“Aisha, if you really insist, then I could ask Ian—”

While Daniel sat there with a sour look on his face, Aisha was quietly sinking into gloom. Seeing the shadow in his daughter’s expression, Graham began to speak. But the moment he mentioned Ian’s name, Marisa laid her hand firmly over her husband’s and fixed her daughter with a decisive look.

“Do as Daniel says. You told your father yourself you had no intention of getting engaged or married for the time being. This time, go with your brothers so you don’t give people anything to gossip about. I’m sure each of them can leave the position of partner open for you for a day. Rotating partners with your brothers doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

“…I’ll do that.”

At her mother’s stern words, Aisha bowed her head in defeat. Her gaze stayed fixed on her plate, her face darkening further. The atmosphere at the table sank with her, and Daniel muttered under his breath before he could stop himself.

“That bastard.”

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Ian had been sitting in his office for four hours straight, his pen moving as though it were part of him. Each time a document passed from the stack on his left to the stack on his right, the dry scent of paper and the distinctive tang of ink would rise above the desk, linger, and fade again. It was the kind of endless reading and judging that could easily grow tiresome, yet he worked on in silence, expressionless.

It was only after the pile on his left had vanished that the scratch of the pen finally stopped. With a faint furrow of his brow, Ian leaned back deep into his chair.

From this wider view, the teacup in the corner of his desk caught his eye. The white steam had long since dissipated, but the tea still held its clear, ruby-red hue. On the hard-edged desk, it was the only rounded object, and that alone was enough to draw his attention. Ian leaned forward from the backrest and reached for it.

Raised closer, the tea’s surface reflected his handsome features—only for the image to ripple and scatter. Gazing into the shifting water, some thought stirred in him, and he set the cup down carelessly.

Clack.

The thin porcelain scraped against the wood, and a small spill bled across the desk. The crimson spread to the corner of the last document he had yet to move, the ink smudging into a blurred stain. Ian raked a hand through his hair with an irritable motion, but did nothing else—no calling for someone, no moving the paper. Instead, he sank back into his chair and closed his eyes.

‘It just came to mind all of a sudden…’

A long, exasperated sigh escaped him. The moment he’d seen his own face in the tea’s surface, he had thought of a woman. More precisely, of a pale, tear-streaked face reflected there instead of his own.

Colorless lips, reddened eyes, light blue irises faded further by tears… and a few strands of hair, muted in color, clinging to her cheek.

To Ian, Aisha was a woman entirely pale and indistinct. Her appearance was that way, and so was she herself—a disagreeable blot of color bleeding into a world otherwise drawn in clear, sharp lines.

‘I’m. so tired.’

Thinking of her, the first feeling that came to him was weariness. No matter what he did, she was always the same foolish woman.

“I-it’s… nice to meet you…”

From the moment they met, Aisha had chased after him without rest. Once, he had even found her endearing, and—just a little, or rather, in a mistaken sort of way—thought he might like her.

But as he grew older and his mind matured, he came to understand. It had all been a misunderstanding, and the only thing left was distaste. For the sake of the fifteen years they had known each other, he had humored her, but even that sense of familiarity was gone now.

‘Fondness for the Parden daughter… as if.’

The more Ian thought of Aisha, the more an unbearable distaste lingered in his mouth. He pulled open the top drawer of his desk and took out a cigar. His hand trembled faintly—clear proof of just how irritated he was.

With a sharp fsshh, the tip of the cigar caught fire, and some of that irritation eased. Tilting his head all the way back, he drew in the thick, smoky air that clouded his thoughts. The smoke curled upward, forming a ring just before touching the ceiling, then faded away.

The shape reminded him too much of the curled ends of Aisha’s hair, and the anger surged back.

‘Three years should have been enough for her to get the message, shouldn’t it?’

It had been three years since Ian, aware of his own feelings, had begun to push her away. That was when the talk of an engagement had grown serious. At the time, he had struggled to understand himself, unsettled by the fact that he couldn’t readily agree to it.

‘If you’re disappointed, I’m sorry. But I’m not ready yet.’

At first, he had thought his reluctance came from shame at not being prepared. But as time went on, he realized the truth—there could be no engagement with Aisha.

Yet there was their long-standing acquaintance, and even if only verbal, a promise made since his father’s time. And back then, he had believed himself indebted to the Parden Count’s family.

“Ian, I think it’s time we spoke about your engagement to that girl, Aisha.”

“Ah… I actually have urgent business to attend to. When I return, I’ll call on you again. We can discuss it then.”

