The Noose of Sincerity
The tea time in the pavilion stretched on far longer than expected. On the surface it looked like nothing more than ordinary social chatter between noble young ladies—talk of the capital’s weather, the season’s fashionable dress colors, upcoming family balls, the usual trivialities. Yet every word struck my ears like a silver needle, sharp and precise, burying itself deep.
Ibelin smiled with elegant poise, but her golden eyes had sunk into infinite shadow. Seraphina answered with gentle grace, yet the fingertips cradling her teacup were rigid with tension. They had not drawn their blades, but the pavilion had already become an invisible dueling ground.
I stood behind Ibelin, holding even my breath, doing everything I could to erase my presence and become no more than air.
“Kyle.”
Ibelin set her teacup down and called my name.
“The tea has gone cold.”
“I will prepare a fresh pot at once.”
Even in the brief instant it took to clear the cup and lift the teapot, I could feel Seraphina’s blue gaze clinging stubbornly to my hands, burning against my skin. I silently chanted don’t be conscious of it, don’t be conscious of it and poured the crimson black tea in a steady stream.
Ibelin, savoring the new cup, suddenly pushed the topic toward Seraphina as though offering her a blade.
“Would Lady Estelle like another cup? Kyle brews quite well.”
I swallowed a groan at her malicious hobby of deliberately dragging me into the conversation.
Seraphina smiled quietly and looked at me.
“I can tell. The aroma is truly lovely.”
“Is it?” Ibelin’s voice softened further. It was not the tone of someone pleased; it resembled the low growl of a predator that had finally cornered its prey. “Lady Estelle seems to take an unusual interest in another house’s servant.”
The air inside the pavilion froze in an instant.
Seraphina did not panic. She merely tightened her fingers on the teacup by the smallest degree.
“It is less interest than gratitude. I have received help from Mr. Kyle on more than one occasion. Yesterday, when I lost my way, and again when I found myself in a difficult situation—he showed me kindness both times.”
“Kindness,” Ibelin echoed. She turned her head and gave me a fleeting glance.
I kept my eyes fixed on the floor and maintained absolute silence. Taking either side here would be fatal. Silence was my only shield.
Fortunately, a maid appeared at the garden entrance with word that the Duchess was calling for Seraphina. She rose from her seat.
“It was a pleasant conversation, Lady Rosenberg. And thank you as well, Mr. Kyle.”
“I wish you a safe journey back.”
A short, impeccably polite, and entirely formal farewell. Even so, Ibelin shot me a piercing glare, as if my very response had offended her.
Once Seraphina had left the garden, only Ibelin and I remained inside the wide pavilion. She stayed silent for a long time. Her long, slender fingers slowly circled the rim of her teacup while her gaze remained fixed on the distant garden.
The question that finally broke the silence was startlingly impulsive.
“Kyle. Do you pity that woman?”
I could not answer at once. Knowing the original story’s flow, the question carried a cruel irony. Early on, Seraphina was a pitiful fallen lady who endured constant abuse. Later, however, she would awaken as a saint, win the crown prince’s love, and stand at the center of the world. Meanwhile Ibelin—who now held every advantage and sat in arrogant supremacy—would be utterly abandoned by the story’s end, branded a villainess and destroyed.
So who was the truly pitiable one?
“Your answer is slow.”
“...I believe it is not a matter for someone of my station to judge. I am merely a low-ranking butler.”
Ibelin slowly turned her body. Her golden eyes bored straight into my face.
“You really do use your status as a shield whenever you’re cornered.”
Her observation was painfully accurate. Hiding behind my station was my safest survival tactic.
Ibelin leaned back deeply into her chair and murmured in a languid drawl.
“Very well. I’ll change the question. Do you think I am pitiful?”
This question I could not dodge. The lonely lines I had read in the original novel overlapped with the image of the villainess clinging to her final shred of pride before she collapsed. The Ibelin before me was not mere text on a page; she was a living, breathing human being with blood in her veins and air in her lungs. That simple truth breached my defenses.
“I do not think you are pitiful.”
Ibelin’s eyes narrowed.
“Then?”
“I simply... think you appear precarious.”
A heavy silence settled over the pavilion. Even the rustle of leaves in the breeze sounded painfully clear. By the time I realized my mistake, the words could not be taken back. It had been too honest. Far too presumptuous for a servant to say to his master.
“I have overstepped. Please forgive my rudeness.”
“No. Continue.”
Rather than anger, Ibelin wore an eerily calm expression.
“Why do I appear precarious to you?”
With the dam already broken, there was nowhere left to run.
“You are constantly pressured to be perfect, my lady. As the successor to the ducal house, you stand in a position where you cannot reveal weakness to anyone. No person can live their entire life in such tension. Eventually they wear down and break. I... I hope that does not happen to you.”
My mind snapped back into focus. You’ve lost your mind, Kyle Lowell. To dare excavate the villainess’s deepest scar using knowledge from the original novel—
I immediately dropped to one knee on the floor.
“I will gladly accept any punishment.”
The sound of heels approached slowly. At the edge of my vision, the hem of a red dress paused.
“Kyle. Raise your head.”
I slowly lifted my gaze. Ibelin’s golden eyes looking down at me flickered with violent intensity. It was neither rage nor confusion, but a strange, raw possessiveness I had never seen before.
“You really are a strange child. You call yourself a low-ranking butler, yet you look at me with those eyes?”
She took another step closer.
“Everyone else sees only ‘Rosenberg.’ They treat me as a perfect doll or a young lady to be sold off for the family’s benefit. But you just now looked at me as a complete person.”
Ibelin’s cold fingertips lifted my chin. The touch was domineering, yet her voice was so gentle it raised gooseflesh.
“That won’t do, Kyle. When you look at me like that... I might start to misunderstand.”
Ibelin Rosenberg
Affection: 32 → 41
Obsession: 11 → 20
Relationship Recognition Change: Personal Interest → Special Management Target
Ibelin withdrew her hand and casually straightened her clothes as she issued her command.
“Stand up. And do not breathe a word of today’s conversation to anyone.”
“I will keep it in mind.”
“Also, Kyle. From now on, remain at my side as my personal attendant only.”
My heart plummeted.
“My lady, I am still merely a low-ranking servant without the proper qualifications—”
“I will speak to Father, the head of the family, myself. You have no objection, I assume?”
If I dared say I objected, my head and body would part ways on the spot.
“...I am only afraid I may not be capable of bearing the responsibility.”
Ibelin gave a low, satisfied smile.
“Don’t worry. I will make certain you are capable.”
Ibelin Rosenberg has officially designated you as the Personal Butler Candidate.
※ The original work’s route has completely deviated, forming a new chain of causality.
The sincere words I had thrown out in order to survive had instead returned as the perfect noose called “personal butler,” tightening around my neck. My plan to live long and low in this insane ducal household had been ground to dust in the palm of this arrogant villainess.