Chapter 3.1

How late could it be? 

A faint, grayish light seeped through the window. Andrea blinked her swollen eyes, struggling to focus her blurred vision.  

Yesterday… She couldn’t even recall how she managed to get home. She hadn’t had a single drop of alcohol, yet her mouth felt as parched as if she had downed an entire bottle of strong liquor.  

“Ah…”  

Andrea instinctively tried to sit up to drink water, but she furrowed her brow. The pain was sharp enough to bring tears to her eyes. The muscle aches that once followed her like a shadow now felt strangely unfamiliar, a sign that she had grown accustomed to her role as a noble lady.  

She let her body go limp and collapsed back onto the bed. Heavy limbs were nothing new to her, but the dull ache in her lower abdomen and the stinging sensation below were a different matter altogether.  

As Andrea pondered the cause of this unfamiliar pain, her face flushed bright red.  

‘What was I thinking? How could I be so reckless?’  

She pulled the blanket over her head and twisted her body in frustration. Memories of the previous night flitted through her mind one by one. Though most of them were hazy, the ones that came back were enough to paint her pale cheeks a deep crimson.  

The unusually bright morning sunlight brought with it a belated sense of reality. The realization of what she had done hit her like a tidal wave, leaving her mind reeling. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt, like a child who had just succeeded in stealing for the first time.  

‘If I get caught…’  

Andrea clutched the blanket tightly as she thought for a moment.  

‘No, that’s impossible.’  

After all, Michael wouldn’t even know who she was. To him, last night must have meant something entirely different. For her, it was a memory to cherish for a lifetime, but for him… 

What could it have been? A fleeting moment of entertainment? A secret indulgence?  

But she didn’t feel resentful about it. It wasn’t that he was overly frivolous—it was her feelings that were overly heavy. She had admired him for over ten years, so it was only natural.  

Curling herself into a ball, Andrea recalled the day she first met Michael.  

“It’s okay to cry on sad days, but the air is cold today. Your wet cheeks will sting.”  

He had bent down to meet her gaze, handing her a pristine white handkerchief. His youthful face, still tinged with boyishness, remained vivid in her memory. His green eyes, dazzling like flawless jewels, were the most beautiful sight Andrea had ever seen in her short life.  

And how soft that handkerchief was! Even Andrea’s finest clothes felt rough as sandpaper compared to that small piece of cloth. The gentle floral scent wafting from it was a small shock to Andrea, who had grown accustomed to the stench of the filthy streets.  

“Hey, sell me that handkerchief. This much should be enough, right? Hmm?”  

“Only two coins? Have some conscience. Kid, I’ll give you twice that. Hand it over to me.”  

After Michael left, the adults around her began coaxing her gently. They wanted her to sell the handkerchief in exchange for money. It wasn’t an easy temptation to resist, given her dire circumstances, but Andrea had shaken them off and run all the way home.  

‘It’s beautiful…’  

The handkerchief Michael had given her became Andrea’s treasure from that day forward. Fearing it might wear out, or worse, catch fire from a stray ember from the hearth, she carefully folded it and tucked it between her pillowcases.  

She resisted the urge to touch it often, fearing it might get dirty, and only occasionally took it out to caress it gently. She would trace the golden lily embroidered on its corner with her fingers, then bring it close to her nose to sniff it.  

Though the scent had long since faded, burying her face in the handkerchief gave her the illusion of being enveloped in a soft floral fragrance. In those moments, she could momentarily forget the cramped, dark interior of her home, the stench of the streets, and the emptiness to the right of the bed where her mother used to sleep.  

In the absence of her bleak reality, Michael filled her world. Michael, who would wake up in a soft, fluffy bed. Michael, who would stroll leisurely through the bright and splendid corridors of the palace. Michael, who would eat warm, delicious food and soak in a bathtub filled with fragrant oils.  

The brief moments she spent holding the handkerchief were the happiest of her day, and imagining stories about Michael and herself was her only fairy tale. But Andrea’s inherently unfortunate fate soon snatched away even that modest happiness.  

Three silver coins.  

To repair the roof that had caved in under heavy rain, Andrea had to sell her cherished handkerchief. She cried so much that day that her eyes were swollen shut the next morning.  

Thinking back to the time when her heart fluttered over a single handkerchief given out of pity, her current worries seemed almost indulgent. Back then, all she had wished for was to hold his hand, to receive a smile, or to meet his gaze from afar. Yet now, she had shared breath and warmth with him.  

