“…”

“Loyalty? You expect loyalty from me? Don’t you feel even a little embarrassed asking for that? Go back and ask Ivan yourself. That night, when the woman my father cherished so much was brutally murdered before his eyes, where were you hiding, and what were you doing?”

“…”

“And whether you really knew nothing about that plan.”

Through his rain-soaked hair, his golden eyes flashed dangerously. Twisting his lips, he stared at the man sprawled on the ground, then turned and gently took Rochelle’s wrist, leading her away.

Startled by the sudden turn of events, Rochelle covered her mouth with both hands and hurried after him. From the man’s back, which had suddenly become cold and distant, a frightening hatred radiated.

After they had walked a few more steps, Kaiten’s gritted voice sounded from behind.

“All the women heading to Castiya have had their identification checked. As they boarded the passenger ship, I compared each face with their photo. Except for your mistress.”

“…”

“Sir Yevgeny, the general’s orders are not to let a single person slip by—not even a child. Reveal the woman’s identity.”

At the man’s firm words, Rochelle looked up at Yevgeny with a bewildered expression.

“Yevgeny…”

Yevgeny gently caressed her trembling hand and spoke with unwavering resolve.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But…”

“Didn’t you beg me to save you that day? Then listen to me, Miss.”

Blood stained the knuckles of Yevgeny’s hand as he pulled her along. Rochelle, her mind blank, nodded and followed him.

She felt so dizzy from tension that she thought she might collapse at any moment. Rochelle couldn’t even remember how she made it back to the cabin.

She blinked slowly a few times. Seated in a chair, she saw Yevgeny smoking and watching her. His face was as gentle as ever, but there was something strange about him.

A sense of déjà vu.

The emotions pressed down behind those eyes were unmistakably emptiness and sorrow.

“That man—what exactly…”

“We don’t get along, as you saw. The same goes for my brother Ivan.”

Yevgeny replied surprisingly frankly to her question, which had slipped out in her confusion. As if facing a long-awaited reckoning, he seemed almost calm and at peace.

“The more I think about it, the more that house makes my skin crawl. In the face of money and power, black and white lose all meaning, and right and wrong can never be separated.”

“…”

“But I do wonder, why did such a father love my pure and delicate mother?”

“…”

“If he truly loved her, why couldn’t he let her go even after marrying her as a virgin? Why couldn’t he let us both go, even as he deeply suppressed his longing? When that vicious woman harmed my mother, why didn’t he even try to help…? Well, it’s all in the past now.”

He turned his head slightly to look out the window. At some point, the passenger ship had resumed its voyage. With the rolling waves, starlight briefly spilled through the window, illuminating the man’s figure. The corners of Yevgeny’s lips were slightly raised. Was he smiling? It wasn’t clear, but his upright expression looked like that of someone whose tears had long since dried.

“…What happened to your mother, sir?”

Rochelle asked in a trembling voice. She wondered if he might refuse to answer such a painful question, but once again, Yevgeny replied quietly, his words flowing smoothly.

“She was murdered.”

“…”

“By my own family, by his own mother. With my father’s silent consent, in the most brutal way.”

Then Yevgeny turned from the window and looked straight at her.

“So, Rochelle, I have no choice but to help you.”

“…”

“Your desperate struggle to survive, refusing to submit to a hellish reality, was a great revelation to me—a salvation and a hope.”

Hearing her name from his lips, Rochelle felt as if she were bound tight with rope. What had he just said? Unable to understand, she frowned, then belatedly covered her mouth with a trembling hand.

“You, you knew… all along…”

“…”

“Since when? From the beginning?”

“Everyone has secrets in their heart that they can never confess to anyone.”

Though Rochelle trembled at the secret he confessed, she couldn’t stop hope from welling up inside her. At the same time, she felt a wave of self-disgust—ashamed at the comfort and joy she found in Yevgeny’s sorrowful past, which he wished to forget.

But emotions are not easily hidden, and Rochelle was never good at pretending. Her face burned and her eyes grew red.

