“….”

Marie hurried in and poured water into his glass.

“My lady hasn’t come down yet.”

“….”

James, who had just lifted a spoonful of soup, set it back down and rose to his feet, heading upstairs.

Marie remained standing, watching him cautiously, wondering if something was wrong with the soup.

But the taste was the same as always.

It was simply that James’s mouth felt dull because of the irritation quietly stirring within him.

***

In the bedroom, Eliza still hadn’t made up her mind.

Whether she should get out of this bed or not.

Though she woke out of habit, she had always loved her sleep. The only reason she had endured rising at dawn all this time was her love for James—and now, that reason was gone.

So she lay there, caught in the powerful pull of sleep, hesitating and agonizing.

Even though she knew that, if she wanted to deceive him, she had to continue living exactly as she always had.

But before she could decide, she heard James’s footsteps drawing closer.

Thud. Thud.

Eliza’s timid heart began to pound uncontrollably.

“Eliza.”

James’s voice was as heavy and composed as the sound of his steps.

The moment he opened the door, he walked straight to the bed. Startled, Eliza quickly pulled the blanket up to just below her eyes and squeezed them shut.

She still lacked the resolve to face the man she would soon betray.

But she was a moment too late.

She opened her eyes again.

“…!”

Seeing James again after what felt like an eternity—though in reality it had only been two days—he felt strangely unfamiliar.

And so, every detail of his features stood out to her.

He looked even more perfect than the man in the portrait.

For a banker, his well-built physique was almost unbelievable—developed just enough to make the fit of his suit flawless, nothing more, nothing less. The white shirt he had just put on concealed it only partially.

Her gaze, blocked at first by his chest, slowly moved upward—to his arms, his shoulders—until their eyes met.

His blue eyes, so resolute, felt like a deep mire.

As if they held a kind of magic that made it impossible for others to freely assert their own will.

A heavy, refined scent clung to him.

His masculine, arrogant jawline was still faintly damp from shaving.

His sharply defined nose and deep-set eyes gave him the air of a seasoned strategist.

Calm and composed, yet brimming with ambition—he gave the impression of someone who might one day become an entirely different person, making others restless in his presence.

And yet, instead of blaming or questioning him, one felt the urge to coax him—to make him remember you.

He was always the kind of man who made others grow anxious first.

Eliza stared at him blankly as the thought crossed her mind.

‘Ah… right. This is how it was. Maybe this is why I fell for him…’

Her gaze remained fixed on him as her lips parted slightly, then she squeezed her eyes shut.

She thought the next thing she would hear would be his criticism—how could anyone sleep in like this?

But instead, James leaned down toward her, irritation evident on his face.

His scent hit her all at once.

She held her breath.

Meanwhile, James was at a loss for words.

The moment he opened the door, he had seen Eliza flinch in surprise, then try to pretend she was asleep.

Did she really think she could fool him?

A woman who already looked like a fairy was now frozen in place with wide, startled eyes—it only made the situation more absurd.

He spoke in a low voice.

“Are you ill?”

“No!”

Eliza answered reflexively—then wondered if she had just lied.

Could this racing heart and cold sweat coursing through her body really be called normal?

Even now, as she held knowledge of fate in her grasp and had decided to betray him—he was still a predator.

After staring at her intently for a moment, James reached out and placed his hand over her forehead.

His hand was large and warm.

Her heart began to race even faster at the heat of his touch.

She shut her eyes tightly, frustrated by how her body seemed to betray her.

James spoke again, his voice low, firm, and precise.

“Take care of your health. Don’t make me worry.”

His tone was so cold, so cutting, that it felt like a chill had settled over her, making her instinctively pull the blanket closer.

Her racing heart came to a screeching halt.

Ha.

After he left, she let out a small breath.

‘Right. That’s the kind of man he was! That’s exactly what he was like!’

Her thoughts burned with anger.

‘I’ll betray you beautifully. I’ll stab you in the back so hard your eyes will widen in shock.’

‘So perfectly that even your brilliant mind won’t be able to figure out where or when it all went wrong.’

And yet, even as she fumed, she felt unsettled.

The lingering warmth of his hand on her forehead—slightly tingling, almost burning—refused to fade.

