***

How many days had it been since he last slept?

Leaning back in his chair, James Ashton tried to recover his fading sense of time.

Only after checking the calendar did he confirm that he hadn’t returned home for several days.

But the vast amount of information brought in by the Silomon merchant ships had filled him with excitement—an excitement he couldn’t bring himself to stop until it burned out completely.

And today, his workload had only increased.

He closed his eyes, attempting to ease his fatigue with a brief rest—but the moment his thoughts turned to home, the image of Eliza surfaced, and his irritation slowly sharpened.

‘She’s alone again…’

He wondered if she was once more struggling with loneliness—then slightly furrowed his brow.

He could no longer trust the information he had.

His wife might very well be doing as she had before—taking advantage of his absence to indulge herself alone, dressed in lavish nightwear.

“Ha…”

Since collapsing recently, Eliza had begun expressing her emotions more openly than before.

The woman who had always seemed to suppress everything—restless, holding herself back—now sometimes pursed her lips in quiet displeasure and even shot him glances behind his back.

At first, he had carefully observed her, wondering if it was a symptom of a concussion or emotional instability.

But as time passed, it became harder to see it that way.

Then where did this lingering discomfort—this unease—come from?

With his eyes still closed, James frowned faintly.

He had a strong intuition that the entrance to a gold mine of investment—Silomon—would soon open.

Even if those in Athern dismissed it as impossible.

What he needed was evidence to support that intuition.

When that “what if” became reality, he intended to be the first to rush in.

For that, he couldn’t afford to rest now.

If he succeeded, he could achieve everything he had set his sights on.

He could make Eliza spend years decorating a grand mansion in the eastern district—far beyond that small two-story house.

And for that, he believed it was only natural for her to make sacrifices.

Enduring the loneliness of his absence, for example.

But that unease—that vague discomfort—was interfering with the rest essential to sustaining his relentless pace.

He could no longer ignore it.

Yet it made no sense to abandon his piled-up work and return home simply to settle his doubts.

“….”

After a brief moment of consideration, James found a compromise between his ambition and his discomfort as a husband.

He instructed Sierra to send a telegram to the house.

***

Eliza could only glare in disbelief as she read the telegram.

[Bank, 4 p.m. — J.]

‘Is he out of his mind?’

‘If he packed his clothes and left like that, he should just stay away. And now he can’t even wait and wants to see my face in between?’

Clutching the telegram, Eliza fumed.

‘I’m not some neighborhood dog he can summon with a scrap of paper, how am I supposed to run away at this rate?!’

She shut her eyes tightly, trying to swallow her anger. If escape had been so easy, there would have been no wives left behind in that house to begin with.

Then, to steady herself, she closed her eyes again and forced her thoughts into order.

‘Back then, I was grateful for every chance to see my husband. I should hold on to that feeling… so James won’t notice how much I’ve changed.’

She tried desperately to summon the emotions of her past self—but all that surged within her now was anger.

By the time she finished dressing, her frustration had worn itself down enough for her to calm slightly.

“He probably just wants me to bring his change of clothes. They must stink. Maybe when I get to the bank, someone at the desk will stop me and just toss the bag at me. Right. A busy man like him wouldn’t call me just because he wanted to see me.”

She went to the kitchen, brewed herself a cup of flower tea said to soothe the mind, and drank it before leaving the house.

When she arrived at Roycobs Bank, Eliza hesitated at the entrance, peeking through the door, half-afraid she might run into Deonar.

Only then did she push it open and step inside.

The receptionist greeted her with a bright smile, and Eliza returned the gesture politely.

But the employee handed her nothing.

‘D*mn it.’

When she finally went upstairs to James’s office, the secretary, Sierra, welcomed her with a smile.

“Mrs. Ashton, the director is waiting for you. Thank you so much for the chocolates last time—they were absolutely delicious.”

“Thank you, Miss Sierra. I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

Eliza stared at the door, took a slow breath, and knocked.

“James.”

“Come in.”

“….”

At the sound of his low, steady voice, Eliza opened the door—but he was nowhere in sight.

Stepping in cautiously, she found him seated behind the desk, leaning back in his chair.

With his eyes closed, he looked calm and composed, as though he had fallen into a deep afternoon nap.

But he had just answered her—so he wasn’t asleep.

