It wasn’t much different from the teasing he had done in her bedroom at Attley Castle.

Flushed with embarrassment, Isabelle shot him a glare. The man didn’t even blink.

In the end, Isabelle shifted slightly closer, drawing her hips toward him as she sat.

One of Tenetta’s brows arched.

“You don’t listen well.”

But Isabelle had no intention of sitting on his lap.

Absolutely not.

Even if it was a body she had once treated as her rightful place without hesitation, it made no difference now.

In any case, he had never explicitly said where she was supposed to sit.

Pretending not to understand, she stubbornly kept her gaze fixed straight ahead. Watching her, Tenetta’s lips curled upward.

The moment Isabelle caught that ominous smile from the corner of her eye, a large hand wrapped around her waist.

“Let go—ah…!”

Isabelle’s eyes widened as her lips were sealed by his.

The moment their gazes met, Tenetta’s eyes curved, as if he had been waiting for this. His smile was dazzling—like peonies in full bloom.

‘How can someone be this shameless?’

Just as Isabelle tried to push him away, he lifted her effortlessly and set her down on his lap.

The moment she felt the firm breadth of his thigh beneath her—and the solid presence pressed against it—her ears flushed a deep red.

As if teasing her, he tapped lightly at her tightly closed lips with the tip of his tongue before pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Shall I teach you more?”

Glaring at him, Isabelle wiped at the spot where his lips had touched—her cheek, then her mouth.

“…No.”

Then she became acutely aware of the heat rising beneath her—the unmistakable presence under her.

Her already flushed face burned crimson in an instant.

Shoving his hand away from her waist, Isabelle stumbled to her feet on unsteady legs and retreated from him. She pressed herself against the far end of the sofa, pointing without even looking in his direction.

“Go take care of… that.”

“Alright.”

Tenetta rose without the slightest hint of embarrassment, then leaned toward her once more.

Peck.

His lips brushed against her cheek again, red as a summer cherry.

Clutching the armrest of the sofa even tighter, Isabelle thought she heard him laugh.

Once Tenetta left, the tailor—who had likely been waiting outside—entered.

“Forgive me, but it may take some time for your fiancé to return. How would you like to proceed with the selection…?”

From the careful tone alone, Isabelle understood.

The tailor had definitely crossed paths with Tenetta.

For some reason, she squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself against the wave of embarrassment that wasn’t even entirely hers to bear.

“Merciful Pax… I must have promised in my past life to give everything I had away—so why am I being put through this trial?”

Then again—

‘Is there any reason I shouldn’t indulge a little, using that madman’s money?’

Having made up her mind, Isabelle swept her hand across the fabrics within her view—from one end to the other.

“I’ll take all of these.”

“From here to there—if it can be used, I’ll take it all.”

***

Walking with a slightly unsteady stride, Tenetta crossed the corridor and opened the door to the master bedroom.

The room, cleared out for its new owner, was still missing the exotic carpet Isabelle had once liked. The vanity—once filled with her cosmetics, perfumes, and all sorts of small, soft belongings—stood empty. There were no silk nightgowns casually draped over chairs or the bedside, as she used to do without thinking.

Tenetta opened the bedside drawer. Where, once, thoughtful servants had kept the woman’s undergarments, there were now only a few fresh handkerchiefs prepared for the bride who would soon occupy the room.

Without hesitation, he took one.

Dropping to his knees beside the bed, he roughly tugged his trousers loose. A hard p*nis sprang free, the tip damp, twitching faintly—the very thing Isabelle had so coldly told him to “take care of.”

Wrapping the handkerchief around himself—still untouched by her scent—Tenetta closed his eyes. Imagining the soft, pale fabric as a part of her, he began to move his hand.

“Isabelle…”

Ah, that expression she made—looking at him as if she might kill him just because he had brushed his lips against hers—how absurdly endearing it had been. A flush crept across the tips of his ears as excitement flickered across his face. His hand moved faster, more forceful, as he sought a quick release.

He was, at his core, a hopeless man who doted on his wife.

In truth, that alone explained everything.

Love could sour into resentment, and comfort could drift into distance—but fondness was something he could never quite let go of. Even when resentment took root, he endured it. Even when things grew uneasy, he carried on.

And Isabelle had an uncanny talent for testing that patience.

“That’s not necessarily true. Even after marriage, people can still keep their secrets.”

At the memory of her sly reply, his broad back tensed sharply. The sensation built—an itch at the tip, a heat pooling low in his abdomen. The more intense the pleasure grew, the more vividly she seemed to appear before his eyes.

He was, after all, just a man.

