Chapter 11: A New Deal

An unsettling bird statue sat atop the cold, dead fireplace.

Its sleek back, finely crafted plaster surface, and the amethyst sapphire set in its beak sparkled with the same mysterious light as that woman’s eyes.

‘To Carlisle, you’re nothing but a tool. Just something to provoke me, something to use up and throw away.’

Even when she talked about being a tool, that woman’s face was as serene as ever.

She hadn’t seemed the least bit intimidated, even when she saw me pregnant, and had been outright brazen about it.

How many times had it been now?

Pausing for a moment, Leilia let her gaze linger on the revived statue.

She’d thought it would disappear once she smashed it, but like weeds in a field, it kept coming back—both the memories of that woman and the feelings she thought she’d erased.

“It’s a work of incomparable beauty. The color, the curves, the texture—there’s not a single thing lacking.”

A familiar voice echoed through the empty parlor.

Following the sound with a sideways glance, she saw Carlisle, his gaze fixed on the statue, stroking his chin.

Behind him, Ethan stood, expressionless as ever, like a shadow.

“You don’t look like you agree. It took quite a bit of effort to find another one just like it.”

Carlisle tilted his head slightly, lifting one corner of his mouth in a faint smile.

Then, as if it were the most natural thing, he turned and sat on the single armchair in the center of the room.

“At least there’s no risk of rumors spreading. The ever-thorough Duke of Liston cleaned up after himself well.”

“They say the younger the wife, the more work she is. Seems it’s true. You’re a bit of trouble for a partner.”

Carlisle frowned, opening the leather case in his pocket.

Thick fingers selected a well-dried cigar.

Soon, the dry room filled with the acrid scent of tobacco.

Through the haze of smoke, Carlisle’s clean-cut figure emerged.

Over his stubbornly buttoned black shirt, his richly embroidered gold cape and the chain links gleamed with ostentatious splendor.

“This time, try not to break it by accident. That gem cost quite a bit to have set.”

Yet beneath all that, the scarred skin stood in open defiance of the Duke’s perfect image.

Unlike his upright demeanor at the ball, here Carlisle made no effort to hide his particular kind of carelessness.

“May you treasure the Empress’s grace, Leilia Liston.”

At the continued warning, Leilia only maintained her silence.

Even after seeing the curses sent by that woman, it seemed that great love was still alive.

Or perhaps they were simply comforting themselves, convinced their beloved could never do such a thing.

As her thoughts drifted, Carlisle relaxed his upper body and patted the empty seat beside him.

At the same time, wisps of smoke curled upward in the empty drawing room.

When their eyes met, his arrogant face tipped his chin in her direction.

“Sit.”

Even faced with his overbearing attitude, Leilia never retreated.

She simply looked at Carlisle with an indifferent face.

Those golden irises, as serene as an autumn lake, were chillingly calm.

Carlisle spoke.

“Since we’re here, should we have a meal?”

“I have a weak stomach.”

At her answer, Carlisle’s brow creased in displeasure.

She hadn’t meant to provoke him, but apparently he felt otherwise.

He let out a short laugh, then blew out the remaining taste from his mouth.

“Weak stomach?”

The Duke of Liston ground out his cigar on the table and stood.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over Leilia’s face.

As the height between them shifted, her steady gaze rose along a diagonal line.

“What a shame. You’ll have to share flesh and skin with someone like that every single day.”

He was suddenly so close, his voice turning sticky.

Ethan stood behind, but the Duke didn’t care.

Carlisle swept back Leilia’s disheveled hair and pressed her earlobe, his hand sliding along her waist and up her bare stomach.

“Maybe our love will grow in here too.”

“Disgusting. Absolutely revolting.”

Leilia let a wry smile slip, voicing everything in her heart.

If it had been the old her, she might have been fooled by sweet words like these, wagged her tail, and gladly rolled over.

“Don’t push me away when I’m trying so hard. You know my temper isn’t pleasant.”

At her sharp reaction, Carlisle narrowed his eyes and softly stroked Leilia’s cheek.

Then he stepped closer, closing the distance between them.

When she tried to pull away, his arm only tightened around her waist, keeping her in place.

“If you keep this up, I’ll have to try a different method. I’d like to at least treat you with basic decency, but if you keep this up, I might have to change my mind.”

The Duke of Liston whispered softly, locking eyes with Leilia.

After a brief pause, he curled up one corner of his mouth and leaned in.

The acrid scent of smoke brushed her nose and mingled with her breath.

Leilia stiffened at the familiar sensation.

She knew, just as Carlisle had said, that there was no point in provoking him.

Their desires were clear—give what the other wanted, take what was offered, and that was that.

But maybe because this could be the end, she felt a rebellious spark she hadn’t known in a long time.

In all her repeated lives, she’d always danced to the strings others pulled.

If this was the end, why hide what she felt or what she wanted to say?

She was going to die anyway.

Her long eyelashes trembled, casting shadows over her face.

Then, reaching out, she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders

 Just as he had in the past, she, too, treated this as nothing more than an act stripped of emotion.

The dry air grew damp with the heat of their bodies.

Feeling desire for an attractive partner was only natural.

Heat rose to Leilia’s cheeks.

