have fallen for the 'this is great, that too' sales pitch and bought a pile of junk."
"Of course. Think I'd lie just to walk with you?"
"……."
I flinched, caught off guard.
Elisia played it cool with a smile, but her heart hammered.
Did that come out too real?
"Guess names alone really wouldn't cut it. Cosmetics world's deep."
Luckily, he chalked it up to product complexity.
Sharp or oblivious? Guy was impossible to pin.
Back out on the street. Real parting time.
I bowed my head. "Thanks—nailed the purchase."
But Elisia's gaze lingered on the other small bag in my hand. Not the maid gift—the one I'd paid for separately.
…For who?
Another woman? Girlfriend? Wanted to ask, but no grounds.
She resigned to let it go—then.
I casually held out the little bag.
"Here."
"……Pardon?"
She stared, dumbfounded.
"What's this?"
"Saw you fiddling with it earlier, eyes glued."
"……!"
"Thanks for the gift picks. And sorry for freaking you out earlier—not realizing it was you."
"Ah……."
She took the bag in a daze.
Mine? Bought it for me?
The lip balm she'd glimpsed—pretty color during testing.
He'd caught that split-second glance, remembered, bought it on the sly?
"……Thanks."
"No biggie. My motto: stick to propriety and boundaries to live without side-eye."
Cool as ever, hands back in pockets.
"Pinning this down: not buying favor. Pure thanks for your help, and regret for the awkwardness."
Dry, calculated—pure Kasian.
Slick joker day-to-day, but principled as steel when drawing lines.
He had no clue. That gesture only made her heart race harder.
But she couldn't stop it, playing it cool as she accepted the gift.
Dangerous.
Even that came off cool? What now?
It kept stacking him against the Crown Prince.
Unlike the prince—who drew lines for self-gain and dressed it up righteous.
This man drew them on principle, for the right reasons—protecting them both.
"One thing?"
"Sure. Shoot."
"Stress is abstract, right?"
Sudden curveball.
"Doesn't mean I think endlessly enduring, swallowing, grinding it down—and molding yourself that way—is bad noble self-care."
I pointed at myself.
"Reason I live like a cheeky wastrel? It's how I stay less miserable, a tad happier."
"……Are you saying I'm unhappy right now?"
She sounded uneasy. Pity and sympathy were trauma for her.
Maybe that's why she'd warmed to me so quick at first.
While the world pitied her over unseen nonsense on a whim.
He'd zeroed in on her real pain, laughed it off.
Don't.
Please.
But like he'd heard her mutter, he shot back with a "what nonsense?" look.
"What're you on about? Who else gets born into your cushy setup—warm back, full belly, zero side-eye?"
"……Yes?"