“Ah…”

At Aisha’s unusual reaction, Edward turned—and saw a man and woman stepping into the restaurant. His brows drew together as he silently mouthed the name of the man with the elegantly dressed lady clinging to his arm.

‘Ian…’

Of all people, Ian was the last man Edward wanted to see right now, especially after hearing those rumors about his sister. His frown deepened as his gaze lingered on Ian—then he remembered Aisha and turned to her again. If she had seen him walk in arm in arm with another woman, she’d surely be upset. Her face earlier had gone pale…

‘Hm?’

But to his surprise, Aisha’s expression was perfectly composed. Her head was lowered slightly, her gaze cast down, but that was all. There was no sign of hurt or shock on her face.

‘…Good.’

Edward let out a silent breath of relief. But just as that thought crossed his mind, he heard the ominous sound of footsteps approaching. A glance over his shoulder confirmed it—Ian, with the woman still on his arm, was following the waiter straight toward their table. Edward swore inwardly, uncharacteristically.

‘He’s doing this on purpose…’

Just before they reached the table, Ian bent his head toward the woman and murmured something. Whatever it was made her burst into a peal of laughter.

And in that moment, Aisha dropped her fork.

Clink.

The sound wasn’t loud, but it carried far enough for those nearby to hear. Edward saw her quickly tuck her trembling hand into her sleeve and bit down hard on his lip as he turned his eyes inward.

Ian met his gaze briefly, gave the smallest of nods, and then, guided by the waiter, took a seat diagonally across from them—close enough that Edward could see his irritatingly smug face in perfect clarity.

“Lady Loretta, thank you for gracing me with your precious time.”

Ian said, lifting the woman’s hand and pressing a loud kiss to the back of it, deliberately for all to see.

Edward caught the faint flinch that ran through Aisha at the sound and immediately raised his hand to signal a waiter.

“Bring me the bill.”

While the bill was being prepared, Aisha remained silent. But Edward, glancing at the ruined cake before her, knew her heart had been crushed just as thoroughly.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

In the capital, there were certain districts more alive at night than during the day—and most of those night streets were steeped in alcohol.

A thirty-minute carriage ride along the main road to the left of the imperial palace brought one to an entire stretch of establishments that catered exclusively to noblemen: the so-called “social halls of the night.” Unlike the salons where noblewomen freely participated, these night halls strictly excluded them.

The usual excuse was that night and drink posed dangers to women. In truth, however, the difference was simple—while the salons centered on literature, the arts, and genteel debate, the night halls were abuzz with talk of politics and economics. And that, in turn, meant that the true reins of power lay in the hands of the men who gathered there.

Because noblewomen were barred from entering, some of the night social halls made up for it by bringing in scantily clad women who worked under the glow of red lamps. In such low-class establishments, bawdy talk and crude behavior were the norm.

It was a far cry from the virtues that nobles were supposed to uphold—yet, for some reason, many noblemen favored these places. As a result, the number of halls that kept “flowers of the night” on their payroll only continued to grow.

“Wait here.”

“Yes, young master.”

On a street lined with night social halls, Vincent stepped down from his carriage. Like many young noblemen, he preferred the halls where the night’s flowers mingled with the guests. But tonight, the one he had come to was a place where women of any station were strictly forbidden to enter. Eyeing the muted-colored iron door and the perfectly straight-backed attendant standing before it, he openly grumbled.

“Why pick a place like this? Isn’t this where all those self-righteous types gather?”

The attendant surely heard him but, clearly well-trained, did not so much as twitch an expression. Maintaining his courteous posture, he opened the door, and Vincent swaggered inside.

With over fifty years of history, the establishment’s interior was spacious and richly old-fashioned. After a long walk down the corridor, Vincent stepped into the hall where the patrons gathered, scanning the crowd until he spotted some familiar faces. One of the group greeted him warmly and offered him an empty seat.

“Oh, Vincent. Did you have a nice date with your sweet little fiancée?”

“Ah, don’t even start. That bothersome girl—she’s been even clingier since we got engaged. I’m so sick of forcing a smile that I’m about ready to—huh?”

Sliding into the seat while casually bad-mouthing his fiancée, Vincent suddenly spotted someone among them and blinked in surprise. That strikingly handsome face framed by bright blond hair—impossible to miss, even for another man. It was Ian, rarely seen at such gatherings.

‘So that’s why they picked this place… because of him.’

In an instant, Vincent understood the choice of venue. Their group, made up of academy peers, included several who disliked halls where prostitutes came and went—but none more so than Ian, who made no effort to hide his disdain.

