Documents awaiting his signature were piled high. Just as many pen nibs and inkwells were lined up neatly in the corner.

There were no other traces of daily life.

It looked bleak and lonely.

You must have felt this way every moment.

The unfamiliar discovery left her with a strange feeling. She was hardly in a position to pity him.

Before long, there was a knock and the door opened.

“Turn around.”

The moment she turned around in surprise, Astaire’s voice fell. Daphne’s exposed shoulders trembled slightly.

The sound of splashing water.

Then came the sound of wringing out a wet cloth in his hands.

“You need to wipe it off quickly before it dries.”

“…I can do it myself. Give it to me.”

Daphne glared at the study wallpaper again and held out one hand behind her back.

A brief silence passed, and Astaire eventually handed over the wet towel.

Daphne hurriedly wiped the paint from her collarbone, chest, and arms.

How much time had passed that the paint stains were already starting to dry and stick. A few wipes weren’t enough to remove them.

Her reason blurred with impatience. Thinking he was watching her continuously made heat rush to her earlobes.

That’s when it happened.

Her hair, reaching down to her waist, was gathered up and lifted. The nape of her neck, hidden by his hand, was fully exposed.

Daphne stopped breathing for a moment.

“Be careful. Don’t get it in your hair.”

It was simply an action based on courtesy. Selfless consideration he could show anyone.

Even though it must be manners ingrained from a lifetime as high nobility, she found herself ridiculous for reacting to his touch.

Honestly, it wasn’t easy.

All her nerves were focused on the empty back of her neck. While entrusting her hair to him.

She knew this uncomfortable situation would end once she wiped off the paint stains, but it wasn’t going as she wanted.

“Almost done.”

Only after rubbing several times with appropriate pressure did the paint come off completely.

Looking down, she could see exactly where she’d rubbed with the wet towel—blotchy red marks remained on her skin.

She was conscious of Astaire behind her. Instinctively, she crossed her arms to hide the reddened marks.

“I’m done now.”

She finally returned the wet towel to him. Only her arm stretched back, while her upper body still faced the wall.

Then Astaire suddenly sighed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Wait a moment.”

Squeeze—she heard the man wringing out the wet towel over the basin.

Whether he’d deliberately brought warm water, she could feel warmth from the damp towel.

Astaire wiped her arms.

It felt quite different from when she’d done it herself.

Daphne carefully turned only her head back.

Astaire’s figure barely caught at the edge of her vision.

Transparent water droplets formed on the fingers gripping the wet towel.

Long fingers with protruding bones along blue veins—anyone could see they were a man’s hands.

Hands she’d once desperately wished would hold hers.

Daphne found herself watching him intently without realizing it.

Then at some point, she ended up making direct eye contact with Astaire.

She turned away from him like she was fleeing.

She felt like a child caught red-handed playing a prank.

Her heart beat rapidly.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

She didn’t know why she was acting this way. She blamed herself inwardly. He was another woman’s man anyway. He was sharing body and heart with a woman who wasn’t her.

Then she heard a snickering sound from beside her.

“Can I turn around now?”

“…No, not yet.”

Though it was an obvious joke, the two willingly let themselves be fooled by each other.

“I have a favor to ask.”

“What is it?”

“First, please turn around.”

When there was no answer and she looked back, Astaire was willingly showing her his back as she’d asked.

“Could you leave the room and bring me some clothes?”

“Do I really need to do it? You could just call a maid.”

Daphne was at a loss for words. She realized he was targeting what she’d said when undressing earlier, asking him to call a maid.

“Since my wife is asking, I should do it without complaint.”

Astaire muttered with a deliberately exaggerated feeling. There was no sign of displeasure at all. Only playfulness filled his voice.

“…I don’t want anyone to see us like this.”

It was embarrassing to have to explain with her own mouth why she needed to go that far. Daphne’s face reddened.

“Why? Would it be terrible if someone saw? Are we doing something bad?”

He chuckled like he was hearing something amusing.

“It’s not even night right now…”

“Have you forgotten what we are to each other?”

Husband and wife. At least for now.

She knew what answer he wanted, but Daphne didn’t want to tell him obediently.

The man didn’t hide his amusement, but she quietly sighed.

Playing this ridiculous joke with only their backs facing each other, not even looking at each other’s faces, felt like a farce.

Daphne suddenly realized the corners of her mouth had crept upward.

She quietly covered her mouth and hardened her expression.

Come to think of it, it was the first time.

In their bleak contract marriage, no different from patron and ward, boss and subordinate—laughing over trivial matters and having small conversations.

Could Astaire also be feeling this atmosphere right now?

She forcibly suppressed the impulse to turn around and check. She couldn’t understand this emotion herself. Why did she want to confirm it?

The settled air felt heavy. The density of silence grew thicker.

