A knock was followed by the door creaking open. Tayton, who had been reviewing documents, slowly lifted his head.

Dressed in a perfectly tailored business suit with a black velvet mask covering his face, he looked every bit the Cursed Duke the rumors had described.

From behind the pitch-black mask, razor-sharp silver eyes gleamed. It was a sight that was both eerie and strangely mesmerizing.

Jacob, unfazed by the familiar scene, walked in without hesitation. He handed the Duke an envelope placed on a silver tray.

“A servant from Count Simon’s household delivered this. It’s an invitation to the banquet being held at their estate tonight.”

Instead of opening the invitation bearing the Simon family crest, Tayton leaned back in his chair.

“Tell them I won’t be attending.”

“Her Highness, Princess Irene Britton, is expected to be there.”

At that, Tayton curled up one side of his lips. A twisted voice seeped through his teeth.

“Well, in that case, I must attend. It wouldn’t miss the opportunity to grace my lovely fiancée with my presence, now would it? Watching the ever-so-proud princess struggle to conceal her disgust beneath a composed expression is quite entertaining.”

Despite Tayton’s caustic words, Jacob’s expression remained neutral. He didn’t quite understand why his master insisted on lingering around someone who despised him, but then again, the Duke was a man beyond his comprehension.

More than understanding, what Jacob needed was memorization.

As if suddenly remembering something, Tayton turned his languid gaze toward Jacob. Jacob adjusted his slipping glasses and waited for the question.

“What about that matter?”

“It seems your suspicions were correct, my lord.”

“Which means?”

At the weight of Tayton’s meaningful gaze, Jacob nodded. He habitually glanced around before lowering his voice.

“Lately, malicious rumors about you have been spreading at an unusual pace. Have you heard about the recent murder on Engler Street?”

“You mean Baron Donald’s daughter?”

“Yes, the late Miss Tara Donald, who was found dead on Engler Street. There are whispers that you were responsible for the crime. And the rumors are spreading at an alarming rate.”

Tayton faintly furrowed his brows, tapping his fingers against the desk. Baseless gossip about him was nothing new. However, this time, the pattern was different.

It was deliberate—and organized.

If someone was deliberately fueling these rumors, it meant something was happening beneath the surface, beyond his immediate awareness.

The world of nobility was no different from a jungle teeming with predators.

On the surface, they feigned elegance and dignity, but beneath it all, they were like bloodthirsty beasts, desperate to crush their rivals.

Hyenas.

Lost in thought, Tayton slowly shifted his gaze.

“Who’s behind it?”

“Nothing is easier than stirring up a foolish crowd, my lord. Tracing the source of the rumors will be as difficult as finding a needle in a haystack.”

Jacob had a point. All it took was for someone to whisper a single sentence among the masses, and the rest would take care of itself.

The rumors would snowball, growing flesh upon bone, and soon, they would spiral out of control.

Especially when they concerned the Cursed Duke.

Still, he wasn’t the type to sit idly by and wait for the blade to reach his throat.

Tayton was far from that kind of man.

Slowly, he rose from his seat.

“I’ll go see him.”

He didn’t specify who he was, but Jacob didn’t ask.

A competent aide should always be able to anticipate his master’s thoughts.

Jacob checked his watch and added in a businesslike tone,

“Yes, I will have the carriage prepared. By now, Miss Hailey Salmon should have arrived at the mansion.”

“Hailey Salmon?”

Tayton faintly furrowed his brows, as if hearing the name for the first time. Jacob let out a silent sigh, as if wondering how he could have already forgotten.

“Miss Hailey Salmon, daughter of Baron Salmon. She has been hired as your Santier conversation partner, starting today.”

“Ah.”

Tayton let out a faint, sardonic chuckle as he finally recalled. His eyes took on a bored expression.

“A Santier conversation partner… Hah, isn’t that just another term for a noble brat who can’t endure a week before running away?”

“You should have at least tried to restrain yourself, Your Grace. You are partially responsible for fueling these malicious rumors. It’s become nearly impossible to find a conversation partner for Santier in the capital. This young lady came all the way from Westhill—where do you think we’ll have to look next? Everport? Southend? So please, this time, at least try to be… normal, yes?”

