It was another one of those wretched days.

When darkness swallowed the city, a woman who seemed ready to dissolve into the night was dragged by her brutish father into a building. Inside, the air was thick with smoke and scattered light bulbs that flickered weakly overhead. She’d been here many times before, yet the place never felt familiar.

A narrow hallway. Countless doors on either side. The stench of cigarettes and burning hallucinogenic herbs. It wasn’t a place one could ever get used to—nor did she wish to.

Pulled along by a grip so strong it felt as if her arm would twist off, Delilah Earl’s pale gray eyes betrayed no emotion. To her, this was nothing new. Being hauled by her father from one gambling den to the next was simply her life.

At the end of the crimson, cramped corridor, the man threw open a door without hesitation. A thick cloud of smoke rolled outward, pressing against the hall. Delilah instinctively held her breath.

Inside the spacious room, three haggard men sat around a large round table. Some faces she recognized, others were new. Her lifeless gaze flickered faintly with disgust.

“Count Marcel! You’re finally here. Took you long enough.”

The man chewing a cigarillo grinned broadly, greeting Marcel with exaggerated delight. As he stood, several weary eyes turned toward the door, none of them looking remotely sane. The man with the most unkempt hair and downcast head had the creepiest stare of all.

“Oh… so this is the famous charm that brings you luck? Never seen her in person before.”

The man’s gaze slid past the burly Count Marcel to the pale woman being dragged behind him. She didn’t belong in a filthy den like this. When their eyes met, her faintly wavy hair trembled, her slender white body shrinking slightly. Even the damp lashes she lowered carried a fragile allure that stirred his l＊st.

Yes, she looked more suited to a holy temple than a dingy gambling hall. His eyes gleamed as he admired her, one hand pressing down near his groin.

“Yes, yes! That’s my daughter, Delilah!”

Marcel puffed out his chest proudly, indifferent to the man’s lewd gesture toward his child. In fact, he stepped aside as if to give them a better view.

“Father…!”

Shoved forward, Delilah gasped and clutched her father’s arm. When he roughly pushed her again, she recoiled, curling in on herself. Marcel clicked his tongue at the sight of his pitiful daughter and twisted his arm free from her grip.

“She’s uselessly shy, that’s all. Come on now, forget the nonsense and let’s play!”

A pretty face, and yet she couldn’t even charm a man to help her father win more money, always hiding in some corner like a fool. Marcel treated the daughter he ought to have protected as nothing more than a simpleton.

“Who needs boldness when she brings you luck? You’re too greedy! And tell me, where would you find another beauty like her? You’ll get a hefty dowry when she marries. Perfect daughter, I’d say. Maybe I should have a daughter myself.”

“Spare us. Do you even have the strength to get your wife pregnant?”

The two men she half-recognized exchanged filthy laughter. Having heard such vulgar jokes countless times before, Delilah merely sat down limply on a chair by the wall. Resistance was beyond her now, only numb exhaustion remained.

At the gambling table, Delilah was a symbol of fortune. Marcel’s good-luck charm. It had started the day she first came here, searching for her father. That night, after a string of losses, he’d suddenly won for the first time in ages. The thrill of victory had infected his greedy brain. From then on, his daughter’s presence became his personal token of luck.

That ridiculous rumor spread quickly among the gambling addicts. Newcomers who saw Delilah for the first time couldn’t hide their intrigue. They couldn’t take their eyes off the Count’s supposed ‘fortune.’ Just like now.

Even after the game began, the stranger’s gaze never left her. His stare burned against her cheek, but Delilah only turned further away, trying to make herself smaller. She’d encountered many like him before, and even her boundless patience couldn’t keep contempt from festering inside her.

Just endure it. If I can endure long enough… it’ll end someday.

Swallowing hard, Delilah leaned her head back against the filthy wall. Watching the white plumes of smoke curl and drift through the air, she let herself sink into her memories.

At some point, this had been going on for over four months. The image of herself once daring to defy her father had grown faint and distant.

Smack!

