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Though there was no reason to feel awkward about her non-response, it was difficult to maintain his composure when his carefully planned move had vanished into thin air. Sion stepped back with an involuntary cough, gaining nothing.

All his plausible schemes had been used up and disappeared. Simply going outside and talking to a tree all day and night would be far more satisfying than dealing with this woman.

He grumbled internally and maintained his distance from Agate.

Meanwhile, she—who rarely refused desserts—was strangely just staring blankly at the beautifully shaped macaron. Sion, frustrated and half-resigned to spending time here as an ordinary butler to save travel funds, watched the scene indifferently.

The static moment continued as if time had stopped. Agate simply stared at the macaron while Sion stood motionless. If she wouldn’t even touch the macaron that the chef had boasted was his masterpiece, he planned to throw it in his mouth and clear the plate.

After all, the lady wouldn’t bat an eye either way.

‘Yes, this woman would maintain that blank expression even if the world split in two.’

This thought provided momentary comfort, but then an indescribable irritation surged through him like an electric current. The more he dwelled on it, the more he felt manipulated by the lady.

Looking back on his life, he had never felt so unfamiliar with himself. Daniel O’Neil, the last of his many personas, was beginning to eat away at his original identity, Sion Benzef.

He found himself repeatedly thinking about how to gain the lady’s attention—something he’d never done before—while increasingly experiencing unfamiliar emotions like frustration, wounded pride, and helplessness with each passing day.

He was approaching a month in Ponten. Though he had boasted about taming her, he was the one becoming accustomed to her icy attitude and indifference.

‘Of all people, to such a woman…’

The fact that Agate Irone was the one causing cracks in his pride, confidence, and everything that constituted his self made Sion sink into indescribable self-loathing.

His personality had been trampled and crushed because of the woman before him. Not literally, of course—this was just a metaphor for his emotional state.

He couldn’t leave Agate Irone alone, the one who had made him so miserable by fixating on her. A malicious desire welled up to make her feel exactly as he did.

How could he create ripples on that lofty, serene face like a calm water surface? Overwhelmed by a rare competitive spirit, Sion became consumed with the desire to break her somehow.

Even a little would suffice. He wanted to momentarily pull her up from that lake without ripples, from the endless depths into which she was sinking.

To pull her up and fill her hazy eyes with his image once more. That was his way of getting revenge on her, trapped alone in her broken world.

For just a moment, he wanted to forcibly brand his existence upon her like a hot iron. Beyond merely acknowledging his existence, he wanted her to see nothing but him.

Her thorough disregard had drawn out a persona he had never shown to light.

Sion’s green eyes flashed like midsummer foliage as he looked at Agate. This happened just as she finally picked up her fork after staring at the macaron for a long time.

Sion took long strides, instantly closing the gap between them. His steps toward her, his extended gaze, lifting his slender chin, ignoring the turbulence in her brown eyes—there was no hesitation in this continuous process.

Within a short span of time, he once again captured the lady’s lips with his own. The soft, squishy taste awakened his sensitive senses. She must have experienced a similar taste.

Sweeter, softer, and with a more lingering aftertaste than the macaron.

The brief kiss, lasting only a moment, ended.

Sion deliberately let his gaze droop lazily. As the lingering sensation in his mouth washed away, he saw a flash of light in her turbid pupils, where sandstorms had been swirling.

Slap

The momentary kiss was meant only as provocation or to vent his frustration. A longer ripple struck his cheek sharply like frost.

A hot sensation swelled on one side of his face. Turning his properly slapped head back to its original position, Sion’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile as he received the reaction he had most wanted.

Agate had seen him, felt him, and clearly expressed anger toward him. For a moment, as he had intended, he had completely monopolized Agate’s world.

Having thrown off his well-crafted butler’s mask, Sion made no effort to put it back on.

But the cheap triumph was brief. Agate, as if nothing had happened, put the macaron in her mouth and then drank her tea.

She drank and drank until the cup was empty. With that eternally motionless face, as if trying to wash away something lingering in her mouth.

It was vivid evidence that only Sion could recognize.

She was a woman who would only clear away those annoying, gloomy clouds and sandstorms when approached so crudely.

And he was disgusted by her serenity even in explosive emotions like anger. The fact that someone could so completely lose what should be inherent human emotions remained unfamiliar despite repeatedly experiencing it firsthand.

Her existence was extremely strange and alien.

Why? The answer was simple.

How many people in the world could afford the luxury of being so consumed by sadness?

‘Missing fiancé? Sure, you must have felt indescribable despair and loss. But listen, lady, while you’re sunk in despair, your butlers and maids are all around, serving you. You enjoy this mansion, food, clothes—all those things beyond necessity that commoners couldn’t dream of in their entire lives.’

As these thoughts continued, his gaze grew colder. Sion’s lips moved slightly, imperceptibly.

What a fortunate person. She could stay depressed for three years, doing nothing and shutting herself in her room without starving to death.

The sharp thoughts rampaging through his mind all screamed to burst out.

‘People like me, you know. We can’t rot in our emotions for so long. If we stayed home wallowing in sadness like that, we’d starve to death with no bread to eat.’

And Sion, as he always did, suppressed these raging, chaotic thoughts. Temporary agitation was far too shallow to penetrate the layers of patience and pretense he had built over half a lifetime.

“Hey, will your fiancé come back if you pathetically mope around and burrow into the ground alone? Get a grip.”

Just as he had settled himself, words he could hardly believe had come from his own mouth burst forth.

Of all the many plausible harsh words, his three-inch tongue had chosen the most terrible and lowest rebuke. Though he could suppress his emotions, he had revealed the inferiority complex of his back-alley origins, engraved deep in his bones like an imprint.

First, he tried to extinguish the urgent fire by blurting out whatever came to mind.

“…is what your distant fiancé would lament, Miss.”

But the result was unsatisfactory.

‘How very convincing, Sion Benzef.’

This mansion must be haunted by ghosts. Without being possessed by something, he couldn’t have spilled such verbal blunders like a monkey falling from a tree.

‘Why at a time like this…!’

In his life, he could count on one hand the times he had spoken harshly or unpleasantly to others. To targets, it was nonexistent. He had neither the interest nor affection to speak directly at the risk of being disliked.

It was incredibly unfair. After restraining himself from lashing out at so many people who deserved it, the carefully built tower he had stacked to the top had all collapsed.

Agate filled Sion’s empty pupils, which seemed to have given up.

Now he would finally be fired. With no money, should he start by becoming homeless abroad?

Sion forcibly imprinted this scene that wouldn’t easily form in his mind while waiting for his employer’s judgment.

This time it was real. “Pathetic,” “get a grip”—undoubtedly the worst insult ever heard by a lady who had likely been treated more delicately than a porcelain doll her entire life.

Indeed, Sion didn’t miss how Agate’s gaze trembled slightly. Her attention, which had been focused solely on tea and desserts, shifted back to Sion.

As if to personally show him that she had clearly heard his slip of the tongue, she opened her large eyes even wider and glanced at him.

As her gaze lingered on him longer, his Adam’s apple moved up and down prominently. It was like the calm before a storm.

“……”

But that was all. No matter how much time passed, none of the countless scenarios he had worried about materialized.

Once again, that persistent disregard fell at his feet like alms. A treatment more unpleasant than any contempt.

‘Even after hearing such words, you still remain silent?’

Though his employer had personally shown mercy, Sion’s mood twisted like a rope instead of feeling relieved.