A capable aide must sometimes be unafraid to speak frankly. Even if it meant putting his own neck on the line, he had to guide his master down the right path.

But Tayton had no intention of taking Jacob’s advice to heart—not in the slightest. His contempt for the nobility was too deeply ingrained.

“They whisper about the ‘Cursed Duke’ behind my back, yet in front of me, they grovel and fawn, desperate to cling to power. Hah, laughable. Jacob, you should see their faces—barely managing to hide their disgust beneath a practiced smile. It’s almost pitiful. No, it’s sickeningly pitiful.”

“But, Your Grace, if you keep feeding the rumors yourself, it becomes impossible to distinguish truth from fabrication.”

At that, Tayton pressed his lips together. Jacob had struck a nerve. After a brief silence, he spoke in an indifferent tone.

“Jacob, I think you misunderstand something.”

“Enlighten me, Your Grace.”

“I never once forced them out. They left of their own accord. They simply lacked the spine to stay.”

You might as well have thrown them out! No—honestly, that would have been kinder than what you actually did!

Jacob swallowed his retort, pressing his lips firmly together. The duke despised nobles—or more precisely, he loathed them.

The Cursed Duke.

Unlike commoners, who trembled in fear at his ominous appearance, nobles pretended to smile while secretly sneering behind his back. If it weren’t for his near-royal level of power, all that would remain was their cold disdain.

So it was hardly surprising that he despised their two-faced nature. He had grown up surrounded by fear and malice his entire life—it was only natural that he had become twisted himself.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. And malice for malice.

To protect himself, Tayton had to solidify his position as duke. He needed more wealth, more power.

Because the moment he lost everything, the nobles would swarm like piranhas, tearing him apart. Or perhaps they would drag him to the gallows, branding him the ‘Cursed Duke’ one last time.

Tayton was well aware of this. To him, nobles were nothing more than lurking hyenas, waiting for their chance to strike.

“Before that, I should meet my new tutor. I wonder how long it will take for her to drop the polite facade this time. Aren’t you curious, Jacob? You really should see it—the way they go from prim and proper to hurling curses the moment they snap.”

Jacob let out a silent sigh, quietly praying for Miss Hailey Salmon’s well-being.

May she have more resilience than the others.

For her sake, for the duke’s sake, and for the sake of not having to find yet another Santier conversation partner.

***

In the backyard, Hailey spotted Peter quickly approaching. He glanced around as if searching for someone before letting out a sigh of relief upon finding her.

“His Grace has arrived. Madam Mastis is looking for you.”

It seemed the moment had come to finally meet the infamous duke. Hailey took a deep breath and nodded.

“Thank you, Peter.”

“Think nothing of it, my lady.”

She headed straight for the mansion. Peter hurried ahead to hold the door open for her. Hailey gave him a small smile as she stepped inside, but he suddenly spoke up.

“Ah—wait a moment.”

Their eyes met. Hailey looked at him with a gentle gaze, as if to encourage him to speak freely.

Peter hesitated briefly, then scratched the corner of his eye before saying,

“He’s not as terrifying as they say. He’s… just a little peculiar.”

“…?”

Hailey blinked slightly at the unexpected remark. She must have looked more nervous than she thought.

“Those rumors about him turning people to stone with a glance or collecting human hearts—they’re all nonsense. So, you don’t have to worry. Look at me—my heart is still beating just fine, isn’t it?”

“Hmm, I hadn’t heard those particular rumors… but I’ll keep that in mind.”

Hailey smiled slightly and stepped inside the mansion.

Peter, belatedly realizing his mistake, let out a low groan.

Madam Mastis was waiting for her at the foot of the grand staircase. Her expression of relief upon spotting Hailey quickly hardened into a strict demeanor.

“I couldn’t find you anywhere—I thought you had already run away.”

“Of course not. I unpacked my belongings and had some time left, so I was exploring the mansion. The gardens are quite magnificent.”

“Follow me. The Duke is waiting for you.”

As if making the Duke wait was the most disrespectful act in the world, Madam Mastis hurried ahead. Hailey quietly followed behind her.

Knock, knock.

Madam Mastis knocked on a door that was anything but ordinary at a glance.

“Come in.”