She remembered how heartbroken she had been when she read in the newspaper that the woman whose name she had repeated to herself so often had died.

‘I heard rumours recently that she had come back alive…’

With trembling hands, Alice unfolded the letter.

[To the esteemed Mrs Alice,]

Tears welled up in her eyes as she read the first line.

It wasn’t just the friendly greeting – it was that Tilda had chosen to address her by name, not as ‘the Viscountess Douglas’.

That small act of consideration was enough to move her.

Alice hastily wiped her blurry eyes with the back of her hand and read on.

[Have you been well? I’m writing to you today because I have a favor to ask.]

As Alice read the gentle opening, she felt a wave of gratitude. But along with it came a sense of curiosity.
‘A favor…?’
What could someone of such high status possibly want from someone like her?

[I call it a favor, but in the end, it will be something good for you as well. I swear it on the Goddess’s candelabrum. I’ll explain everything in detail if you come to the Papal Palace. If you’re interested in my proposal, please come to the back gate of the palace tomorrow—without anyone knowing.]

And at the very bottom of the letter, a final instruction.

Once she finished reading, she was to burn the letter.

Following the instruction, Alice walked over to the flickering candlelight. But before letting the flame consume the paper, she read it one last time.

‘Something good for me?’

What could it be?

The very fact that the ‘angel’ had remembered her, had sought her out, was overwhelming.

But the concern in Tilda’s words, and her offer, brought Alice to the brink of tears.

Rumours had been circulating in high society of late – about her late father, Mumbles Belmont, and his history of domestic abuse.

Scandalous whispers had also plagued Tilda herself. But Alice didn’t believe any of it.

She knew that her husband, Viscount Douglas, was a follower of Windsor Nokilla. And she knew exactly what kind of person Windsor was.

‘That terrifying man must be the one trying to ruin Lady Tilda.’

The thought made Alice’s heart ache.

If she could help the angel who had helped her once – if she could help her now – that alone would bring her joy.

Her heart pounded with anticipation of the day ahead.

***

Tilda stared silently at the calendar on the wall. The Sacred Flame Day was the day after tomorrow.

Most of the preparations had already been made, but meeting Alice today would finally put everything in place.

Tilda took her eyes off the calendar and looked around. The room she was standing in was immaculately clean – untouched, almost like a forgotten storeroom.

It was the office reserved for the Pope’s successor.Although it technically belonged to her, Tilda had never set foot in it – until now.

She had always avoided it, partly for fear of running into her maternal grandfather, who used the office next door…and partly because she had never felt she deserved to be here.

But for now, this room was the only place she had left. Whether she liked it or not, she had to hold on.

Of course, there was another place she could stay – Calles’ villa.

But the discomfort there was no different.

It wasn’t because the villa was full of Turin. It was because of Calles – that insufferably seductive man.

Whenever they were together, he had a way of stealing her heart with his sly, silver tongue.

Tilda still couldn’t stand how effortlessly he flirted with her, always whispering sweet nonsense with that quiet, unreadable face.

More than anything, she didn’t want to be one of the many women who had fallen for him.

Just then someone knocked at the door.

‘Who could it be?’

Very few people came to the Papal Palace looking for her.

Before she could ask who it was, the door opened without permission.

The one who entered was Calles.

He placed a hand on his chest and greeted her with mock formality.

“I have come to pay my respects to the saint.”

‘That damned word again.’

“I told you not to call me that.”

“You call me pet names too sometimes, don’t you?”

Tilda’s delicate forehead twitched slightly in annoyance.

“Pet names?”

“Yeah. Things like pervert, degenerate, s*x maniac.”

“Shame you consider those pet names.”

“Well, they always sound like they’re laced with a special kind of affection when you say them.”

Tilda shot him a look of sheer exhaustion, but Calles only burst out laughing.

“What do you want?”

She asked, growing tired of how easily he seemed to take control of the conversation.

“You’re worried about rumors, aren’t you?”

“You know exactly why.”

It was still risky for Calles to be seen coming and going from the Papal Palace.

