Chapter 90
Whether or not the word “charity” was attached to it, Cayente had absolutely no intention of allowing a concert like that.
And yet—he had fallen completely for Julia’s little trick.
She hadn’t even needed to seduce him; she hadn’t even really tried.
Because from the moment he opened the door to Julia’s bedroom, Cayente’s head had been filled with nothing but the thought of holding her in his arms.
He hadn’t planned on letting her gain such fame through the cello, and yet he had already allowed her to perform at the Emperor’s party without much resistance—and now, a concert?
Still… what could he do?
It had to be this way.
“Haa…”
“Brother…”
After sleeping together, Julia had been frustrated, thinking she was the only one whose feelings had deepened—but perhaps that wasn’t entirely true.
She hadn’t expected this to work—but it had.
Even if the feeling Cayente held wasn’t love, there was at least a desire strong enough to make him bend his will just to have her.
That alone made Julia happy.
For once, as they shared each other’s bodies, she trembled freely in his arms, without that familiar hollow emptiness inside.
“Just to confirm—so I’m supposed to look into everything you mentioned?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll do my best, sir!”
Early that morning, Cayente went to the office to hand Ian a list of tasks.
But instead of the half-hearted reaction he expected, Ian stood before him brimming with resolve—and that only left Cayente more conflicted.
He had wondered if revenge was really still necessary—but to think he’d actually end up entrusting Ian with real work.
“Is there anything else you’d like me to handle?”
“No. You can go.”
Though Cayente clearly dismissed him, Ian lingered in front of the desk, shuffling awkwardly until Cayente asked if he had something to say.
At that, Ian spoke up, looking both apologetic and grateful.
“I know I’m not the most reliable person, but please don’t worry too much, sir.”
It seemed Ian mistook the furrow between Cayente’s brows as worry for him.
Despite his young age, the boy was determined to do well, saying that while their father, the baron, was away, it was his duty as the acting head of House Ruperga not to let anyone down.
He even clenched his fists, vowing to revive their household in their father’s stead.
Cayente wanted to scoff at how naïve that sounded, but whenever Ian spoke like that, his expression faintly resembled Julia’s—and so Cayente couldn’t bring himself to say anything, not even something simple like, I don’t want the Ruperga family’s glory back anyway.
“Count, I brought this because you seemed to keep forgetting about it.”
“What?”
After Ian left the office, Henry came in with a tray of tea, then reached into his pocket.
Cayente waited, curious, as Henry pulled out a small glass ornament shaped like a lamb.
“This little ornament, sir. Madam said there was also one shaped like a lamb, so I brought it along.”
Henry took out a handkerchief and gently polished the spotless glass lamb before setting it beside the bear ornament that already decorated Cayente’s desk.
Predator and prey—one might think they wouldn’t match, but since they were similar in size and made of the same glass, they actually looked quite harmonious together.
At least Julia wouldn’t come by, say it didn’t fit the decor, and take the lamb back.
The thought brought Cayente a fleeting sense of satisfaction—followed quickly by a heavy sigh.
“How is this even possible?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
Even if Julia is special to me… how can this be happening?
“I keep finding myself worrying about what she’ll think.”
Just because there was now some bond between them, something built through touch—did that mean he could throw away his original plans and principles?
That as long as Julia smiled at him, everything else stopped mattering?
Could such a thing really be possible?
“Someone of your standing, sir—why would you need to worry about anyone’s opinion?”
Henry laughed lightly, saying it would be quite the surprise if that were true.
Then, noticing Cayente’s eyes drifting toward the lamb ornament, he added knowingly:
“Isn’t that what love is, sir?”
“Love?”
“When all you want is for the other person to be happy beside you… when you start weighing every word, every action, afraid to hurt them—that’s love, isn’t it? It means you love the madam, Count.”
Love? Impossible.
Cayente rejected the thought immediately—it was absurd.
But then Henry went on, and Cayente faltered again.
“By the way, have you looked into Baron Ruperga’s whereabouts?
It seems the debt collectors somehow found the new mansion.
Unless the Baron returns soon, things will be hard to settle.
