PGMGR 01

                                                                    Chapter 01

It was that dream again.

A dim room where the dark green wallpaper looked nearly black. A deep brown wooden floor, covered by a Persian carpet with intricate patterns.

A door blocked with a chair to prevent anyone from entering, and next to it, stacks of canvases large and small leaning against the wall.

After scanning the now-familiar small room—so familiar she could draw it with her eyes closed—her gaze would inevitably land on a hand gripping the faded cream-colored curtains.

The dream that visited her again and again always followed the same pattern.

The path of her gaze, the order in which her senses awakened—everything was fixed.

Her vision awakened as she took in the room. Her sense of touch stirred as she felt the coarse texture of the curtain.

A sharp jolt ran through her nerves, identifying every sensation touching her skin.

The warmth of sunlight filtering through the window behind the curtain. The dryness of the cracked air inside the room.

But the most intense sensation of all came from the heat between her legs.

“Ah…”

Goosebumps erupted over her entire body. Her hair stood on end, her toes curled inward.

Only after enduring the assault of inexplicable sensations would the situation come into clearer focus.

Her left hand trembled as it clutched the hem of a bright red dress. Her left leg lay draped over the broad shoulder of someone in a black uniform.

As her eyes fluttered shut at the sight of her white underwear hanging loosely around her ankle, she would glimpse—through the folds of the dress—a peek of sleek, dark hair.

And then the crushing realization: someone had their face buried between her legs.

A flood of question marks came rushing in.

Where was this place? Had she ever been here before? Or was it all imaginary?

Who was this man? A figment of her imagination? Or someone she’d once encountered?

More than that—why did she keep having this dream?

But the questions never found answers. They scattered like dust into the air.

Even so, she wished the sensation would continue just a little longer.

It was a contradiction. She knew that.

But secretly, she longed for it.

As the hidden desire deepened and threatened to emerge, the teasing motions of flesh suddenly turned dense and intense.

No matter how many times it happened, it always brought a powerful catharsis. All she could do was lean her head back and tremble uncontrollably.

〈Haa…〉

As she shook, unable to collect herself, her hearing finally kicked in. A low, husky voice, like a predator’s growl, drew her attention toward the man.

〈…….〉

She’d seen his face more than once. Yet every time, the beauty of the man nestled between her thighs left her breathless.

His fine black hair slicked back, revealing a clear forehead. Bold, defined brows. Long, deep-set eyes the color of spring greenery. A sharp nose and a firm, well-shaped mouth.

A face so perfectly crafted, she couldn’t imagine how much care a god must have taken to create it.

Entranced, she would find herself admiring him—until he looked up and locked eyes with her. His light green gaze, just slightly unfocused, was so thick with desire it made her fingertips tingle.

〈…Ria.〉

His lips, glistening with her wetness, barely formed the name.

Was it even a name? Why did he call her that? She wanted to ask—every single time.

But the dream never allowed questions.

“Haa… haa…”

“Oh my, miss! Did you have a nightmare?”

Every time she tried to speak, she would wake up with ragged breaths.

That sensual dream featuring a man as beautiful as a painting always fled just before morning arrived.

“Ah…”

All that remained was the soaked undergarment she couldn’t possibly show her maid.

* * *

“Smile, Arte.”

Countess Tien whispered to Arte.

Arte swallowed a sigh and looked at her mother, the countess. Even her face, telling Arte to smile, was gloomy beyond words.

In fact, everyone gathered at the front gate of the estate looked the same.

Count Tien, the countess, her older brother Peter, her sister Lisa, even the butler and all the servants—they were all the same.

It was supposed to be a welcoming occasion, but no one was smiling.

Understandably so.

They were waiting for a wealthy buyer to purchase the estate.

The emotional turmoil from her shameful dream paled in comparison to the crushing weight of her current reality.

It was a time of upheaval. Blink, and the world changed.

Dignity and reputation alone were no longer enough to maintain an estate, and Count Tien was paying dearly for realizing that too late.

They had already cut their staff by more than half and tightened every belt they could—but it wasn’t enough.

Selling the estate was the only way to salvage the tiniest shred of pride.

The problem was—no one wanted to buy this rural estate.

Three earls—whose names she no longer even remembered—had come and gone.

One viscount, who struck it rich after discovering a diamond mine.

Four barons, clearly men who had bought their titles with money.

Eight times they’d lined up to greet guests. Eight times they’d hosted welcoming banquets. And still, no sale.

No wonder everyone was tense.

“A duke, is it?”

Arte asked Peter quietly, and he nodded with great seriousness.

Peter had played a big role in arranging this visit. He’d said the duke was a close friend and comrade of the Marquess of Rapsus—who happened to be Peter’s good friend. A very famous man, and a billionaire duke, no less.

‘What was his name again…’

Arte tried to recall the duke’s name but soon gave up.

It was pointless.

There was no way a man like that would buy their estate. If he were that foolish, he wouldn’t be a billionaire.

‘We’ll just waste another banquet.’

Arte swallowed her words as she stared off into the distance.

The sky was so blue it hurt to look at. Today, it was unusually clear—no clouds in sight.

But the clear sky only made her feel more bitter than usual.

The thought of saying goodbye to the scenery she had cherished all her life brought a wave of despair.

“A car is coming, my lord.”

Perhaps even feeling sorry for herself had become a luxury. Before she could sink into her grief, the butler announced the guest’s arrival.

Everyone turned to look.

A bright red car was speeding toward the estate. It had a long front end, like a dog’s snout, and its top was open, matching the roar of its engine.

Two men sat in the front seats. The marquess who introduced the duke must’ve come along too.

The car, which had been far away just moments ago, reached the front gate in no time.

At that moment, Arte bowed her head deeply.

She had no desire to see the face of a billionaire who might be buying their estate.

By society’s standards, anyone who would buy such a worthless rural estate would be nothing short of a savior. She knew that.

But the idea that it was worthless—that judgment was made by a world that valued only money.

This was where Arte had been born and raised. Every moment of her life was embedded in this place. No matter what others said, to her, it was paradise.

So to her, this rich man wasn’t a savior—just an annoying stranger trying to steal her paradise.

“Welcome.”

That’s why she didn’t lift her head.

Even when she heard the car door close, the footsteps approaching, the count’s formal greeting—she kept her gaze firmly fixed on the ground.

But this defiance couldn’t last long.

The reality she faced was too harsh to keep turning her nose up at the guests.

If they kept failing to sell the estate, the Tien family—herself included—would soon end up on the streets.

Sigh…

In the end, Arte suppressed a long sigh and straightened her posture.

The only dignity she could cling to now was to keep her eyes fixed straight ahead and not steal glances as the duke approached.

The duke greeted each member of the family, starting with the count, drawing closer to Arte with each introduction.

“Pleased to meet you.”

The closer he came, the clearer his voice became.

Even at a glance, it was a sweet, low tone.

How could someone taking her home away sound this pleasant? It was absurd—but still, it irritated her.

She found herself wishing he were a terrible person. If he were cruel and ugly, she could at least justify her resentment.

“…!”

But when the duke finally stopped in front of her, all the animosity and resistance Arte had been holding vanished in an instant.

‘No way…’

The man from her dreams was standing before her.

Exactly as she had seen him—just as beautiful, just as perfect.