Even so, waking up to reality after the dream felt oddly hollow. If not for the soreness between her legs, she might have thought it was all just a long dream. It felt like a fleeting spark that had burned brightly before fading away.  

‘Do you regret it?’  

Andrea shook her head at her own question.  

No.  

Had she thought it through more carefully, she might not have made that choice. Yet she had no regrets. Last night, she… felt alive. The mixture of searing pain and dizzying pleasure had awakened her senses.  

That night felt like a mirage. Even if she added up all the light in her life so far, it wouldn’t have sparkled as much as last night. She felt she could live off this memory for a lifetime. It was just one day, but she had glimpsed a dream that wasn’t hers.  

‘Yes, that’s enough. I won’t ask for more.’  

Andrea released the blanket she had been clutching tightly. Having indulged her desires to the fullest, she now felt a strange sense of peace. She pushed aside the lingering memories of the previous night and got out of bed.  

‘I shouldn’t even step near the Imperial Palace for the time being.’

***

“Phew.”  

The lazy morning sun shone down on Michael as he lay on the grass, feeling its warmth on his face. Tossing and catching a small ball repeatedly, his fingers exuded boredom.  

The sky was clear, not a single cloud in sight. A gentle breeze blew at just the right intensity, and the leaves swayed as if dancing. Despite the vibrant nature surrounding him, Michael’s mind was far from serene.  

“Relax a bit. You’re going to snap.”  

“Please, ah! Ahh! I, I can’t, hahh.”  

Just recalling the moans that had made his blood boil caused a dull ache in his lower abdomen. The sensation of firm, supple skin filling his hands, the sound of sticky fluids splashing everywhere, and the searing heat of her body—all of it came back vividly the more he thought about it, sharpening the once-fading memory.  

Andrea Heathridge, the half-blooded daughter of a Marquis.  

The woman who had stirred the social circles even before her debut—and his playmate from a few weeks ago.  

Andrea was a beauty who stood out no matter where she went. Her jet-black hair and blue eyes, though not particularly unique on their own, became strikingly special when paired with her.  

Her large, round eyes, a slightly prominent nose, and full lips—there wasn’t a single feature that wasn’t exquisite. Even Michael, who was well-acquainted with beauty, had been momentarily taken aback, frowning in surprise when he first saw her. It was no wonder the social circles had been thrown into chaos upon her debut.  

However, it wasn’t just her harmonious features that captivated people—it was her aura. Her slightly drooping eyes and soft, youthful skin gave her an innocent and gentle appearance, yet there was something subtly provocative about her. Perhaps it was the way her eyes sparkled unusually bright, or the way her lashes always seemed damp and her eyes rimmed with a faint blush…  

“They say her birth mother was a maid? She must’ve been quite the seductive woman.”  

“Well, whatever the case, her goal was achieved. Even if it was a bit late, her daughter became the heiress.”  

“But honestly… doesn’t it feel a bit off? She didn’t grow up in the Marquis’s Estate but lived as a commoner outside, in poverty at that. And now, we’re supposed to treat her as the Marquis’s daughter? It feels strange to me.”  

“Exactly. Who knows what kind of life she led until now? And honestly, her whole vibe is a bit…”  

Late to join the aristocratic society, Andrea carried a long shadow of rumors wherever she went. They said her past was vulgar, that she indulged in scandalous nightly outings, or that she was cruel and tyrannical toward her maids.  

But the Andrea Michael saw was far removed from the audaciousness of those rumors.  

‘If anything, she’s overly timid and reserved.’  

Her habit of sticking to the same spot, always choosing a corner where she wouldn’t stand out, was proof enough. Clinging to a pillar as if she needed something to hold onto, her face pale as a sheet, she always seemed to fade into the background.  

Whenever Michael saw her like that, it reminded him of a vase precariously perched on the edge of a desk. She looked as though a single push would send her tumbling and shattering, and that image strangely grated on his nerves.  

It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, so Michael deliberately suppressed his curiosity about Andrea. He despised the idea of being swayed by someone against his will.  

Yet, the more one tries not to think about something, the more it dominates their thoughts. At every banquet, Michael found his eyes instinctively searching for Andrea, always near her usual spot by the pillar. Despite the cruel gossip swirling around her, she remained there, unmoving.