Do you know where he’s gone?”
The topic was the baron—Julia’s father.
Every morning, Julia would see Cayente off and ask if there was any news.
Each time he shook his head, she would blink back tears.
He hesitated.
If Julia could just hear that her father was safe, she would surely smile again—beautifully.
And if it meant she could stop crying every morning…
then perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to pass along that reassurance himself.
On the morning of the Emperor’s garden party, a letter arrived.
Sitting before her vanity, Julia saw her father’s familiar, neat handwriting—and, contrary to Cayente’s expectations, she didn’t smile.
She burst into tears.
Even before reading it, she seemed relieved simply to know that the baron was alive and well enough to have addressed an envelope.
“Every morning, I woke up afraid I’d hear terrible news about Father… I’m so relieved.”
Cayente remembered how he, too, had once felt the same—finding comfort just by seeing his mother’s handwriting on an envelope.
He had known Julia checked all the letters arriving at the mansion, but he hadn’t realized she trembled every time, afraid one might bear her father’s death.
After all that waiting, the contents were brief—
I’m doing well. Circumstances prevent me from returning for now, but don’t worry and live well.
No other details, no explanations.
Still, Julia seemed entirely satisfied.
“Stop crying. You can’t play with swollen eyes in front of everyone.”
“Oh, my goodness… You’re right. Lucy, could you redo my makeup?”
“Yes, Madam!”
All that, over something so simple.
“But how did my letter end up with you, Brother?”
As Julia wiped her tears, smiling faintly, Cayente’s thoughts tangled.
If he told her the truth—that he knew exactly where her father was—
would she cry harder? Or stare at him in anger?
“I happened to find it in the garden.”
“I see.”
“Get ready. Even if we leave now, we might be cutting it close.”
“Yes, of course!”
Changing the subject, Cayente silently followed behind her and picked up the cello leaning against the wall.
The Emperor’s summer party was held in the main palace garden.
Calling it a garden hardly did it justice—it was vast, almost like a forest, the kind of place where one could easily get lost.
Thanks to that, even with nobles from across the capital crowding in, the space never felt cramped.
Only Julia had lost her composure.
Unlike before, there were guests who genuinely looked forward to hearing her play.
She had practiced thoroughly, yet still couldn’t shake her nerves.
If her performance was captivating enough, it would lead to future concerts.
But if it fell short—if people attended only out of obligation, because it was “for charity” and hosted by “Count Clue”—
then that would be humiliating in its own way.
“At this rate, your shoulders are so tense you’ll make mistakes you never would’ve otherwise.”
She forced a polite smile as she stood beside Cayente, greeting people, but every time the crowd murmured, she jumped—thinking perhaps the Emperor had arrived.
Noticing this, Cayente murmured dryly.
The irony was, he seemed just as tense himself.
His face, usually so composed, was unusually stiff as he scanned the gathering.
Does he understand how I feel? Julia wondered. That I just want to do well, but I’m scared to fail?
She gave him a faint, shaky smile.
“I think I’ll have some warm tea.”
Lately, she’d found herself mistaking these small gestures of his for affection.
He had once told her he wanted her misfortune, yet now he seemed… gentler.
Perhaps it was only because they’d grown closer as husband and wife—but still…
“Didn’t your physician leave some medicine for calming your nerves? Why don’t you ask Lucy to fetch it?”
Such remarks only made her heart more confused.
Before Julia could even answer, Cayente ordered someone to tell Lucy himself.
She thought, I’m nothing to him. Why would he care how nervous I am?
And yet, he did—and that simple act made her heart flutter.
“Thank you.”
When she smiled in gratitude, Cayente always averted his gaze, flustered—
and that, in turn, made Julia’s chest ache in the sweetest way.
Because he looked… adorable.
That tall, stoic man, embarrassed by one small smile of hers—it was impossibly endearing.
“Shall we request the performance now?”
Still smiling, Julia stepped toward the stage as the Emperor’s herald called her name.
Even as she walked away, she could feel Cayente’s gaze on her.
And she hoped—just maybe—that sometimes, in his eyes, she looked as lovely as he did in hers.
