It wasn’t the result she had intended – she hadn’t intended to teach him blind obedience.

“Boring, though.”

She took the glass from Ron’s hand and spoke softly.

“Take off your jacket.”

Ron’s eyes trembled pitifully at her words.

He was clearly struggling with being exposed in public like this.

In the past, he would have pleaded with her, called her name – but now, tense and rigid, he simply removed his jacket.

Martian stepped back slightly, sipping from the glass she had snatched from him, watching him as if she were a spectator.

Underneath, Ron wore a dark blue shirt.

The colour suited his darker skin, but the fabric was thin and the shape of his body was clearly visible.

As he unfastened the buttons one by one, more and more bare skin peeked through the slowly parting shirt.

The faint glint of rings and chains attached to his n*pples became visible.

A few of the guests’ eyes glanced awkwardly at him before looking away.

Martian put down her glass and ran her hand through the parted shirt.

The flesh where the ring was pierced was still soft.

When she twisted it slightly, Ron stiffened completely.

“What are you doing? You have to take everything off.”

She whispered with obvious amusement.

Her hand moved again, undoing more buttons.

Her fingertips trembled slightly, slipping a few times.

At that moment, Martian grabbed Ron’s hand.

His hand was ice-cold with nerves.

Perhaps thinking she was angry at his clumsy hesitation, Ron looked terrified.

“I’m sorry, Master. I was just… too nervous…”

his voice quavered pathetically.

Martian chuckled slightly.

His helpless appearance, desperately enduring what he could barely bear, excited her.

It was a most adorable and obscene sight.

She wanted to make him cry until his cheeks were soaked with tears.

Even though Ron hadn’t changed exactly the way she’d intended after his training, the way he often got scared like that delighted her.

Martian feigned innocence, teasing him as if he had been the one to get carried away in the first place:

“Ron, no matter how much you want to, you shouldn’t act like that everywhere. Shall we go back now?”

She pulled his jacket over him again and Ron looked at her, completely lost.

He really had no sense.

Thinking that, she patted him lightly on the cheek.

“Let’s just go back and rest.”

After all, she couldn’t undress him completely at an official banquet.

Some playful teasing would have been overlooked by others, but what she wanted right now was far more than just teasing.

She was about to lead Ron out of the hall when someone in a butler’s uniform rushed up and stopped her.

“Are you Lady Doan?”

“I am… What is it?”

“The Count has asked to see you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, my lady. He has requested your presence, saying it is a matter of importance and he sincerely hopes you will come.”

Martian frowned.

She was irritated to be interrupted just when things were getting interesting, but also suspicious – she had no connection to the count and it was suspicious that he was asking for her now.

If he had something to say, he could have said it in the hall.

Calling them separately like this was definitely strange.

Still, it was hard to refuse.

The banquet wasn’t officially over.

Leaving quietly when no one cared was one thing, but ignoring a personal request from the host would be a serious breach of etiquette.

“Very well. Lead the way.”

***

In most mansions, the lower floors were used for reception rooms and banqueting halls, while the upper floors were private rooms reserved for the owners.

If you were invited above the third floor, it usually meant you were close to the owner.

“How high are we going?”

“The Count has instructed me to take you to the private reception room in his personal quarters.”

Martian scowled.

A private room meant that it was the count’s personal room.

To be invited to the reception room in it meant either an extremely close relationship or that the master wanted to establish a close relationship.

Since she didn’t even know the count personally, it was obviously the latter.

“He also asked me to apologise if this makes you uncomfortable, but that it is a very important and confidential matter.”

The butler kept bowing his head.

His manners were impeccable, but the intention was clear – she had been summoned deliberately.

Realising there was no way out, Martian followed him.

What could this be about?

She quickly searched her memories, but could find no reason why she should have anything to do with the Duke’s heir.

Wasn’t she someone who had grown up in the rural Doan estate?

She had only visited the capital a handful of times in her life.

‘Could it be something related to El?’

Huey Sebloard was also a graduate of the Imperial Academy – a rare case of a duke’s heir completing his education there.

She had heard that his project to restructure the capital’s waterworks was a product of his studies and research there.

Though El Doan had only just entered his final year at the Academy, and Huey Sebloard had graduated several years ago, there was at least some overlap in their time there.

Not that El had ever mentioned the Duke’s heir, not even once.

The butler led them to the innermost room on the top floor.

The entrance to the Count’s private quarters was overwhelming at first glance.

The huge door was a work of art depicting a creation myth.

