He had wanted to keep her close because she was beautiful—like a painting.

But a painting that moved and breathed was this dangerous.

A work of art that could stir and shake a person’s heart could no longer belong to anyone.

When he thought back, it had always been like this.

When it came to Henrietta, none of the rules he had set for himself held any power.

His gaze would linger.

His hand would reach out without thought.

And every plan he had made would so easily fall apart.

He had thought that once he held her in his grasp, he would finally feel at ease…

But now, Hendrick found himself wondering if Isabella’s scathing judgment of him might not have been entirely wrong.

‘An emotional cripple—selfish and utterly out of control.’

He had chosen her, fully aware that she had loved another man for a very long time.

To him, love had always been mutable — something that could wear down and be replaced.

As long as she didn’t try to run away, it hadn’t seemed like a problem.

Even the way her gaze wavered when she faced Robert, he had dismissed it as nothing more than a habit formed over time.

That man’s feelings?

At best, he had thought of them as a kind of sunk cost—a price paid for his own mistakes.

But then—

‘what is that b*stard?’

What could he possibly be, to make someone as emotionally barren and selfish as himself lose control like this?

As Hendrick drew closer, Henrietta leaned towards him and whispered something in his ear.

She was probably introducing him as her husband, who was now approaching in a rather threatening manner.

“Did my wife have an older brother I was never told about?”

Hendrick stopped within arm’s reach, close enough that he could touch them if he wished.

“If that’s not the case… then what exactly is my wife doing here, alone with a strange man?”

Despite knowing how unbecoming he sounded, he couldn’t stop himself.

The man looked back and forth between Henrietta and Hendrick, unable to hide his discomfort.

This irritated Hendrick even more. He didn’t seem to realize that he was still standing there with his arm outstretched, holding the coat as though it were a punishment.

Under Hendrick’s sharp gaze, he hesitated, his lips parting.

“Ah, I… well…”

Before he could properly answer, Henrietta stepped forward and cut him off.

“Your Highness, this is my friend, Mark.”

“Friend?”

“Yes. We studied together in Hangderhood. Mark, this is His Highness Prince Hendrick.”

Only then did Mark lower his arm and take a step back, offering a respectful greeting.

It was a little awkward—but sincere.

“Greetings, Your Highness. My name is Mark Ron David. I run a small publishing house on Sandot Street.”

As the raindrops began to grow heavier, Mark instinctively moved to lift the coat over her again—then froze, as if realizing something too late, and pulled his arm back.

“There’s an umbrella over there, isn’t there? Sir Mark Ron David of Sandot Street, who runs a small publishing house.”

Hendrick tilted his head slightly, gesturing toward the end of the bench.

“Ah—yes, of course…”

Flustered, Mark hurried toward the umbrella.

Hendrick watched him with a faint smile before extending his hand to Henrietta.

Her cold fingers slipped into his.

In the distance, his attendant came running toward them in haste.

The rain was beginning to fall harder.

“For now, let’s go somewhere indoors. At this rate, we’ll catch a cold.”

“Yes…”

Henrietta answered obediently, but her expression was still faintly sulky. As if she were the wronged one.

‘As if she had any idea how I feel.’

“I got lost on the way here. I think I’ll need you to guide me.”

“…What?”

She frowned, as though she had just heard something absurd.

From her, he could smell another man’s scent.

Hendrick felt like a stray male who had failed to properly mark his territory.

His brows drew together sharply.

“Why are you making that face?”

Hendrick reached out and took the umbrella from his attendant.

“I’m just surprised you got lost.”

As Hendrick tilted the umbrella toward Henrietta, the steady sound of raindrops tapping against it echoed softly in her ears.

She slowly turned her head to look at him. Their eyes met and he smiled.

For a moment, it felt as though they were the only two people left in the world.

“Shouldn’t you be more surprised that I showed up here?”

Only then did Henrietta’s eyes widen in genuine shock.

“…You’re right.”

She bit down lightly on her lower lip.