And the depth of his gaze from moments ago had pierced straight through her, shaking her from the very core.

She hated it.

She hated that her body still remembered him—that those familiar sensations ignored her resolve.

So recalling James’s cold, almost inhuman tone from moments ago helped.

“‘Take care of your own health’?”

Now, Eliza could see things clearly.

The dangerous, masculine charm radiating from James Ashton’s appearance was nothing more than the camouflage of a predator.

The moment she let her guard down, she would be swallowed whole and reduced to nothing.

‘Get a grip, Eliza.’

Only then did regret creep in.

She should have said she was unwell earlier and gone to rest in her hobby room for a while.

But she had already said she was fine and he had confirmed she didn’t have a fever.

There was no undoing it now.

Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to go downstairs and face him again. Instead, she remained curled beneath the blanket.

At some point, she drifted off to sleep.

She woke to the sound of James’s carriage departing and slipped out of bed.

Outside, the sky was just beginning to brighten.

As she watched a lamplighter move down the street, extinguishing the lamps one by one, she muttered in displeasure,

“At this rate, you’ll work yourself to death, you idiot.”

Her eyes widened slightly.

‘That wouldn’t be so bad, actually….’

But she soon shook her head.

With James’s inhuman stamina, it seemed like an impossible wish.

He was, in a way, like the special forces of the banking world.

After changing her clothes, she went down to the dining room. Marie looked startled when she saw her.

“My lady, are you feeling unwell?”

“Just… a bit heavy, that’s all.”

Eliza’s heart pounded at the lie.

But Marie naturally assumed that, after collapsing just the day before, it was only expected that she wouldn’t be in perfect condition yet.

As she brought out a late breakfast, Marie said,

“The master told me to ask what time you’ll be ready and make an appointment with Dr. Phillips. He seemed quite concerned that you overslept.”

‘Concerned?’

Eliza felt a surge of emotion at Marie’s tone, which carried a hint of admiration—until she suddenly realized why.

Her expression nearly twisted with rising anger, and she quickly lowered her gaze, answering quietly,

“I’ve caused him unnecessary worry. I’m fine, so there’s no need.”

Eliza knew exactly what James had found “concerning.”

Because she had collapsed, she hadn’t pressed his shirt.

He couldn’t tolerate a shirt that wasn’t perfectly ironed.

Grinding her teeth, she thought—

‘I’d better recover quickly… so I can press his shirts for him!’

Oblivious to her thoughts, Marie continued,

“But you really should see a doctor. My lady, you oversleeping like this—this is the first time since you had the flu last year, isn’t it? I’m truly worried.”

“Don’t be.”

Ah—was that too firm?

Eliza cast a quick glance at Marie before continuing her meal. She knew she had to act as she always did in front of her, but it wasn’t easy.

Because in the near future, Marie would be someone who could be bought by Lorina, someone who would report every detail of her life.

Sensing the tension, Marie tried to lighten the mood and began chatting.

“The last time Miss Winclaire visited, she wore a deep purple velvet dress. The black lace along the sleeves and waist was so elegant! As expected of the count’s only daughter—she really does carry clothes differently.”

“Of course. I know.”

If she had met Lorina that day, Eliza already knew exactly what she would have said and done.

Lorina often had new dresses made and would visit her regularly.

Over tea, she would pout slightly and say the dress had been specially commissioned from a certain boutique, wondering aloud if it was pretty.

Only after Eliza praised her—at least four times—would Lorina finally seem reassured, and then she would say,

“Shall we go together next time? If I introduce you to the madam, you might be able to have a dress made there too. No matter how selective she is with her clients. That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?”

And Eliza would always respond like this:

“Thank you so much for thinking of me, Lorina. I’d like to be careful with the money my husband works so hard to earn, but if I ever need a fine dress, I’ll be sure to ask you.”

Why hadn’t she realized?

That Lorina’s words really meant—Eliza, unlike me, you wouldn’t even be allowed into such a boutique.

And that all her concerned questions about Eliza’s daily life had merely been a way to pry into it.

Eliza found it astonishing, in hindsight, how foolish she had been to live her life believing there was no such thing as malice in this world.