Hundreds of animals and plants were intricately carved around the edges, and in the centre were twelve priests receiving the voice of a god.

A casual observer could easily have mistaken the door for an ornate decorative wall.

As she walked through, Martian was grateful that she wasn’t wearing outdated formal wear.

Her newly tailored outfit wouldn’t make her look pathetic to the Duke’s heir.

Inside, a spacious reception room came into view.

Every piece of furniture had elegant, refined lines.

Even the smallest decorations were perfectly matched and in harmony with the surroundings.

The room, obsessively designed down to the last detail, was itself a symbol of overwhelming wealth.

Martian couldn’t help but feel a moment of admiration.

And then the master of it all entered the reception room.

Huey Sebloard – entering through another door on the opposite side – was still dressed in the dazzling attire he had worn to the banquet hall.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Doan.”

He held out his hand.

When Martian took it for a handshake, she found it strange that he even knew of her existence.

She wondered what his business was with her – that was all she was curious about.

The man before her, on the other hand, was a high-ranking noble who clearly did not like to get down to business.

As they exchanged polite greetings, Martian’s gaze rested briefly on the count’s hand.

Long and smooth, it bore not a single scar.

“These layers of clothing are rather uncomfortable. Would you give me a moment?”

He asked, removing the jewels from his fingers one by one.

When Martian hesitated and looked away from his hand, he met her gaze.

The slight smile he gave her felt almost like a seduction, making Martian instinctively give a wry smile.

Martian simply wanted to live a modest life – a peaceful, uneventful existence.

It was for this modest dream that she spent her days slogging through endless paperwork.

She reminded herself once again that the man in front of her could easily shatter that dream with a single blow.

Deliberately looking away, she turned to the butler who had accompanied her.

“I would like some tea.”

“Is there a particular kind you would like?”

“Anything to help me stay awake.”

“Understood. I’ll have it prepared.”

The butler led her to a sofa and withdrew.

From her seat, Martian could easily see Huey Sebloard – but then again, no matter where she sat in the room, he would have been visible.

He was in the centre of the reception room, being helped to remove his many layers of clothing.

Martian watched for a moment, then turned away.

She didn’t feel comfortable with this -no, to be precise, she found the subtle attention the Count was paying to her extremely uncomfortable.

“Ron, come here.”

When she called, Ron, who had been standing behind her, obediently stepped forward.

“Kneel and show me your hands.”

He obeyed quietly.

His hands, neatly outstretched, had beautiful, clean lines, but the edges of his nails showed signs of being bitten.

It was a nervous habit that resurfaced when he became anxious.

Noticing her gaze lingering on his fingertips, Ron flinched slightly.

“Looks like you’re going to be crying a lot today.”

Her words, predicting punishment, were spoken in a soft tone.

Ron tensed and mumbled an apology.

Martian looked down at him and stroked his cheeks and hair.

His tense, nervous appearance was, as always, adorably endearing.

Much better than being as stiff and unresponsive as a stone.

She wondered if this was why people warned against putting too much trust in dogs.

Amused, she deliberately exaggerated her gestures as she stroked his cheeks and neck.

Soon Huey sat down across from her.

“I seem to have bored you, Lady Doan.”

“Not at all, my lord.”

Martian replied lightly and with a small nod she signalled for Ron to return to his seat.

Ron quietly rose and walked back behind her.

Huey watched them for a moment before speaking again.

“…He doesn’t seem to be an ordinary servant, does he?”

Martian stifled a sigh at the predictable question.

Thanks to inheriting her father’s good looks, Martian was a striking beauty and many men had approached her simply because of her looks.

It was one of the reasons why she found attending social gatherings in the capital so tiresome – it was always the same tedious ordeal.

What was strange this time, however, was that she had never spoken to Huey before.

They had just been in the same room at the banquet – she had been able to spot him easily as he had been the centre of attention, but she had been just one guest among many. She couldn’t imagine how he had picked her out in the first place.

“How annoying…”

Still, she didn’t think too much about it. She was going to refuse anyway.

When it came to bedroom partners, everyone had their preferences, and it was clear that the Count’s tastes wouldn’t match hers.

So she spoke bluntly:

“He mainly serves me in bed, so you could call him my concubine.”

Men who approached her, attracted by her appearance, usually recoiled at such words.

The idea of a woman keeping an outsider as her concubine was enough to horrify them.

For Martian, who had no interest in men who weren’t “dogs” in her eyes, it was an effective way to drive them away.