Even if her meeting was strictly between a High Priest and the Pope’s successor, there were too many eyes watching her every move.

“I brought a reasonable excuse, so don’t worry too much.”

Calles said, leaning back casually on the reception couch.

“I told them I’d be responsible for your protection on Sacred Flame Day. I’m here to report on that duty.”

“Protection…?”

“Well, His Holiness won’t be attending, will he? That means you’ll be the official host of the celebration. It’s only natural that someone will be assigned to guard you.”

Tilda wasn’t entirely familiar with all the ceremonial duties expected of the Pope’s successor.

But as she thought about it, she realised that Calles was right – the Pope was always accompanied by a personal guard at official events.

But when she thought about it, she realised that Calles was right – at official events, he had always served as the Pope’s personal guard.

Because he’s the strongest.

Tilda hated to admit it, but it was true.

A false priest with no divine power… and yet the most powerful man in the Empire.

If the full extent of his hidden power were ever revealed, he would undoubtedly be unparalleled.

“That’s only the official reason, the real reason I came today is to talk about something else.”

Tilda narrowed her eyes instinctively, her gaze sharpening without her meaning to.

Calles caught it at once.

“You know, you always look like a cornered cat when you talk to me.”

“And you’ve never thought why that might be?”

“How hurtful. I was trying to offer something helpful.”

The truth was that Tilda knew, too. Calles was undeniably on her side now. He’d once said he wanted her to fall – but so far, everything he’d done had been far more than helpful.

It was only his sinister intentions and lewd tone that made her wary.

“I thought you needed someone reliable to run errands for you.”

Tilda was struck again by how perfectly timed his offers always seemed to be – how he could anticipate her needs before she expressed them.

“I’ll send the Edzel siblings over.”

The Edzel siblings were Stella and her younger brother Komli, who had served her during her stay at Calles’ villa. They were such a lovely pair that it was hard not to adore them.

“Aren’t they your servants?”

“That’s why I’m sending them to you. They already know all our secrets, so you can tell them anything.”

“…”

“Besides, I think Komli likes you more than me.”

Though he said it lightly, Calles was the respected leader of the Turin, the same was true for the Edzel siblings. They were children he had cared for and protected.

Sending them to her was no small gesture. It was a significant gift.

“Thank you.”

Calles stared at her intently. His unwavering gaze made her own eyes falter, slowly dropping to the floor.

‘Was that the first time I’d ever thanked him?’

Maybe that’s why she felt a little awkward.

“You know what?”

Calles said suddenly, his voice cryptic as he rose from his seat. He stepped forward, and as his tall frame stood directly in front of her, Tilda slowly raised her eyes to meet his.

Her eyes, which had been wandering uncertainly, came to a halt, as if caught and held by the forest-like depth of his gaze.

“When I look into your eyes, it’s as if I’m drowning in a deep, bottomless pool… struggling to breathe.”

Tilda didn’t understand what he was saying. She couldn’t believe that someone like him could ever feel overwhelmed by her.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

But her mouth was dry. Calles’ gaze remained fixed on her, unwavering and intense. His ceremonial robes fit his body perfectly, rising and falling slightly with each breath, adding to the tension between them.

As he exhaled deeply, his throat bobbed. The tight buttons of his shirt strained under the subtle curve of the movement.

The sight was undeniably sensual, and it brought an unbidden memory to her mind: The first night they had spent together.

As the heat rushed to her ears, she could hear the loud pounding of her own heartbeat echoing in her head. Only the sound of faint breathing filled the silent room.

Tilda felt breathless just looking at him in the silence. When she finally parted her dry lips to speak. Calles pressed his mouth to hers.

“Mmph-…”

His lips pressed against hers, hot and insistent.

His tongue didn’t ask permission; it stormed in like a conqueror, violent and greedy, pounding with the intention of claiming.

As it plunged deep enough to brush the base of her tongue, a cough almost escaped her throat. But unlike his usual calm self, Calles was anything but calm.

Starting with her mouth, it felt like he was devouring her, piece by piece – even her soul.