Just as instinct began to well up, Carlisle pulled away, licking his wet lips and fixing his gaze on her.

Traces of heat still showed on her pale skin, blooming like brushstrokes.

“What did the doctor say?”

“I wonder why you’re asking when you already know the answer.”

Leilia, breathless, shot back.

The way she turned hot when they touched, only to bare her teeth once it was over, was oddly fascinating to Carlisle.

Maybe that was why he wanted to tease her more.

“I told you. Satisfying your urges right away is inefficient. That’s just… base release.”

Thick fingers gently wiped Leilia’s lips, muffling his words.

He looked like a sated lion toying with its prey, ruling over her and enjoying every bit of mockery—a wicked predator.

“Didn’t they say your fertile days start in two days?”

The Duke returned to his seat and lit another cigar, crossing his long legs with arrogant ease.

Watching that faint smirk, a tangle of emotions boiled up in Leilia’s chest.

“Make sure everything’s ready. I want it handled at the right time, in the right way.”

In that instant, the calm hazel eyes flashed with cold light.

He spoke of their relationship as if reciting a chore, mentioned children as if picking an item off a shelf.

For the Duke of Liston, it was as natural as breakfast.

And Leilia knew that perfectly well.

But for some reason, her body felt oddly feverish, her lips trembling ever so slightly.

Was it that the memory of Carlisle, long thought extinguished, was slowly being reignited inside her?

Leilia was annoyed by these changes in herself.

‘It’s nothing. Whatever Carlisle Liston does, it has no effect on me.’

She tried to hypnotize herself, suppressing these useless emotions.

Just then, Carlisle stood up and faced her.

Determined not to reveal what was going on inside, Leilia built her walls even higher and wiped all expression from her face.

He spoke.

“Looks like you’ve sent away that girl who was always hanging around you. Are you finally going to obey me?”

“I just sent her out to run an errand.”

With a low sigh, a trail of smoke hung in the air.

It looked so much like lingering regret that Leilia’s brow furrowed in irritation.

“Don’t act foolish. If you wander too long, I’ll have no choice but to use force.”

“…..”

“And another thing—if you need to interact with anyone outside, don’t send that mess of a girl. Call for the head maid instead.”

Carlisle muttered in a low voice as he stubbed out his cigarette carelessly.

Then he glanced at the new statue on the mantel and let a slow smile spread across his face.

“Act like you belong to Liston. Even the mighty Empress won’t dare look down on you.”

In that moment, a chill cut between them like ice water.

If not for the knock that came just then, Leilia felt like she might have suffocated to death.

“Madam, I’ve brought the guest you asked for—”

Startled, Timo covered her open mouth with her hand and bowed her head.

Carlisle narrowed his eyes and glanced at Leilia, as if waiting for her answer.

Of course, her gaze was elsewhere.

Her golden eyes slid past Carlisle to fix on his aide, Ethan.

“Ethan, was it?”

“Yes, Madam.”

“I’d like you to do something for me.”

“For… me?”

“Today, I’d like you to send a letter of thanks to the Empress. Now that I’m a member of Liston, you should get used to receiving orders.”

Carlisle’s expression instantly turned icy.

Facing her husband, Leilia gave a beautiful, innocent smile.

“This seems like a good start. Thank you for sharing what’s yours. If I get the chance, I hope we meet in person someday.”

***

“I heard Madam asked for me. That you had something urgent to discuss.”

After Carlisle left, the drawing room welcomed a new guest.

Tall and striking, with hair and eyes as black as a midnight sky, his speech was measured and voice gentle—a man whose politeness seemed built into his very nature.

Albion Prudence.

The second son of a viscount’s family, Albion was brilliant, but never truly recognized.

Though he’d graduated at the top of his class from the most prestigious schools, he lived each day hounded by creditors and ground down by the hardships of life.

The most ideal and perfect person to help her.

Looking at Albion now, Leilia felt sure once more.

Even in the worst circumstances, he didn’t flinch, and she found it impressive.

Setting down her teacup, Leilia spoke first.

“I heard you left the capital and settled near the border?”

“Yes. I opened a small office and work as a translator.”

“I heard you’re also a skilled interpreter—you must know quite a few languages.”

“My mother tongue is Feltroan. I’m fluent in Nertia and Libert, and I can also handle the old tongue.”

“And you’re using your earnings to pay off your father’s debts, aren’t you?”

“Thirty million berks, to be precise. Most people couldn’t save that in a lifetime. It’ll take time, but I won’t run away from my responsibilities.”

At his answer, Leilia simply nodded.

Thirty million berks.

If she liquidated everything she’d been secretly saving up, it was an amount she could manage—though it would mean scraping the bottom of the barrel.

With a faint scoff, Leilia cut off her wandering thoughts and lowered her gaze.

“I’d like to make you an offer…”

Her slender finger traced slow circles along the rim of her teacup, letting the silence linger.

At the same time, those black eyes turned to face her.

“It’ll be hard to refuse. At least, I hope so.”

As her long legs crossed at an angle, her pale ankle was revealed in full view.

The subtle, secret provocation made Albion’s throat bob ever so slightly.

“Sir Albion Prudence.”

“….”

“Be my lover.”