Her thoughts were consumed by something else, the realization that she would now have to tell him about the matter she had hoped to resolve on her own.

Because of that, she hadn’t even stopped to wonder how he had found his way here.

“Don’t worry. I wasn’t following you, so you can drop that expression.”

“No, that’s not what I was thinking…”

The weight in her chest sank even deeper.

Had she started to believe that he would always be there, no matter where she went?

If everything suddenly came to an end one day, what would she do then?

Was a heart that had never truly been loved this fragile?

Even the slightest disturbance could unsettle it; when a storm came, it would drift helplessly, with nothing to hold onto.

Fortunately, when her words trailed off, Hendrick didn’t press her.

Instead, he pulled her firmly into his arms.

His embrace was unbearably warm, and her fragile, unsteady heart clung to him with aching ease.

***

How ironic.

Hendrick cast a measured glance at the tall man who was his wife’s so-called friend.

Mark led them to his house.

The first floor was used for editing manuscripts, while the second floor was used for printing publications.

He lived on the third floor.

As if to prove that he lived alone, the large room was almost completely empty — aside from the bed, there was hardly any furniture.

However, the sitting room, which was filled with printing machines, stood out.

Consequently, Mark’s home was filled with the scent of paper and ink.

“All of Henrietta’s books—no, Her Highness’s books—were produced here, entirely by my own hands.”

As Hendrick looked around the house, Mark explained in steady detail how he had come to publish her work.

An etiquette book for the middle class.

‘My wife truly is… quite charming.’

Hendrick had come to Sandot today in search of a suitable publisher — someone who was discreet, loyal, efficient and accurate.

After Mark had finished speaking, Henrietta continued.

As she explained their long, intertwined history, she absently played with her teacup.

“He’s someone you can trust.”

There wasn’t the slightest hesitation in her voice.

While she was talking about what a good person Mark was, he quietly topped up her teacup with hot tea twice.

Each time she sighed softly, he glanced at her, silently asking if she was all right.

Hendrick stood nearby with his arms crossed, pacing slowly in front of them as they sat side by side.

At some point, he realized that he must have looked like a strict warden interrogating prisoners.

He lowered his arms quietly.

Even then, Mark’s gaze would occasionally drift back to Henrietta’s profile.

‘How very considerate.’

Suppressing his irritation, Hendrick stepped closer to him.

“So—the nobleman named Dunlop is dead, and he had no close contact with his relatives?”

“That’s correct.”

Impersonating the name of a noble suffering from consumption…

“And part of the profits were sent to his account, and even his funeral was paid for with that money?”

“Yes.”

Seeking profit but not straying beyond a certain line.

“And every draft Henrietta wrote has been burned, and the book itself was produced solely by you?”

“Yes.”

He handled matters with secrecy—yet boldness.

“And after Duke Schutzman mentioned the book, you immediately halted all sales?”

“Of course.”

Meticulous and swift and even loyal.

“So the etiquette book will no longer pose a problem?”

“I’m certain of it.”

Hendrick let out another quiet breath and looked at Henrietta.

She had avoided his gaze the whole time.

The man sitting beside her was attentive and gentle — exactly the kind of person Hendrick had been searching for.

The only problem was that his loyalty belonged to Henrietta, not Hendrick.

“So the two of you are merely friends?”

“That’s righ—… pardon?”

Henrietta, who had been absentmindedly tracing the handle of her teacup, suddenly lifted her head.

Seeing her clear, shimmering eyes widen, Hendrick let out a soft, amused breath. He reached out and gently brushed her cheek as she stared at him, her lips parted in confusion.

“From now on, don’t meet him alone.”

“What do you—!”

Before she could finish, Hendrick cut her off. Leaning in, he captured her lower lip between his.

The sound of a chair scraping back came from beside them as Mark rose abruptly in shock.

But Hendrick paid no attention.

He deepened the kiss, pressing further against his wife’s lips.

It was lighter than what they had shared in the bedroom, yet it lingered far too long to be merely a greeting.