And so, he had deliberately behaved ambiguously. If he smiled with her one day and suddenly declared his dislike the next, he’d be nothing but a madman and a villain. Of course, keeping his answer hovering between acceptance and refusal could be called underhanded—but he felt no guilt toward Aisha.

‘In fact, it works in my favor to keep playing the fool for her. The more that lovesick girl suffers, the more that man will burn inside.’

Now, even the faint sense of distaste at his own behavior had vanished. During the six-month journey he had taken not long ago, he had found a clear reason to keep Aisha and the Parden family at arm’s length—proof of something he had suspected for more than two years. A reason to say he disliked her and be justified. His blue eyes gleamed with a chilling light as he stared at the lowest, locked drawer of his desk.

Knock, knock, knock.

He was still staring at the drawer with an icy expression when someone rapped on the office door. Snapping back to the present, Ian told them to enter and ground his cigar out in the ashtray.

“My lord, apologies for disturbing you, but it’s nearly time for your appointment with the Duke of Levantus.”

It was James who stepped inside. At his words, Ian gave a small nod, then reached toward the tea-stained papers on his desk. The signature area was a complete ruin.

[…substantial profit from the venture with the Parden Count’s family…]

Spotting the name Parden halfway down the page, Ian crumpled up the paper without hesitation. The sound of it being crushed in his hand drew a puzzled look from James, but Ian ignored him. He carelessly tossed the crumpled paper onto the desk and rose from his chair.

“Let’s go.”

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

In the capital city of Lyon, Bobes Street was the heart of fashion. From clothing to accessories, jewelry to cosmetics, every item one could need to dress in style lined the street in neat rows, dazzling passersby. Those with money to spare inevitably made their way to Bobes Street whenever they wished to indulge in elegance.

“Over there! Carry it carefully!”

“We’ve had this order for ages—what were you doing without checking it?”

As famous as it was, the street was always bustling. The shops people visited varied somewhat according to their social standing and wealth, but with commerce thriving, most establishments were full of customers. Keeping pace with ever-changing fashions, shop assistants were busy from early morning—sweeping the fronts, polishing windows, and receiving goods from all over—while the shop owners bustled about, urging their staff along and checking schedules for their important clients.

“It’s as crowded as ever here.”

“Well, Madame Louvre’s goods are both distinctive and of fine quality.”

Among the many busy shops along Bobes Street, Madame Louvre’s dress shop was especially lively. Catering to both nobles and commoners, it was less expensive than the exclusive salons reserved for the aristocracy, but it was by no means lacking in fashion or refinement. With its respectable quality at reasonable prices, it became a tempting lure—nobles had their clothes made there, while commoners visited for the thrill of stepping into a world they could rarely touch.

“That fool Paul took an order down wrong, so it’s been chaos since morning.”

“Better busy than idle. Just look at Mr. Randan’s shop across the street—ever since that blunder he made the other day, business has been so bad he’s been wearing a long face every day.”

“It’s unfortunate, but what can you do? I’ll rest inside for a bit—Anne, keep watch for me. Lady Aisha said she’d be arriving in about thirty minutes.”

“Yes, Madame. I’ll let you know as soon as she arrives.”

To be sure, Madame Louvre’s shop had many customers, but Aisha was a special one. Whenever she came, no matter how busy things were, Madame Louvre always attended to her personally.

It was only natural—nobles with a certain name and wealth rarely ordered clothing from a shop like Madame Louvre’s, which served commoners as well. Even among her noble patrons, most would only commission casual wear; few sought outfits for parties or formal occasions.

This meant Madame Louvre had difficulty securing commissions for high-priced pieces worthy of representing her shop—until Aisha solved that problem. Influenced by her father Graham and the family’s standing, Aisha frequented various boutiques to inspect their wares, and she often ordered fine gowns from Madame Louvre’s as well.

“Oh? She’s early! Madame! Madame!”

Anne, keeping watch as instructed, shouted the moment she spotted the Parden family’s carriage. Having worked at the shop for quite some time, she could recognize not only the carriage but also the horses of the Parden estate.

“Madame! Lady Aisha is here. Hurry, come out!”

“My goodness, she’s here already?”

As Madame Louvre crossed the shop at a brisk pace, the customers’ eyes followed her. It was only natural to be curious when the always-elegant proprietress went out of her way to greet someone with such enthusiasm. A few of the nobles inside recognized Aisha and Edward and began whispering among themselves.

“My lady, it’s been far too long. Ah… and Lord Edward is with you as well. What an honor to have you both here.”