CHAPTER 30
Dior Agnes
“You’re not coming again?”
Kant asked. Dior briefly locked eyes with him, his deep crimson gaze meeting Kant’s before he turned back to his book. Though Kant was one of the few in the group who genuinely liked Dior, he clicked his tongue in disappointment.
“Tch. Useless bastard.”
“Say whatever you want. I’m not going.”
Dior’s words drew a clear line, prompting Kant to give up with a shrug. He’d asked more out of courtesy than expectation—he already knew Dior wouldn’t go. What did surprise him, however, wasn’t Dior, the nearly asexual man with zero libido, but Maximilian, who had also declared he wouldn’t go. Once a frequent visitor of brothels, the man had barely shown a spark for months and now didn’t even venture there.
Kant scoffed.
“Didn’t they say the best way to get over love is with love?”
“Who said I was over it? When did I say I gave up?”
“What was it again? A soulmate? How many soulmates do you have, anyway?”
At that, Maximilian, who had been silently sitting there, suddenly scowled.
“This time is different! I wish you wouldn’t speak so lightly of Hillis.”
“Your pattern never changes. You pine like that, then the moment she shows interest, you get bored and go crawling back to Lydia. What is Lydia to you, really?”
Should I kill him? Kant had been speaking offhandedly, but now felt a deep, inexplicable irritation. His crimson eyes narrowed, while Maximilian simply let out a heavy sigh, seemingly surrendering. Normally, he’d either shout something like “He’s gonna kill me again!” or duck behind the couch.
But this time, with this “Hillis” girl, it was different. Kant grew curious. What kind of woman had bewitched this shameless playboy to the point of months-long obsession? His eyes gleamed dangerously.
“Do you even know what kind of woman she is? You didn’t even get her real name, did you?”
“She said her name was Ellie at first… Though I’m not even sure that’s her real name.”
“Have you even seen her again since then?”
“N-no…”
“Thought so. You got played.”
As Kant ran a hand through his red hair, laughing, Maximilian’s breath grew heavier—then he grabbed Kant by the collar. Both Kant, Dior, and Ailhart, who had been sprawled on the couch, looked at him in surprise. After all, Maximilian was the type who hid behind others when trouble brewed, smiling like a fool. Even when teased mercilessly, he’d cry out “That’s mean!” but never raise his voice. That he was the one grabbing someone by the collar? Unheard of.
With everyone watching intently, Maximilian finally spoke, his face deadly serious.
“I have no reason to argue with you anymore. I’ve met my destiny. My whole world changed when I met her. Do you understand? The sky, the world—everything revolved around her.”
His green eyes glazed over, as if possessed. Dior found it mildly intriguing. It seemed this affair of the heart might last longer than usual.
Meanwhile, the Cabre family—long associated with Dior’s household—finally requested a formal meeting. He’d always known this might happen someday. What he hadn’t expected was that the adopted daughter, Lady Cabre, had specifically requested him and not one of his more illustrious older brothers. Why her interest in someone like him, who had nothing to inherit?
He figured it had to be one of two things: his looks or his manners. He didn’t know where she’d seen him, but if he thought about it logically, that was the only explanation. So, all he had to do was win her over. Their ages were suitable, so maybe it was a setup for an arranged marriage. As the third son of a ducal house, he would be a good catch for a powerless noble lady. And for Dior, it would be a step up.
As for Ailee Cabre, he assumed she was the kind of shallow girl who, like Maximilian, fell in love based on appearances alone. But after meeting her in person, his thoughts began to shift.
She’s definitely trying to get on my good side…
Dior looked over Ailee from head to toe as she gave him a shy smile. She wasn’t bad-looking. Her expressions constantly changed—each one more pitiful than the last. Her face was more sharp than soft, but for some reason, she looked delicate enough to need protection.
Objectively, she was stunning. In fact, Dior hadn’t seen such beauty since Lydia. Who would’ve thought a woman with no public presence could possess such beauty? She was so beautiful that for a moment, Dior even suspected some improper relationship between her and the head of the Cabre family.
If Lydia was a radiant sun, then Ailee was a soft, glowing moon. Not one to shine on her own but one that turned her surroundings into a stage meant just for her. Her subtle light seemed to pull in anyone entranced by night and time itself.
Especially those eyes—violet eyes that were hard to look away from. Beautiful, but mysterious, like a lake reflecting the night sky. You couldn’t see the bottom, and that unknowable depth inspired fear.
