Chapter 35
“Roy?”
Awakening to the faint sense that something was moving nearby, Dalia blinked and looked around.
Calling Roy’s name was almost reflex—he was the one who came in every morning to pull open the curtains and nag her awake. But instead of Roy, Khalid was standing there with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Oh, it’s you. …You look very hurt, you know?”
“Mm.”
He didn’t deny it. Seeing that, Dalia smiled softly, trying to soothe him.
“Is it because I mistook you for Roy? It’s just habit these days. Anyway, what’s wrong?”
“Breakfast. Let’s eat together.”
“I don’t really feel like it…”
In truth, before coming to this mansion, Dalia had rarely eaten proper breakfasts. When she did, the meals were often so heavy and uncomfortable that she would feel sick afterwards.
Though things had changed recently, today her mouth felt strangely dry and rough; she wanted to move her body rather than sit and eat.
“…Really?”
“Yes. I’m not craving anything greasy.”
“Then how about some light fish with lemon juice?”
“No, it’s fine. You’ve been busy lately, Khalid. Didn’t you say you don’t really need breakfast? You don’t have to prepare anything for me.”
But Khalid, still reluctant, asked again.
“Then fruit? If you have no appetite, maybe just a bit of fruit instead of cooked food.”
“I just… don’t feel like chewing anything right now.”
“Then what about juice—smoothly blended so you don’t need to chew?”
“Mm… I’m sorry. I appreciate the thought, but really, I’m fine, Khalid. Sometimes it’s good for people not to eat all three meals, you know.”
“…I see.”
At that, Khalid quietly rolled the serving cart—laden with a tray—back behind the door, out of her sight.
When Dalia asked what he was doing, he answered, “Nothing,” and reached out to catch a knife that had nearly fallen, setting it back gently so it wouldn’t make a sound.
“Hm? Then why are you standing in the corner?”
“It’s nothing. Let’s go.”
He opened the door wider, completely hiding the cart from view, and extended his hand to her.
Dalia, dressed in only her chemise, crawled off the wide bed on her knees.
“I’ll go get ready, then,” she said, kissing his cheek. Khalid’s face broke into a full smile as he nodded.
After she left, Khalid sat neatly on the bed where Dalia had been sleeping and waited quietly.
Sometimes, a strange unease would creep in—Is it really okay for me to be this happy?—but each time, he forced the darkness in his heart back down.
About twenty minutes later—
“Huh?”
[Roy. Eat this for breakfast. We’re going out to the shopping district.]
“This is Lord Khalid’s handwriting.”
A while later, a groggy Roy stood in front of his door, blinking between the note Khalid had left and the tray of food piled high before him.
Then, shrugging as if to say why not, he set the card aside, picked up a sandwich from the top of the tray, and took a huge bite. Fresh vegetables crunched between his teeth.
“They went to the shopping district, huh?”
Tasting the thin slices of prosciutto, Roy frowned in delight, swallowed, and licked his lips.
“Well, I was bored anyway. Perfect! I’ll tag along too!”
A short while ago…
Sylvia, the president of Zephyros, had a husband named Hanson. Recently, Hanson had been getting snubbed by his friends—fellow gamblers—because they’d found out he was short on cash.
He’d once been a feared thug, back in the day.
When did I fall this low…
He spat on the ground with a sharp “Tch,” then squinted up at the blazing sun. Just then, a piece of paper blew across his face.
“Damn it, now even the wind’s against me!”
Cursing, Hanson was about to tear the paper apart when his eyes caught the portrait printed on it. It wasn’t a typical police sketch—it was too beautiful for that.
His old buddy, nicknamed Birdie, caught him staring and snickered.
“Just noticing now? Some folks already hung that one up in their homes.”
“…?”
Wait… I’ve seen her somewhere before.
“Huh?”
It was Dalia—lookalike of one of his wife Sylvia’s regular clients at her boutique, Zephyros. The woman in the picture was a bit more lifeless, but still unmistakably her. Birdie noticed Hanson’s weird noise and asked,
“What’s wrong?”
“N-no, nothing. Thought she looked like one of my wife’s customers, but I was mistaken. Someone else.”
Even if they were old friends, there were things Hanson couldn’t afford to leak.
“So… uh, where’s this been posted?”
