Chapter 12:
It was a gamble—impulsive, but not regrettable.
Arte’s greatest weapon was none other than the lingering shadow of Peria. Though it was difficult to discern the exact reason, one thing was certain: whenever Dimion looked at Arte, he thought of Peria.
He was a man who seemed like a god, with the world at his feet. The only time he showed any human vulnerability was when it had something to do with Peria.
That had to be his one and only weakness. So she had to grab it—and shake it.
Arte knew full well how cruel it was to use a dead person, a dead lover no less, but she had no other choice.
“Was there anyone like that, Your Grace?”
Even when she asked again, no answer followed. Silence was his reply.
None of the women the elders had pushed on him—no, likely no one who had come into contact with him since Peria’s death—had reminded him of Peria as much as Arte did.
“You keep the position of fiancée vacant, and you haven’t taken a single lover, not even casually. Isn’t it because you don’t want to forget Lady Datun? You probably don’t want to layer new memories over those you shared with her.”
From here on, it was a gamble. One possibility was that things would go the way Arte hoped: she could borrow Dimion’s wealth and honor. The other possibility was that she’d provoke the wrath of Rocata and fall even deeper into ruin.
“Other women might try to erase her and carve themselves into your memory, but not me. Please engrave her memory onto me.”
Even if it meant using up every ounce of luck she’d have in her life, Arte didn’t care. She just hoped Dimion would be swayed by her persuasion.
“I’ll act just like Lady Datun. Her way of speaking, her habits, her preferences—everything. I can match it all.”
Because Dimion had stepped closer moments ago, the distance between them had shortened. Arte cautiously reached out toward him.
Her target was his hand—calloused and rough, the hand of a well-trained soldier. It was large, solid, firm.
Her soft, delicate hand grasped his, and praying he wouldn’t notice how loudly her heart was pounding, she guided his hand to her cheek.
“A portrait or a photograph, forever frozen in time, can’t satisfy longing. But a living doll is different. I can speak, move, and be touched—like this.”
It was a brazen move. A kind of provocation. The flicker in Dimion’s eyes was proof of that.
“Do everything you wanted to do to Lady Datun—to me.”
No one knew better than Arte how insane it was to offer herself as a replacement for the dead.
But she had to go insane to pull Dimion in. The man in front of her was the only salvation for her and her family.
She couldn’t lose him.
“Everything I wanted to do?”
His smile was ambiguous—somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. Dimion, who had remained silent until now, removed his hand from her cheek and grabbed her delicate jaw.
“What do you think I wanted to do with Peria?”
Her provocation had backfired and turned on her.
There was a fire burning in the pale green eyes staring into hers. And the sky behind him, tinged in deep red, made it feel as if an enormous blaze was about to consume her.
“If I said I wanted to spend all night entangled with her like a beast… would you be willing to strip down and roll around in bed?”
Unconsciously, Arte bit her lip. She had prepared for this. Her body and heart might be dragged through the mud, but she could endure it.
After all, she had already dreamt of being trapped under Dimion, between her legs. That strange dream, which brought with it heat even at the memory, had filled her with inexplicable courage.
“I can do it.”
She answered firmly and clearly. Dimion let out a short, dry laugh. He was clearly skeptical and didn’t believe her sincerity one bit.
“I really can. If you want, I can undress right he—”
“Then strip.”
The reply came before she could even finish the sentence. It was so swift that Arte froze.
His gaze, his voice—everything about him was cold.
A thousand thoughts passed in an instant. They were in a secluded place, so no one would see her naked.
But that didn’t mean the shame of undressing outdoors disappeared.
“What? Can’t do it now that it’s real?”
Why was he so good at provoking her? He hadn’t taken her hand, hadn’t invoked Peria, and yet with a single question, Dimion stirred up all her emotions.
Biting her lip hard, Arte brought her right hand up to her collarbone, where the buttons of her blouse began.
She grasped one of the small round buttons—but no matter how she moved her fingers, it wouldn’t come undone.
Arte, who had been glaring at Dimion, looked down in confusion.
“……!”
A hint of irritation entered her gaze—and then she saw it. Her hands were trembling violently.
Arte hadn’t even realized she was shaking this badly.
She tried to calm herself, to steady her hands, but they wouldn’t listen.
She couldn’t let this happen. She had to show Dimion how determined she was. If she showed weakness now, she couldn’t persuade him.
So she raised her left hand, too. She’d use both if that’s what it took.
“Stop.”
But Dimion stopped her.
His face was colder than before. He was the one who had told her to undress, yet now he looked angry that she was actually doing it.
It was absurd. She couldn’t begin to understand what he was thinking.
But there was no time to dissect each of Dimion’s emotions. Now that he had put a stop to it, this method of appeal was no longer viable.
“What I told you earlier is all I want. I swear I want nothing else. I just want Peter to come home safely and to be freed from this wretched debt. I’m not asking for money for free. I’ll pay it back.”
“And how do you plan to do that, my lady?”
Dimion gave a weak laugh. He sounded more derisive than when she said she could sleep with him.
“By painting. I’ve been selling paintings under an alias. I’ve even used the money I earned to pay off the estate’s debts…”
“You paint?”
She didn’t get the chance to explain how long she’d been painting, how talented she was, or how much money she’d made.
The moment Arte mentioned she painted, Dimion seized both her arms like a man possessed.
“I asked you—do you paint?”
“…Yes. I do.”
It wasn’t the sort of question that warranted such an emotional reaction. It wasn’t even that unusual for a noble lady to paint these days.
‘Ah.’
Arte, frozen by his sudden change, quickly understood why.
“Did Lady Datun paint too?”
Again, silence was his answer. But she didn’t need words. The emotion shaking in his eyes told her everything.
“If you want, I can paint just like she did. I’ve practiced reproducing works many times.”
There was no time to be surprised by the fact that Peria had also painted. She had to overlay herself with Peria as quickly as possible.
Determined to press forward, Arte dropped to her knees. She didn’t hesitate, even though she knew her dress would be ruined by the grass.
“Please, Your Grace. I’ll do anything you want. If you decide I’m no longer useful, I’ll walk away without hesitation. So please, make a contract with me.”
Arte looked up at him with desperate eyes. Her sincerity had to reach him—no matter what.
Dimion looked down at her in silence. The storm in his gaze slowly calmed.
Whether that change meant she was doomed or saved, she couldn’t tell. She simply prayed and prayed that he would side with her.
“Wait until dawn. That will be your answer.”
Dimion left it vague and turned his back on her. He didn’t help her to her feet, nor did he glance back.
“……”
Left alone, Arte stood frozen for a long time. She staggered back to the mansion only after dusk had fallen and the sky turned dark.
Lisa, startled, asked what had happened, and the other maids, including Martha, fussed over her. But Arte didn’t speak a word all night.
She just sat awake, waiting—desperately—for the sun to rise.
“Young Lady!”
Finally, at dawn, Martha came running and knocked frantically at the door. Arte, who had been leaning against the large half-wall by the window, sprang to her feet.
“Young Master Peter…!”
Arte’s heart plummeted at the sight of Martha sobbing and unable to finish her sentence. But the words that followed made her release a breath of relief.
Peter had been released.
Just as Arte had asked of Dimion.
