Chapter 6.7

The pickpocket, who had easily stolen Lisael’s wallet, spotted Miguel’s bulging purse on his way home. 

What kind of day was this? Meeting two wealthy targets on an otherwise ordinary street—it was a rare stroke of luck.

The pickpocket’s eyes gleamed with greed as he moved toward the stall where Miguel stood. His plan was to act quickly and skillfully, taking advantage of the moment Miguel received an item from the vendor.

As always, he deftly snatched the wallet from Miguel’s pocket without difficulty. The luxurious wallet was as heavy as the one he had taken from the woman earlier.

‘Heh heh heh, this should be enough to live comfortably for a few months.’

All he had to do now was escape and head to the tavern to celebrate his lucky day.

“Gah!”

But just before he could leave Miguel’s reach, the pickpocket felt a sharp tug on the back of his collar. The force nearly caused him to fall flat on his back.

“What the…!”

Turning his head sharply, the pickpocket swallowed nervously. The wealthy man he had just robbed was glaring at him, gripping his collar tightly. How had he noticed the theft in that brief moment and caught him with such animal-like reflexes?

Perhaps he had been robbed many times before. Cursing his bad luck internally, the pickpocket quickly switched tactics, putting on a sheepish grin.

“Haha, oh dear… I’m terribly sorry. I have six hungry mouths to feed at home… I know it’s wrong, but when I think of my starving children, I lose my senses and make mistakes like this.”

In situations like this, confessing was the best strategy. In his experience, the wealthier the victim, the more likely they were to let him go. The pickpocket spun a pitiful tale about his nonexistent children.

Miguel studied the groveling man for a moment before silently extending his hand. The pickpocket, after a brief hesitation, hurriedly placed the stolen wallet into Miguel’s hand. Though reluctant to return it, he had no choice.

“A mistake, you say… But your pocket still seems quite full.”

The pickpocket flinched at Miguel’s sharp observation. Expecting leniency from a rich man, he realized he had miscalculated. Miguel’s keen eyes and meddlesome nature spelled trouble.

Groaning in frustration, the pickpocket retrieved the wallet he had taken from the hapless woman earlier and handed it over. He braced himself, ready to run if Miguel called the authorities.

Miguel, now holding two wallets, narrowed his eyes. Though he had never been pickpocketed before, the second wallet looked oddly familiar. It was unlikely he would recognize someone else’s wallet—but the logo embossed on it caught his attention. It was from the leather workshop the Dante family frequently used, known for its exclusivity and high prices.

‘If someone who owns this wallet could be robbed by such an amateur…’

One face came to mind.

“Did you steal this wallet from a woman?”

“Y-yes, I did.”

The pickpocket’s eyes widened in surprise. How did Miguel know? Realizing the situation was taking a dire turn, he felt despair creeping in. Today wasn’t a lucky day after all—it was cursed.

“Where did you steal it?”

“F-from a bread shop, just a block away. Sir, please, I beg you, show mercy.”

The rich man’s expression was far from merciful. Especially his sharp, unkind eyes, which seemed incapable of warmth. The pickpocket pleaded desperately, bowing and scraping.

“Get lost.”

Miguel dismissed him with a wave of his hand, as if brushing away filth. If he had an attendant with him, he would have sent the brazen thief straight to the police. However, finding Lisael was more urgent than delivering justice.

The pickpocket was indeed lucky. Being spared by the uncompromising Young Earl was a rare stroke of fortune. Without looking back, he disappeared into the crowd.

With the hairpin and two wallets in hand, Miguel set off without hesitation. Following the pickpocket’s clue, he headed straight for the alley of street artists near the bread shop.

***

The artist, who had asked for five copper coins, gaped when five silver coins suddenly appeared before him. In his long, obscure career, he had never been paid so generously for a painting.

“I-I didn’t ask for silver…”

“This is what I think it’s worth. Do you disagree with my valuation?”

Miguel’s eyebrows arched as he waited. The artist, realizing further hesitation would be rude, quickly accepted the silver coins and handed over his masterpiece.

Lisael, who had been watching the scene in a daze, snapped out of it when she saw her portrait in Miguel’s hands. Why was he always there at the right moment? She was beginning to suspect he had someone tailing her.

“…Thank you.”

On their way back to the hotel, Lisael finally spoke, expressing her gratitude for the painting. She couldn’t deny that Miguel’s timely intervention had saved her from an awkward situation.

“This? No need to thank me. I wasn’t planning to give it to you anyway.”

“…What?”

Lisael felt a second wave of embarrassment wash over her. Miguel casually swung the canvas and continued.

“This is mine.”

He was adamant, leaving no room for negotiation. 

Why was everyone so possessive over this simple sketch? 

Lisael, dumbfounded, no longer cared about owning the painting. She decided it would be faster to find another artist and commission a new portrait.

“Do you remember this? By the way, this isn’t yours either.”

Was he trying to provoke me? 

Before even seeing what he held, Lisael’s eyes narrowed. When she realized it was the hairpin, her brows furrowed further.

“This…”

It wasn’t hers, yet it looked familiar. As recognition dawned on her, Miguel clenched his fist, hiding the hairpin from view.

“Do you… still have it?”

“…I haven’t seen it in a long time.”

Her answer wasn’t one to disappoint him. The hairpin had been a gift from years ago, back when their relationship hadn’t soured. Keeping it as a treasure would have seemed strange, given their estrangement.

Still, she hadn’t gone out of her way to discard it. The hairpin had simply faded into obscurity over time. Feeling awkward, Lisael tried to recall its whereabouts, but Miguel’s expression softened unexpectedly.

“You didn’t throw it away.”

His optimism in the face of her vague answer left Lisael puzzled.

“I have urgent business in the capital tomorrow. You stay here, and I’ll send for you when it’s time to head to Cherlin.”

Miguel’s sudden announcement caught Lisael off guard. Being left alone in Ruota was unsettling, but she quickly realized his true intent. He wanted to shield her from Earl Dante’s inevitable wrath over the free salon event.

It was a natural gesture for a husband, but their relationship was far from ordinary. For a couple who had already discussed divorce, Miguel’s kindness felt one-sided, weighing heavily on Lisael.

As they walked side by side, occasionally exchanging glances and words, Lisael couldn’t deny the truth. Miguel Dante was no longer her enemy but the childhood friend she had once cherished. The ease with which they interacted now was proof of that.

Just months ago, being in the same room as him had been unbearable. Now, her once-solid hatred for him had softened to something fragile and damp, like wet paper.

Would I be betraying the Cherlin family again? If I confessed to them that my hatred for Miguel was no longer the same, would they feel betrayed by me?