At this rate, she worried he might hear her heartbeat.

“I’ll get your clothes.”

Astaire, who spoke first in the tense atmosphere, left the study.

This time too, what Daphne could see was his retreating figure.

Click.

The moment the study door closed, his retreating figure also disappeared from view. Daphne gasped for breath like someone who’d just surfaced from deep water.

At the thought she’d just had, a dizzy feeling washed over her like she’d been hit in the head with a hammer.

He’s acting like a real husband to me.

It was ironic that this was happening only after she’d already told him she wanted a divorce. Daphne smiled bitterly while facing her reflection dimly visible in the window.

Knock knock.

“I brought your clothes. Get dressed and come out.”

When the door opened again, only Astaire’s arm holding indoor clothes peeked through.

“Call if you need help.”

Even after the door closed, no footsteps could be heard from outside. Astaire seemed to be standing and waiting right outside the door.

The words “call if you need help” meant to call him, not to call a servant.

Daphne felt quite uncomfortable with this situation of occupying the spacious room alone while leaving the room’s owner standing outside. So she emptied her mind as much as possible and quickly changed clothes.

The simply designed dress fluttered greatly once below her knees as Daphne hurriedly put it on.

It would be nice if it stopped there. But papers neatly placed in one corner of Astaire’s desk scattered.

As she quickly picked up the documents and put them back in place, Daphne was suddenly overcome with a strange sense of déjà vu.

She felt an impulse to check those documents.

Even knowing nothing good would come from poking around unnecessarily, her hand was already moving in that direction.

“…This is.”

Daphne, who’d been muttering, quietly covered her mouth.

They were documents related to the shipping company run by her father, Viscount Brandley. Since Astaire and her father were entangled not only through debt but also business-wise, there was nothing particularly strange about it.

The problem was something else.

The debt her father’s shipping company had incurred using Astaire’s name was enormous. It seemed he’d not only received simple investment but also taken out additional loans.

It was a much larger amount than she could imagine.

Even adding a zero to the amount she’d imagined wouldn’t be enough.

Only then did she understand. The amount Astaire had told her she’d incurred as additional debt was essentially just the tip of the iceberg.

“Is something wrong?”

Standing there dazed with a pale face, Astaire knocked on the door from outside.

The moment Daphne hurriedly arranged the documents she’d been reading back in place, the door opened with a click.

“Why does your face look like that again?”

Astaire, who’d confirmed her face, narrowed his brow. His voice was more irritated than worried. Well, for him it would mean one more thing to worry about.

No, wait a moment.

Astaire was worrying about her right now.

Daphne fell into a dazed feeling for a moment. She couldn’t believe it even though she’d thought it herself.

“…How do I look right now?”

Somehow hiding the turmoil in her heart, she asked while concealing her trembling voice as much as possible.

On one hand, she also felt rebellious.

Who are you anyway? To suddenly care about my condition now.

Rather bristling like a hedgehog, Astaire didn’t bother asking more. Daphne turned sharply and left his room.

Behind her, Astaire followed, stepping on her shadow. While Daphne hurried her steps with widening strides, Astaire easily caught up with his long legs even walking leisurely.

Before she knew it, Daphne was looking at his back. Like she always had. Even while passing through the desolate corridor and coming down the stairs, they said nothing to each other.

Then they happened to see the Grand Duchess and Reina coming out of the glass garden.

“Astaire?”

“Oh my, when did you come home?”

Then the two women looked quite surprised to see Daphne, who’d come out changed into neat clothes.

Whether he knew the meaning of those expressions or was pretending not to know, Astaire asked calmly.

“When did you come to the mansion?”

“Not long ago.”

“Coming without even notifying us you’d visit.”

His words carried undisguised displeasure. The Grand Duchess seemed troubled, not having expected her eldest son to dislike her visit this much.

She soon moved her lips like she was about to say something. But having nothing particular to refute, she eventually pressed her lips shut.

“Even if you’re my mother, it’s troublesome if you visit without contact. I’m also clearly living here building a home with my wife.”

Saying this, Astaire ostentatiously wrapped his arm around Daphne’s shoulder.

Because the indoor dress she’d just changed into was made of much lighter and thinner linen material, she could feel his body heat directly.

Though she didn’t want to admit it, it was warm. It even seemed to give her a sense of stability.

“And you.”

But when Astaire opened his mouth while looking at Reina, it felt like cold water had been dumped on her head.

“…Never mind.”

Quite differently from how he’d been with his mother, Astaire said nothing. Toward his childhood friend who’d visited the mansion without notice, he neither got angry nor showed pleasure.

Daphne quietly sneered.

Well, that was more like the Astaire Seyfried she knew.

Though they were childhood friends secretly sharing affection, there were still watching eyes so it couldn’t be helped.

The shoulder where Astaire’s touch had landed and left felt empty.