“Clean yourself up first. You smell like rotten cheese.”

The man handed Rochelle a towel without emotion, and when she simply sat there blankly, showing no intention of moving, he strode over and yanked her wrist.

“Ah!”

Startled, Rochelle screamed and kicked her feet in panic. The man’s hand touched her cold skin.

Despite her fierce resistance, the man dragged Rochelle, kicked open the bathroom door, and pushed her into the long bathtub.

After roughly adjusting the water to a suitable temperature and filling the tub, the man knelt on one knee beside her and asked with a slight smile,

“What’s your name?”

Rochelle truly could not understand his terribly low voice.

When she just blinked blankly, the man let out a couple of deep sighs, as if annoyed, and then spoke again, slowly, as if talking to a child.

“My name is Yevgeny. What about you, miss? And where are your parents?”

Yevgeny?

That wasn’t his name.

As far as she knew, his name was Ivan. The revolutionary hero revered in Brittany. The man who had dragged her parents like dogs, stripped them n*ked in the name of criminals, and paraded them in the square.

Unable to hide her confusion, she studied his face.

The eyes beneath his thick lashes were unmistakably golden. His speech was clipped and foreign. The only difference from the Ivan in her memory was his soft golden hair, streaked here and there with brown.

“I don’t have one.”

Rochelle shook her head weakly, feigning ignorance. It was a lie born of instinct.

“I’m an orphan.”

Yevgeny frowned slightly, as if he hadn’t quite heard, then after a moment’s thought, nodded as if he understood.

“Even so, have you never been given a name in your life?”

“……”

Rochelle forced herself to stay alert, not letting her guard down.

She was confused. He clearly had the face of that cruel man, so why? Why?

No, it couldn’t be. Rochelle trembled her eyelids and shook her head. She looked up at him again, but he still gazed at her calmly, one eyebrow slightly raised in curiosity.

Unable to find anything to say, Rochelle simply blinked. The suspicious man was still waiting for her answer. His long, narrow eyes gleamed with questions.

Slowly lowering her head, she finally managed to speak.

“It was so long ago, I don’t remember.”

“…Your name?”

“It’s true.”

Even though the adult before him claimed never to have had a proper name, Yevgeny didn’t look surprised at all. In fact, he seemed calm and even good-humored. Rochelle, thrown off by this, closed her mouth.

Yevgeny also fell silent. But his silence was different from her gloom. He patted her shoulder as if to comfort her, but she could instinctively tell it wasn’t sincere.

Rochelle stirred the bathwater that reached her knees, playing clumsily with her hands. Even though her desire to escape this uncomfortable, unpleasant situation was clear, Yevgeny still wore a crooked smile and made no move to leave.

Crushed by the pressure, Rochelle stared blankly at the rising steam. She, too, had many questions she wanted to ask.

Was his name truly Yevgeny? What was his connection to Ivan? Did he know about Rochelle Kotov? Had he not yet seen the wanted poster with her information? Could he hide her from the dangers and suspicions outside the cabin?

…And even if she told him the truth, would he still let her live?

No, that couldn’t be.

Afraid her thoughts might slip out, Rochelle shook her round head.

Then, pretending to be composed, she placed both hands on her knees. The bony ridges stood out on the backs of her hands.

Watching her quietly, Yevgeny slowly took out a cigar from his pocket. Lighting it, he took a deep drag, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Then, exhaling smoke like a sigh, he clicked his tongue.

“You’re underweight.”

His tone was gentle, but there was a hint of mockery. Another silence followed.

After a short deliberation, Rochelle exaggerated her pitiful state, acting like a vagrant wounded in both body and spirit.

“Sir, as I said, I’m an orphan. I don’t know who my parents are or what kind of people they were. I only hid in the bag because I was dreaming of a new world, escaping long years of poverty, hunger, and war.”

“……”

“Please, have mercy and let me stay in your cabin. I am just a refugee, hoping to settle in Castiya and obtain citizenship as an ordinary commoner.”

The truth and lies blended together into a plausible story. The man tilted his head with a faint smile, gazing straight into her eyes.

“The war is over, miss. The curtain has fallen on the royalists, and soon life will return to peace. So why?”

“My parents abandoned me, and so did my country. No one helped me when I was suffering.”

“……”

“There are only memories of pain and sorrow left there.”

Rochelle bit her lip and met his gaze directly. Her long lashes trembled with tension, but she didn’t blink.

Yevgeny stroked his chin thoughtfully, then raised his eyebrows.

“In that case, I’ll call a servant for you. He’ll guide you to a room, though it won’t be as big as this one.”

“No!”

Rochelle shot upright, shouting.

“If they find out I boarded the ferry without a ticket, I’ll be deported before I even set foot in Castiya! I’ll be dragged back to Brittany like unwanted goods and thrown into a rat-infested prison cell.”

“But miss, as you can see, this room only has one bed.”

The gentleman’s eyes narrowed as he spoke in a scolding tone, like to a child. But Rochelle did not back down.

“I’ll stay quietly in the corner, like a mouse, all right? Please, I beg you…”

She realized she was throwing a tantrum like a child, but there was no other way. The ending of this tragedy was drawing near.

As she pleaded desperately, the cigarette smoke curled softly and slowly around her. The acrid smoke made her throat dry and brought tears to her eyes.

Rochelle held her breath and glanced at the man’s face—cold and sharp as ice, yet still faintly smiling. He rested one arm on the bathtub, gazing intently at her thin knees.

Even in that brief moment, Rochelle noticed that when he was deep in thought, his eyes lowered elegantly, and when he was puzzled, his thick, sooty brows would twitch slightly.

After a long pause, the man finally stood up, speaking in a much lower voice. Their eyes met. His gaze glimmered faintly.

“I’ll trust you.”

But only for a little while.

The man slowly closed the bathroom door and left. After a while, Rochelle realized belatedly that it was an act of consideration.

After undressing and taking a hot shower, she felt much more at ease, but she couldn’t put her damp dress back on.

So, wrapping herself in the large bathrobe hanging on the wall, she cautiously stepped out of the bathroom—only to find the large man filling her field of vision.

He was leaning at an angle, holding a glass and a cigarette in one hand, his body sunk deep into a chair.

“……”

Rochelle hesitated, not knowing what to do. She worried that even a small movement might irritate him.

Before long, Yevgeny noticed her lingering at a distance and, with a slightly indifferent and bored expression, nodded and pulled out the chair to his left. It was a signal for her to sit.

She managed to take a step forward, unable to suppress her fear and awkwardness, as if crossing into another world.