CHAPTER 104…………………………………
“Think about your own atonement… was that it?”
Dior slowly rose to his feet, murmuring the words Ailee had left behind. He already knew that no matter what he did, nothing would ever reach her again — because he himself had made it that way. If he were to kneel and apologize now, it would only look like a pathetic attempt to ease his own guilt.
And the fact that he had tried to atone simply to relieve his guilt made that burden even heavier.
It was crushing — not a mere sting, but a weight threatening to tear him apart. No, truthfully, his heart had already torn the moment Ailee ripped his proposal letter to shreds before his eyes.
Not because she rejected him, but because he was disgusted with himself for forcing her to wear that hateful expression. After committing something so vile, he still feared she might wound him further with harsher words. So, he pretended to repent — a hypocrite through and through.
He remembers the “monster lady” who trembled helplessly under every insult and blow.
And he also remembers the fragile, beautiful lady who had once slipped past his defenses and whispered sweet comfort into his emptiness.
Both sides were real.
His contempt for the so-called monster lady — and the love that grew for the woman who had comforted him.
How deeply he’d fallen — to the point where betrayal didn’t even sting.
And now that he finally knew the truth, the pain was so suffocating he could hardly think.
His vision blurred; his mind dulled. He could barely even grasp where he stood.
Guilt.
He had thought himself incapable of such an emotion — apparently not.
Dior was already moving. He couldn’t bear to stay still; if he did, he might actually throw himself off the terrace, just like Ailee had once joked.
After telling his servant to ready the carriage, he changed into his outdoor clothes and neatly braided his disheveled silver hair over one shoulder. Adjusting his monocle, his gaze fell upon the shredded pieces of his proposal lying on the floor.
“Clean it up.”
He gave the order coolly, turned on his heel, and headed straight for the Cyclamen estate. He knew that even if he appeared without notice, Mikael would receive him — the man was far too eager to get what he wanted. Dior understood Mikael better than anyone; they were alike in too many ways.
As expected, the moment Mikael heard that Dior had come, he summoned him to the drawing room. As soon as the maid served tea, Mikael dismissed everyone else and gave a dark, twisted chuckle. After Dior had ignored his letters for so long, his sudden visit could only mean one thing — and Mikael wasn’t the type to feign warmth or civility.
“You ignored my letter splendidly, didn’t you?”
Mikael never hesitated to show his true nature before other noble sons.
But now that Dior faced him directly, he could clearly see how much composure Mikael lacked.
He looked restless — desperate for something he hadn’t yet attained.
Just a little push, Dior thought, and Mikael would move exactly as he wanted.
“There was nothing certain back then,” Dior said. “And you’ve never been fond of being contacted without results.”
“Hmm. So now you’ve found something?”
Dior sipped the steaming tea and met Mikael’s gaze with icy calm. Only then did relief, composure, and delight creep into Mikael’s expression.
That look — the look of someone who believed he held the trump card that could turn the tables.
That’s why Mikael could never discard Dior, even when the man made audacious demands beyond his station — because every scrap of information Dior brought was the real thing.
Suppressing the urge to grab him by the collar and demand answers, Mikael leaned back in his sofa and gave a slight nod, as if to say: Go on. Make your offer.
“I heard you’re planning something amusing.”
“…Did Lydia tell you?”
“No. You keep her too closely guarded. I heard it from the source.”
“The source meaning—Ailee Cabre?”
“Who else?”
Dior frowned in distaste, then continued.
“Pretty enough, high-born — her family’s second only to the royal house.
When I proposed, she came and tore up the letter right in front of me, saying she was Ailee White.”
“So?”
“It was revolting. To think I’d proposed to that loathsome monster.
And yet, she’s still as dull and foolish as ever — she let slip quite a bit without even realizing it.
Thanks to her, I learned a lot.”
Mikael chuckled softly at Dior’s tone — feigning indifference to Ailee altogether.
“But Max said you were utterly smitten — even sobbing as you confessed your love to Lady Cabre.”
For a split second, Dior’s calm façade almost cracked.
That useless bastard Maximilian.
When had he spilled that?
Even so, Dior merely arched a brow and replied nonchalantly, as if unbothered.
He was a master of masks, after all; he could brazen out any situation.
“Obviously, it was an act.”
“Of course. You’re not one to love anyone for real. I thought it strange you’d fall so hard.”
“Crying for show was the hardest part.”
“When I heard you’d caught love-sickness, I thought you were about to die.”
“It was the Cabre family. That kind of performance was worth it.”
If only she hadn’t been the monster lady.