Eliza glanced at the wall clock and confirmed it was four o’clock.

The realization that he now summoned her only to not even look at her made the calming effect of the flower tea vanish instantly.

Still, she spoke as calmly as she could.

“I’m sorry for disturbing your rest, James.”

For a moment, there was no reply.

‘This bastard…’

Just as Eliza pressed her lips together, he finally spoke.

“Come here.”

There was a faint note of reproach in his tone, as if asking why she was hesitating instead of coming over on her own.

Keeping her mouth shut, she stepped closer until she stood beside his chair.

“Are you unwell?”

“No. It’s just my break.”

Hearing the fatigue in his voice, Eliza felt the slightest flicker of softness—not out of lingering affection, but from a simple human instinct. Back when she had been A-young, she had lived like an overworked employee herself.

‘Good grief, this exhausting man. How many nights has he been staying up?’

“Have you been sleeping at all?”

“….”

There was no answer, but it was clear enough, if he had been an ordinary man, he wouldn’t have endured such a grueling pace.

Shaking her head, she inwardly recoiled. As if dozing off in a chair like this could possibly count as rest.

“Why did you send the telegram—”

“I think I’ll be getting a new client.”

James’s low murmur overlapped with her question as he spoke with his eyes still closed.

Eliza tilted her head, unable to grasp the meaning of his words.

No one in the world could understand everything from that single sentence.

It wasn’t because she—or anyone else—lacked intelligence. It was because James had no desire to make himself understood.

What he meant, more or less, was this:

‘Count Winclaire and Marquis Phelin will likely become my clients. I don’t really have the capacity to take on new ones right now, but your organized materials gave me the push to go ahead anyway. In the long run, they’ll be valuable core clients.’

‘…I did think about calling you in to assist me, but that wouldn’t be good for my reputation. Thanks to that, I won’t be going home this week either.’

Meanwhile, Eliza waited in silence for him to continue, clicking her tongue inwardly.

‘Well of course you’d get new clients—what, were you planning to starve otherwise?’

Suppressing her true thoughts, she forced out a mechanically gentle tone.

“I see. Please don’t overexert your—”

But she couldn’t finish her sentence.

James reached out and suddenly seized her wrist.

Even though his eyes were clearly closed, he grasped her wrist with ease, as if he could see through his hands.

The warmth radiating from his palm felt like a red warning signal, and Eliza swallowed hard.

“Stay like that for a moment.”

James looked as though he were drawing energy from her through her skin—like a wireless charger she used in her past life.

‘…What is this all of a sudden?!’

Holding her breath like the protagonist of a horror film hiding in a closet, Eliza looked down at him.

Bathed in the slow, languid afternoon light streaming through the window, his face—eyes closed—looked like something out of a painting.

That image made the sharpness of her emotions feel strangely unreal.

Even knowing what kind of man he was—and what he would become—this moment didn’t feel as unbearable as it should have.

‘If only he’d keep that mouth of his shut. Just that mouth.’

At that moment, a crease formed between James’s brows.

As if dissatisfied, he clicked his tongue faintly, tightened his grip on her wrist, and suddenly pulled her toward him.

“El—”

Eliza let out a startled sound as she was dragged onto his lap. With the chair tilted back, it felt as though she had been pulled into his arms, nearly lying against him.

“Jame—”

But under the pull of James’s presence, the words she had tried to say—‘James, not here, this is your office’—never made it out. Her lips simply closed again.

With one arm loosely wrapped around her upper chest, James continued to breathe evenly, while her heart began to pound faster and faster.

His body felt unusually warm.

Or perhaps it was her who was burning up—but either way, it was overwhelming.

‘He’s so selfish!’

Trying to break the silence, she spoke.

“James, you should go home for the day. At this rate, you’ll damage your health.”

“Your friend stopped by.”

‘Lorina?’

A chill ran through Eliza, as though her blood had suddenly turned cold.

So Lorina had already dealt with Aedrin and begun approaching James.

She had thought Lorina had been quiet lately because things were going well with Aedrin—but she had been wrong.

‘Is this… fate?’

Unaware of her state, James continued in a low voice.

“I’ve never heard you mention him before.”

‘Him?’

His tone sounded languid on the surface, but there was a clear edge hidden beneath it.

She felt the slightest tightening in the hand that still held her wrist.