‘Still playing the holier-than-thou act, I see.’

If anyone else had objected, Vincent and a few others could have pushed through and gotten their way. But Ian was different—unlike most of their peers, who held no titles yet, he bore the rank of marquess and held a notable position in the capital’s political sphere. In the group, he was practically revered. And with his already spotty attendance, they couldn’t risk losing him over the venue.

Even so, understanding the situation did nothing to ease the knot of irritation in Vincent’s gut as he reached out a hand toward Ian.

“Well, well. Look who it is—our illustrious Marquess himself. Been a while, Ian.”

Ian, who had been drinking without so much as acknowledging Vincent’s arrival, finally turned his eyes on him. The impassive blue gaze slid over Vincent’s face, and Vincent felt a twinge of regret for his mocking tone.

“Spare me the greetings… Just have a drink.”

Instead of shaking the offered hand, Ian replied with careless indifference and took another sip. Awkwardly, Vincent withdrew his hand, pretending it didn’t matter.

‘That arrogant bastard. Thinks he’s all that now? Back at the academy, he was clinging to the Parden family just to get by…’

He tried not to show it, but couldn’t keep the scowl from tugging at his face. Silently cursing, Vincent glanced around, hoping someone else in the group might chide Ian on his behalf.

“Come on, you’re late and won’t even shake hands? A penalty’s in order—bottoms up, Vincent.”

To his disappointment, they handed him a drink instead. No one seemed inclined to scold Ian. Vincent, annoyed, let the matter drop.

“All right then, let’s all have a drink.”

“To our friendship! Cheers!”

The wine kept flowing. With more than a dozen men gathered, the pace of passing and refilling glasses was brisk, and those with low tolerance quickly grew flushed and tipsy. Vincent was one of them.

Swaying in his seat, he clutched a glass of amber liquid and brought it to his lips. Six glasses disappeared down his throat in that way, and with each swallow, what little sense he had left bled away.

“Come to think of it, Ian… No, I mean, Your Lordship the Marquess—why haven’t we heard from our most noble Marquess lately?”

Slurring his words, Vincent stared hard at Ian, the flush of drink deepened by the malice he made no effort to hide.

“That nouveau riche daughter of the Parden Count—you were all over the place with her, talk of your engagement’s been going around for years. That wench had no shame, showing up at the Academy just to see you, but these days she’s nowhere near you. Is she suddenly trying to play the demure lady, or what—”

His twisted words drew a jab in the ribs from someone beside him, but nothing more. Those who realized the woman being dragged through the mud was Aisha held their tongues, though their eyes gleamed with curiosity as they shifted their attention to Ian.

The moment her name was spoken, Ian’s blue eyes grew colder still. Fixing Vincent with a steady gaze, he twisted his lips into a faint, mocking curve before finally speaking.

“I appreciate your interest in my engagement, Vincent, but perhaps you should worry about your own. For a man who is always late for meetings, no doubt because he is afraid his fiancée might leave him, you seem to have far too much time to wonder who I’m engaged to.”

The flat, cutting tone brought a dark flush to Vincent’s face. He had worked hard to arrange a marriage with a woman far above him in social standing, and as a result, he was always on his guard around her.

At these gatherings, he made a habit of speaking ill of her behind her back, not out of boldness, but out of petty envy. Unable to do as he pleased in her presence, he resorted to undermining her in private. Now, with his cowardice exposed in front of everyone, his hands and body began to tremble.

“You—!”

He was raising his voice in anger when another member of the group shoved him aside carelessly and leaned forward toward Ian.

“Ah, that reminds me, Ian—”

This man, as drunk as Vincent, had long nursed a private interest in Aisha. He lowered his voice just enough to sound suggestive as he picked up the thread of Vincent’s earlier words.

“I heard there’s been trouble with your engagement…”

“Now that you mention it, you brought Lady Loretta of the Fideloi family to the last charity ball.”

“That’s right! I even heard you were seen out in the city with her just the other day.”

“I’ve also heard the rumor you’ve called off your engagement. Is there some reason? Or have you truly taken a liking to Lady Loretta Fideloi?”

Once the first question was asked, the rest followed like water through a broken dam. All eyes in the group fixed on Ian, their voices tumbling one over another.

Most of them had already heard the filthy rumors about Aisha, but none dared voice them outright in front of Ian himself. To Ian, however, their reactions painted a different picture.

‘So, simply because we haven’t been seen together, the rumor has already spread that the engagement’s been broken off. And on top of that, I was seen with Loretta Fideloi that day…’