“Do you think this is the time to pick and choose? Without this money, you think you could pay off all that debt yourself? Stop arguing and just do as you’re told! Keep quiet and follow me. How hard is that to understand?”

Delilah crumpled beneath Marcel’s blows, helpless. The more she resisted, the more violent he became, until even the will to fight back had been beaten out of her.

Since the death of her mother, Katarina, the true head of the Earl family, Marcel had grown bold, while Delilah had withered.

Marcel, the Earl’s son-in-law, was a man consumed by inferiority. His resentment festered like rot, and that festering had long awaited its moment to surface. Katarina’s death had been the pin that burst the swollen abscess.

Once unleashed, his desires knew no restraint. He threw himself recklessly into ventures and investments, devouring the family’s fortune piece by piece.

It had taken only four years since Katarina’s death for the once-prestigious Earl family to fall into ruin.

Delilah lifted her lashes toward the round table. She just hoped her father’s luck would turn soon. When he was drunk on success, he was merciful, and sometimes pressed a few coins into her hand. She needed that filthy money.

As she carefully watched the gambling table, her eyes met the man who hadn’t stopped staring at her since she’d entered the room, the same man who had been making vile assumptions about her.

“Why so nervous?”

The man stood and sat down right beside her. The more she edged away toward the corner, the closer he came, until she was trapped between him and the wall.

A hot breath grazed her cheek. Goosebumps spread from the point of contact down her entire body. She couldn’t lift her head; she only clenched her dress in trembling fists and turned her face away.

“So you really bring luck, do you? You don’t look the part, but…”

The man gripped her neck and forced her to face him. He let out a sound of admiration, his rough hand cupping and kneading her soft cheek as if it were his to touch.

“Let me go…!”

Delilah tightened her grip on his forearm, trying to pry it away. But the man only licked his lips as if savoring the tremor in her fingers. A sick smile twisted across his face.

She flicked her gaze toward the table. Everyone else was too absorbed in their game to notice what was happening.

“I hear you’re looking after a younger brother, must be hard, running around after your father like this, hmm?”

He chuckled to himself and went on, his words growing fouler.

“My wife’s dying, you see. I’ll be needing a new bride soon. How about it? I could overlook a little extra baggage if you come along.”

His hand pressed into her shoulder, kneading its way down her thigh. Whatever he was imagining, it already showed in his glazed, feverish eyes. This was a man who had driven even his own wife into sickness, and now he dared to whisper filth into Delilah’s ear.

“Don’t… don’t touch me.”

“You look too tempting for your own good. You’ll only suffer more that way. I’ll take you in. I’ll even pay off your father’s debts.”

He pulled her dry, slender waist against him, his obscene voice slithering right into her ear. The nausea that surged inside her nearly made her retch. Desperate, Delilah pushed against him with all her might.

“Ugh!”

Sensing danger, she twisted to break free, but couldn’t stop his clammy hand from slipping beneath her dress. When his fingers clamped around her thigh, so hard it hurt, her vision spun.

Disgust overwhelmed her. She’d been dragged through countless gambling dens, seen men behave like beasts, and endured their leers in silence from the corner. She’d done nothing but stay quiet, so why did these kinds of men always find her?

Her chest tightened with fury and humiliation.

The man, now panting heavily, lost what little sense he had left. He pushed her down onto the narrow chair and climbed on top of her.

“Haah… even your scent drives me wild.”

His voice dripped with vulgarity as he thrust his hips, breathing filth into her ear. If this went on any longer, she knew she would be defiled right there. Looking toward Marcel was useless; he wouldn’t save her.

Delilah bit her lip hard and squeezed her eyes shut.

Whack!

“Agh!”

Her nails dug into the man’s shoulder, and she drove her knee sharply into his groin. His scream echoed as he toppled to the floor, writhing in pain.

Using his body as a foothold, Delilah leapt over him and bolted from the room.

She didn’t look back. Not once.

Only when she burst out into the night air did she finally breathe again. If Marcel found out she had fled in the middle of a game, she couldn’t imagine what he might do to her.

Realizing too late what she had done, Delilah bit her lip until it bled.