He muttered the words under his breath, disgust twisting his face — and Mikael burst into genuine laughter for the first time in a while.
Indeed, the idea that the radiant Ailee and the infamous “monster lady” were one and the same was a fine jest.
If she hadn’t been a demon, Mikael wouldn’t have spared her a second glance — he’d have scorned her, buried her in society, called her a nuisance for outshining Lydia.
As he laughed, his slanted eyes softened, lending him an almost angelic air.
“Foolish. Who cares what she used to be? She’s a demon.”
So that’s what they called her — a demon.
Dior’s expression remained blank as he spoke. Just the thought that Ailee Cabre and Ailee White were the same person made him sick.
And besides, Lady Cabre had only revenge in her heart; marriage with her was never an option.
“Then you take her. I’ll give you information more than worth the trade.”
“What do you want?”
“The territory south of the continent — the lands encircled by the Mob Mountains.”
A bold opening demand.
Mikael’s fingers drummed against the armrest, irritation flickering across his face.
That was one of his family’s most fertile lands — outrageous to offer. Even if Dior would someday inherit as head of his own house, this was an unacceptable request.
“Are you joking? Be reasonable.”
“In comparison to gaining a demon? It’s nothing. You know what could be achieved with her.”
“Suspicious. If she’s that remarkable, why not claim her yourself?”
Dior shrugged lightly. “You’ve already set the stage. If I interfere, I’ll only get in your way.”
“Then why should I even listen to you? My plan’s proceeding fine.”
“Do you really know what you’re doing? Doesn’t look that way to me. You’ve found nothing — I can see the frustration written all over you.”
That jab hit home. Mikael drew a deep breath, raking a hand through his hair, eyes squeezed shut in irritation before he finally looked up.
“…Fine. I’ll have a position arranged for you in the Administration Office.”
He knew exactly what Dior wanted — recognition.
Dior had spent his whole life yearning to be acknowledged by the Agnes family.
Mikael also knew how Dior had once gazed enviously at his elder brothers — men who frequented the palace, laying the groundwork for political careers.
Recommending Dior would invite backlash, especially from the Agneses themselves, and final approval came from the Imperial Family.
It was a place reserved for the very best — and although Dior’s abilities were considerable, his own kin despised him.
Still, Mikael thought, what wouldn’t I risk if it means getting Ailee?
“I like it,” Dior said, smiling in satisfaction.
“And… let me see Lydia. There’s something that’s been bothering me.”
“You killed her?”
“Not exactly. She jumped in herself.”
“How tiresome. Fine. Briefly.”
After all, if they were to be partners now, there was no reason to hide Lydia.
And Dior had always confided his troubles to her — something Mikael himself once encouraged, to collect nobles’ weaknesses.
He intended to interrogate Lydia later anyway; she’d never once lied to him.
“Well then, let’s hear it.” Mikael’s impatience bled through his voice.
Dior smiled faintly.
“First, tell me — what’s your plan? What do you intend to do with Lydia?”
Masked Ball.
It’s a cliché setting in every romance novel — and I’d read plenty.
On paper, I’d always wondered: why don’t they recognize each other? The same nobles, the same circles. Even the crown prince goes unnoticed — ridiculous.
But seeing it firsthand, I understood.
With everyone masked and the lights dim, unless you were close acquaintances, recognizing anyone was nearly impossible.
In the Empire, golden hair was the very standard of beauty. Whether natural or dyed, most noble ladies were blonde. Add to that their slender waists and full busts — all diligently maintained virtues — and it was easy to mistake one for another.
Amidst the glittering blondes, I flicked my own shining golden wig and pulled my jewel-studded cat mask lower. Perfect disguise.
No more pesky suitors pestering me with love letters and proposals.
For that, I was thankful this was a masked ball.
Everyone in the ballroom wore a mask — servants, guards in ceremonial armor, even the orchestra playing that haunting tune.
With every face hidden and music echoing through the hall, the scene felt almost surreal.
“Oh—pardon me.”
I’d brushed shoulders with someone — a tall man, nearly Lupian’s height.
I looked up to apologize. He wore a rabbit mask, holding a violin and bow — a musician, perhaps?
“My apologies, little one.”
…What did he just say?
That phrase — I’d heard it before. I frowned as he glanced at me, tapped a finger against my mask’s cat ears, and turned away.
“A little kitten.”
Goosebumps prickled across my skin.
A little kitten…?
Outraged, I almost ripped off the cat mask and hurled it to the floor.
Of all the absurd things I’d been called, that was by far the worst.
Forgetting even to be angry about being spoken down to by a stranger, I could only tremble in mortified silence.