The mere thought of his wife was enough to arouse him.

She didn’t even have to be bare. There was a certain sinful thrill in stripping away what she tried to hide, piece by piece. Even when they had been a lawful couple, the sight of her looking up at him with those wide, round eyes had always made him feel like he was committing something indecent.

He had never once tried to hide how that excited him.

In a voice thick with desire, he called her name again.

“Isabelle…”

“Isabelle… Isabelle…”

He wanted to drag her here and make her witness this.

He wanted to strip away that stubborn pride—the way she shrank under threat yet still managed to look down on him—and scratch it raw.

‘Ah… would she want to slap me then?’

Tenetta imagined her face flushing red with anger as she rushed at him. He would catch her wrist—so pale and soft, like spun cotton—and trail his lips along it. He would press his mouth against the fragile pulse beneath her warm skin, bite down lightly… and when she cried out, he would pull her in by the waist—

And then… press his lips against that cold, unyielding cheek.

A sharp breath escaped him.

From the split tip he had been grinding against, heat surged and spilled. The thick, metallic scent filled the air, heavy and stifling.

Even then, his body refused to calm.

Still gripping himself, Tenetta leaned forward, resting his cheek against the bed. After teasing her, cornering her, leaving her shocked and flustered—

The words he had wanted to say slipped out at last.

“…I love you.”

She was the woman he loved.

Even if she refused to believe it, that truth would not change.

***

The wedding preparations were completed in the blink of an eye.

Though Isabelle could not find a single positive impression in this marriage, she couldn’t help but marvel—purely, almost innocently—at how many problems money could solve.

There was a fairy tale about a princess who, when she had no dress to wear, called upon all the animals she knew and solved the problem within hours.

This time, Isabelle learned that squeezing people dry could achieve much the same result.

The only difference was that instead of a princess, it was Tenetta—and instead of animals, it was countless individuals being driven to exhaustion.

“If something can be done, there’s no reason not to make it happen.”

Had he been old, sick, or alone, such a remark might have invited rebellion from his servants.

But Tenetta only added, in an indifferent tone,

“They want me to marry quickly too.”

That much, at least, seemed to be true.

If Tenetta refused to marry here, the Achilleton family would simply cease to exist. In most noble houses, they would have sought out a collateral branch and proceeded with succession before being forced to return their title to the imperial family—but the Achilletons were different. Having once been the ruling family of a fallen kingdom before being incorporated into the nobility, their line could only be inherited by a direct descendant who fulfilled strict additional conditions.

Originally, Tenetta’s half-brother—the former Archduke of Achilleton—would have inherited the family. But last autumn, the Achilleton household had been wiped out by a virulent epidemic in the capital, leaving the succession to pass to Tenetta.

Having spent most of his youth away from the family, Tenetta held little attachment to its name.

The servants of the Achilleton estate, however, were the complete opposite.

“If you try to run, they’ll chase you down themselves and drag you back.”

It was said jokingly, with a hint of laughter—but it wasn’t entirely untrue.

The day Isabelle realized that, the people of this grand estate sent a chill down her spine. Even so, she eventually forced herself to stop thinking that way. It felt wrong to recoil from those who had always treated her with such sincere kindness—both in the past and now.

And so, with all those tangled interests at play, the wedding preparations finally came to an end.

Around that time, her parents arrived in the capital, Rosina, from their territory.

Since they had come by ordinary carriage, it seemed that Tenetta had only used the portal that one time due to special circumstances. The location of such portals was likely treated as a matter close to state secrecy.

For a fleeting moment, Isabelle imagined Tenetta silencing her permanently for learning about it. And before that could happen, she found herself earnestly wishing for a chance to strike first.

It had become something like a habit—this silent prayer of hers.

Along with her parents, her younger brother Raymond had also arrived in the capital.

“Sister, what is going on?”

“Ray.”

The moment she saw him rushing toward her at the entrance of the estate, Isabelle called his name sharply.

Having spent a long time in Pessen, where many religions coexisted, Raymond had developed rather progressive views. In Legrandem, where a single state religion was upheld, he could easily say things—without even realizing—that would not be accepted.

Isabelle quickly looked him over.

He had the same eyes as hers, and hair a light brown that shone almost golden under sunlight. It had been two years since he last returned home—he had grown taller, his build stronger—but he was still her younger brother.

Lowering her voice, she whispered—

“You read the letter Mother sent, didn’t you? The Line family was accused of heresy.”

“And because of that, you have to marry like you’re being sold off?”

“So you already know. Then be good to me.”

“Don’t joke around.”

Lowering his voice, Raymond asked,

“…Is this really okay?”