“For now, just with us—urgent order. But it’s a high-level directive, so it’ll spread everywhere soon enough. And look at the reward, man. Even if the lead’s vague, anyone would drool at that amount. Good to know stuff like this, eh?”
“Y-yeah, thanks for the info. I’ll buy you a drink sometime.”
“Ha! You? With what money?”
Embarrassment flushed Hanson’s face red. Birdie clapped him on the shoulder.
“Next time. When you’ve actually got cash.”
“…”
Right. What he needed was a way to make money.
Whatever guilt he’d felt—She’s my wife’s client, after all—evaporated the moment he saw the reward amount printed below.
Who am I kidding? When have I ever lived honestly? Trying to live straight is what got me into this mess.
Others saw Hanson as a washed-up thug, but he had been doing his best to keep his temper down and live quietly. Still, the boredom was killing him—and lately, Mielle, that punk, had been hogging all his wife’s attention and praise.
His eyes flashed dangerously.
Meanwhile, Birdie muttered as he watched Hanson’s back disappear.
“That woman looks like his wife’s client, huh?”
He didn’t say it aloud, but the man distributing the portraits had offered a small sum for reports of anyone resembling the woman.
Looks like I just got myself a lead.
Birdie whistled softly.
A few days later, spotting some old acquaintances, Hanson waved eagerly.
“Hey! Birdie!”
The streets were empty and dull that day—few pedestrians around.
“Well, look who it is. Hanson.”
“Yeah! Where are you guys headed?”
The swaggering group of men were on their way somewhere in a pack. After a brief pause, one of them muttered,
“Game night.”
“Where at? Let me come too.”
“You?”
They exchanged glances, smirking. When Hanson started to look nervous, Birdie tilted his head as if granting a favor.
“Sure, why not. Let him join.”
The place they led him to wasn’t anywhere he recognized—the location kept changing since it was an illegal gambling den.
Once inside, Hanson inhaled deeply, savoring the atmosphere he’d missed for so long, doing his best not to look like an outsider.
Before he’d married Sylvia, Hanson had been one of these back-alley types—making his living through shady deals and underground work.
When Sylvia had accepted his marriage proposal, her one condition was that he quit the thug life for good. Deeply smitten, Hanson had done just that—playing the part of a dutiful husband as best he could.
“Who’s this idiot? Didn’t I say not to let randoms in?”
One of the big men in the corner—busy playing cards—stood up. He bowed to a silver-haired man seated deeper inside, then approached.
What a waste of muscle. Groveling to that pretty boy? Must be a nobody.
As if reading his thoughts, the big man slapped Hanson on the shoulder, ready to pick a fight. Birdie quickly stepped between them, grinning.
“Ahh, you guys from out of town don’t know him. This here’s my friend, Hanson.”
“…Hanson, huh. Fine.”
The big man clicked his tongue but stepped back, after giving Hanson a look up and down.
I used to run things too, you know, Hanson thought bitterly, swallowing his pride. Still, having Birdie on his side helped him puff out his chest again.
“Hey. If you’re playing, sit down already. Don’t waste time.”
The silver-haired man lit a cigarette and gestured to an empty seat with a flick of his finger.
Hanson’s pocket jingled faintly. He still had plenty of advance payment he’d secretly taken from one of Sylvia’s clients.
“All right then—let’s get started.”
Rubbing his palms together, Hanson sat down. Behind him, the man who’d brought him and the silver-haired one exchanged a quick, knowing glance.
Something about it made Hanson uneasy. He turned around, only to see Birdie grinning widely.
“Hanson, it’s been ages. Show these rookies how it’s done.”
“Y-yeah, sure thing.”
With that encouragement, Birdie clapped him firmly on the shoulder before moving to another table.
Hanson shot him a grateful look, then lowered his gaze to the cards being dealt in front of him.
Good to have old friends, after all.
He had a good feeling about tonight.
I’ll win big, brag to Sylvia, and finally kick that useless Mielle brat out of the house.
Grinning at the thought, Hanson confidently set his heavy coin pouch on the table.
The weight made a clinking sound that drew the faintest smile from the man across from him.
“Looks like you brought enough to play.”
“Of course. By the way, I told you my name—what’s yours? We’re about to play together; I should know what to call you.”
Hanson frowned slightly at the man’s polished, almost effeminate face.
With a lopsided smirk, the silver-haired man answered,
“Call me Sirei.”