By the time I’d cooled my flushed face, the rabbit-masked man had vanished without a trace.
Is this what masked balls are like?
Sudden fatigue washed over me.
Soon after, I overheard whispers among the crowd.
“What do you think of that cat over there? Any idea who she might be?”
“Hard to tell. There are too many blondes.”
“Ha. Who cares who she is, as long as she’s pleasant company? Small frame — probably feels nice to hold. Let’s just hope her face matches that figure.”
“Sir Cyclamen, ever the opportunist. Hard to find such chances these days. The old guard keeps whining about morality — what century do they think it is?”
“You say that, but aren’t you engaged to Lady Armua?”
“Marriage is another matter entirely, my friend! Ha-ha.”
They must’ve noticed me standing alone. Their lewd chatter was their business, but unfortunately, even their whispers reached my ears clearly.
Predicting one of them would soon approach, I turned decisively in the opposite direction.
No point engaging trash like that — only a headache.
But their persistence didn’t end there; one began to move toward me.
“Ah—wait! Ugh!”
“What the—gah!”
“……”
“……”
And then — silence.
Puzzled, I turned around, peering toward the curtained corner they’d been hiding in. The spot where I’d heard their voices — empty.
The two young nobles were gone.
No one else seemed to notice.
Lupian, I thought. Sorry for the trouble.
Scratching my wig sheepishly, I sighed in relief. Better handled quietly. No commotion — good.
Just a bit longer, Lu.
I wanted to stay by his side, but to deceive Mikael, I couldn’t afford to.
If anyone saw me friendly with Lupian here, it’d ruin everything — he’d sense another demon nearby and flee or change his plan.
They all thought I was still the helpless “monster lady.”
But that was fine — that was exactly what I wanted.
I leaned against the terrace wall, absently toying with my glass as I scanned the room again.
Among the sea of golden-haired ladies, one stood out — Lydia, unmistakably.
Even with a half mask, her graceful features shone through.
Men hovered around her, while Mikael, beside her, smoothly deflected them all.
Even masked, he was unmistakable.
From afar, I pulled my mask down just enough to reveal my eyes — and waited.
When his gaze finally met mine, I curved my glowing golden pupils into a teasing crescent and smiled crookedly before pulling the mask back up and turning toward the terrace.
As I slipped behind the tented curtains, I heard Mikael’s faint, breathless laugh behind me.
“Excuse me a moment.”
He excused himself from his companions and hurried toward me — his haste betraying his obsession.
How laughable. Always needing to possess what he desired — even when what he reached for was fire itself.
He’d once said he’d never failed to obtain anything he wanted.
Well then — let’s see if dangling just out of reach makes him dance to my tune.
As he passed by Lydia, her voice drifted faintly — claiming sudden dizziness and leaving.
Perfect timing.
I lifted the terrace curtain. As Mikael stepped inside, I tilted my head languidly.
“Lady Cabre.”
“No need for pretense. We both know who I am.”
“Ailee White?”
“I cast that name away when the White family cast me out.”
“Then… Ailee.”
He removed his pristine white mask and smiled radiantly — the picture of a man overjoyed to see the woman he loved.
He looked like a boy struck by first love’s fever.
Of course, it was all an act — every expression, carefully chosen.
When I told him to drop the act, he simply switched to acting through his face.
“As you said, I know everything — about you. About how noble and beautiful you truly are.”
“You mean, the monster lady.”
“They simply failed to see the beauty beneath that hideous shell. Even raw gold must meet sunlight to shine.”
Smooth talker.
If that’s so, then my sunlight had been Lupian — not him.
Mikael was just the fool who’d trampled the gold into the dirt, only to realize its worth too late.
He could dig all he wanted now — the gold already belonged to the sun.
I would never again leave that warm, saving light.
I laughed softly.
“You’ve got honey on your tongue.”
“You’re already a sun yourself, Ailee.”
Oh, please.
“That’s all? You think I’d be satisfied with so little? Surely you don’t believe I’m that small.”
The longer he spoke, the more absurd he became — arms outstretched, voice lilting like a lullaby.
Earlier I’d mocked him for pretending, but no — that face, that bliss — it wasn’t acting.
It was the look of a zealot lost in worship.
“I know your power,” he whispered. “You did that to Kant.
To shatter a man’s mind like that — astonishing.
And Lydia says she saw your true form.
Illusions made real — perhaps even teleportation.
And your physical strength… beyond human.
Ha… truly…”
He tilted his head back toward the moon, cupping his face in trembling hands.
His voice quivered with delight.
“…Magnificent.”