He was sure he’d heard of a woman like her before. Dior narrowed his eyes slightly, recalling Maximilian’s endless rants about his “fated one.” Dark blue hair and violet eyes were a rare combination, even in the Empire. Her captivating gaze might even surpass Lydia’s green eyes.
She fit Maximilian’s “destined one” perfectly.
He couldn’t be sure, but she had to be the rumored Hillis. Though her behavior was unlike anything he’d heard.
Well, with looks like that, no wonder he’s lost his mind.
But she wasn’t just beautiful. She looked pure and naïve, but something in her expressions occasionally felt cold. Whenever she lowered her eyes slightly, it stirred not protectiveness—but something more unnerving. Her white, slender neck stood out against her loosely flowing black hair, sending chills through Dior’s spine. It wasn’t fear, but the sense that he might lose himself.
Was it her eyes? Dior kept glancing at his cold, clammy hands as he tried to avoid her gaze. But the few times their eyes met, something unsettling crept over him. He couldn’t look away.
Though clearly in the Agnes household, he felt strangely isolated, as if lost in a place he didn’t recognize. The lack of control was deeply unpleasant. And the sly little fox beside her who kept needling him wasn’t helping either.
The dynamic between the Cabre siblings reminded Dior of his relationship with his older brothers.
He often felt crushing inferiority toward them—constantly as a child, occasionally even now. But their superior abilities were undeniable. Like towering walls, they blocked his path completely. The Duke of Agnes never looked back at him. Not once.
Dior, still the good-for-nothing third son, remained there purely out of stubborn pride with no real purpose anymore.
I just wanted recognition.
Drifting like a raft caught in the tide, trying to steer but going nowhere… And suddenly, he was an adult—and nothing had changed. In skills, in status, in relationships. Sometimes, unseen waves roiled within him, disrupting his calm.
Just as one such wave approached, the Cabre family’s adopted daughter came knocking. A fragile lady facing a situation not unlike his own. Whether it was an act or not, he found himself agreeing to help her.
At first, his goal had been to win her favor. But as he spoke, he found himself wanting to see that arrogant little fox’s expression twist. And if he were to marry Ailee Cabre, the benefits would be enormous. He’d gain the support of the Cabre family. He might even usurp Howla, their current heir apparent.
By any measure, this was a win for him. Whether for satisfaction or strategy, Dior found himself genuinely wanting to help her. To him, Ailee was a godsend.
As he tested her reactions by talking about getting stronger and offering to introduce her to Lydia, she responded so innocently that he doubted she could really be Maximilian’s “soulmate.” He didn’t care much about her double life as a noble’s adopted daughter, but he was undeniably intrigued. Was she once a commoner? Come to think of it, hadn’t Maximilian said she used to go by “Ellie”? The more he thought about her, the less he understood. Ailee Cabre was full of mysteries.
What are you? Why approach me?
“She understands the inner workings of this world better than anyone. If you’d like, I can arrange a meeting with her. Lydia, that is. She’s apparently mourning the loss of a friend lately.”
Pretending to be kind, Dior mentioned Lydia—but his expression hardened as a certain monster came to mind.
Even in front of servants, Dior never lost his temper. He always appeared cold and composed, gentle when necessary. He buried and masked his ugly emotions under a blank face—but sometimes, they burst out unexpectedly, which he found troublesome.
The death of that “monster” had created a problem. He’d lost the only person he could unleash those feelings upon. He could find another substitute, sure—but none made him so aware of his own cruelty. That monster’s only merit was being a noble lady and a monster.
He’d vaguely known that other noble sons had plotted her death but hadn’t intervened. Now he regretted it. Where would he find such an obedient monster again? Someone in a position safe from disgrace, yet physically weak and visually repulsive. Thinking of Ailee White again, Dior had a fleeting thought:
Maybe I should’ve played with her a bit longer before letting her die.
It was only a passing thought. He’d lived fine without her. He’d manage.
Wait—Ailee?
Ailee White. Ailee Cabre. Same name. The monster he’d let die, and the stunning woman before him. Dior’s eyes briefly narrowed—but the suspicion quickly passed. It wasn’t an uncommon name. And besides, that monster was already dead.
“Please introduce me.”
Her eyes met his and widened slightly. It felt like she was pulling at his very soul. That smile—utterly enchanting.