As Rochelle’s feelings grew more intense, Yevgeny’s face remained calm and detached.

It was a rather impulsive thought.

Though he hadn’t invited her, Rochelle suddenly wanted to force her way through that tightly closed door. She wanted to claim her place within, to rekindle the fire in the cold, quiet hearth.

Slowly, Rochelle reached out and gently placed her hand on his cheek.

Knock, knock.

It was a very cautious knock.

Perhaps he had been lonely for a long time, because the master of the house welcomed the intruder with open arms. He dropped his cigarette to the floor, took her small hand in both of his, and brought it to his lips.

A soft kiss.

Yevgeny pressed his lips to her palm. Rochelle looked up at him, startled by the unexpected, tingling sensation.

“Do you dislike it?”

He asked softly.

“…No, I don’t.”

“Then, do you want to refuse?”

“…”

Rochelle was silent for a moment before answering.

“…No.”

Whatever that answer stirred in him, Yevgeny abruptly rose from his seat and gave himself—body and soul—to her.

The chair clattered to the floor behind him. Still holding her hand, he kissed her palm again, then slowly lowered her arm.

He bent down, drawing closer and closer. The golden jewels of his eyes reflected only her. Overwhelmed by trembling, Rochelle quickly closed her eyes. Her eyelashes quivered.

And after what felt like an eternity, they gently touched. Their moist lips were hot, bitter, and sweet all at once.

Intoxicated by that warmth, Rochelle parted her lips and allowed his tongue.

She welcomed his touch, and in the end, accepted everything of him.

***

A faint rustling sound came through the wooden door.

She blinked. Her vision was blurry. Rochelle raised her arm with difficulty and rubbed her eyelids hard. Her whole body ached as if she’d been beaten.

At the same time, she clearly heard the sound of Yevgeny’s skin brushing against water.

Rochelle, who had been glancing toward the bathroom, quickly turned her head and buried her face in the pillow.

She’d done it. She’d really done it.

Having reached paradise, they had licked and nibbled at each other like fruit, then, caught up in the heat, devoured one another greedily.

If only she could blame last night’s embarrassing behavior on alcohol. Unfortunately, they had both been completely sober.

Unable to bear the embarrassment, she buried her face under the covers—only to come face to face with her own body, marked with colorful traces.

“Ah!”

Rochelle shrieked and jumped out of bed.

“You’re awake?”

At that moment, Yevgeny, n*ked and drying his wet hair with a towel, walked leisurely out of the bathroom. He smiled gently at Rochelle, who sat dazed on the bed, then went back to the bathroom, fetched a fresh, fluffy robe from a servant, and returned to her side.

His steady gaze was on her. Rochelle didn’t avoid it. As she met his eyes, she felt as if she were being bewitched by a ghost.

It was the same now. He curled his lips and asked, “Does it hurt a lot?” but Rochelle could only stare blankly into his mesmerizing golden eyes.

After a long silence, Yevgeny raised his eyebrows slightly.

“Shall I help you wash?”

Wrapping her delicate body in the large robe, Yevgeny asked in a gentle voice. Rochelle looked up. Water dripped from his wet hair onto the floor.

“…Didn’t you already finish showering?”

“I can wash again.”

“No, no! I—I can do it myself.”

Flustered, Rochelle waved her hands and got up. Her thigh muscles trembled as if cramping. As Yevgeny quickly came over to help, Rochelle slipped past him and shut the bathroom door, locking it.

Staggering, she lay down in the bathtub, her mind pounding with tangled thoughts. She let the hot water cascade between her toes and slowly closed her eyes.

It was their first meeting. He had lifted her up and gently placed her in this very bathtub, introducing himself in a calm voice.

…Ivan Beneff’s younger brother, Yevgeny.

And Rochelle, the only daughter of the Kotov family.

Was what happened last night just a fleeting mistake, swept up in the moment? For both of them?

She wanted to shout through the door to Yevgeny, who was probably waiting outside even now.

‘Hey, Yevgeny. Why did you sleep with me?’