Chapter 38
“…Alright. I’m sorry.”
Layla quietly admitted her fault and spoke weakly, her gaze drifting up to the Avier Count family crest hanging from the canopy ceiling.
He let out a sigh.
“That was a slip of the tongue. Forget it.”
“Yes.”
“The real bad person here is me.”
“Right.”
Layla couldn’t understand why his mood kept swinging back and forth like this. But she wasn’t feeling well enough to think too deeply about it.
Even so, it was strange—his words could be sharp, but his touch was gentle. Ever since earlier, even while scolding her, he had been nursing her with great care.
The towel he used to wipe her face was warm and carried the clean scent of fresh water. His touch was so delicate it was as though he were handling an extremely expensive, fragile glass ornament.
Maybe that was why she didn’t really mind his curt or nagging remarks. Her apologies slipped out easily. After all, no one had ever nursed her like this when she was sick.
“Rain.”
“…Yes.”
“You’re even prettier when you’re sick.”
Her voice came out hoarse as she replied, “I’ve heard I look better when I’m sick. I guess I stand out more.”
“Haha.”
She chuckled faintly at his teasing tone. He dipped the towel back into the water basin and reached out to wipe her hands.
Layla simply stared at him blankly.
It was truly the first time.
The men she had dated before… the maids and attendants who claimed to serve her… none of them had ever gone this far to take care of her when she was unwell.
Even though she’d been sick all her life, she’d never really been properly nursed. When her real mother—the only one who might have cared—was alive, she had been healthy, so there was no need for it then.
Somehow, she felt a strange sense of gratitude toward him.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Should I not look?”
The retort slipped out before she could stop herself. He fixed his gaze on her.
Layla saw something unusual in Rainier’s eyes—almost like… pity?
It had been a long time since anyone had looked at her that way. Her former lovers had only ever despised her, and in order to show loyalty to Siever, they had turned her illness into a joke.
So it felt strange that being sick here wasn’t seen as a weakness.
For her, sickness had always been a flaw, a shackle she could never break free from.
Her desire to keep living wasn’t only for revenge.
She had almost never been happy in her life, so she wanted to try being happy—somewhere no one mocked her, somewhere no one pointed fingers at her.
“Don’t cry.”
“Alright.”
She smiled, not denying it. But maybe because of the fever’s chill, tears spilled from her eyes anyway.
“Rain… why do you always… talk to me like that?”
Her raw, husky voice kept breaking, forcing her to pause.
“I told you before—whether you cry on the outside or inside, I always know.”
“Pfft…”
Layla let out a small laugh, comforted by his words.
“Thank you.”
And with her strength finally spent, she fainted.
Rainier’s expression turned somber as he watched her.
When Layla recovered, Rainier began using her treatment as an excuse to stay by her side constantly.
One day, Sonnet came to visit her in her bedroom.
Rainier was seated beside her under the pretense of being her doctor, while Sonnet, the guest, awkwardly stood there like an intruder.
“Welcome, Sonnet.”
Layla didn’t forget she had to keep up the act with him, so she greeted him with a cheerful smile. But when she accidentally met Rainier’s gaze, his eyes were so cold that her own smile faltered.
“I heard you were in Lady Siever’s room yesterday. For a very long time.”
“Oh, yes. I was waiting. It’s just… the doctor there really didn’t want to give me per-mis-sion.”
Sonnet emphasized each syllable heavily. Layla smiled as if to smooth things over.
“Either way, thanks for coming. I’m glad to see you, Sonnet.”
“…Yeah.”
“Did you rush over because you heard I was sick?”
“Of course. We’ll be officially engaged soon, after all.”
Sonnet placed heavy emphasis on “engaged.” Layla wondered why—until she realized he probably wanted to assert that he outranked Rainier.
“Doctor, you can leave now. The lovers would like to be alone.”
Sonnet looked down at Rainier, but when his eyes met those unsettling crimson ones, an odd shiver went through him. For a moment, he instinctively stepped back—like he’d just confronted something not entirely human.
Still, he straightened his back again. It was ridiculous to feel intimidated by a mere commoner doctor.
He didn’t like commoners to begin with—thanks to a certain incident involving his father’s concubine, who had been of common birth.
“Save the lovers’ games for when the lady is fully recovered. As I’ve said before, the viscount is… teeming with germs.”
“…I bathed before coming.”
“Bathing won’t help. I hear you’ve been to war quite a few times, Viscount. Battlefields are filthy. Who knows what diseases you might have picked up there?”
“That was over six months ago. I wash every day. I was careful to be clean before coming here—and I washed my hands again upon arrival. I was planning to touch Layla, after all.”
It seemed Sonnet had also prepared thoroughly, unwilling to lose to Rainier.
“How ignorant of you.”
Rainier smirked.
“You have no idea what pathogens your body might carry. For example, the natives of Amanta weren’t destroyed by the Sigmund Empire’s military might, but by the minor illnesses the knights brought with them.”
“…”
“Perhaps you have immunity, but the lady might not. You could pass something to her without knowing.”
At Rainier’s serious tone, Sonnet paled, realizing it might be true.
“Then what am I supposed to do? We’re engaged—do I have to keep not touching her?”
“Rain, that’s enough.”
Layla stopped him. If this went on, Sonnet would get angry, and that would be a problem.
She still had to act as though she cared about Sonnet. That way, Siever would go crazy wanting to have him.
“Layla…”
“I’m fine, really.”
She smiled, taking Sonnet’s hand.
“We might have to settle for this much until the engagement, but… I’ll get healthy.”
Sonnet nodded.
“That’s enough for today.”
Rainier sighed, and Sonnet, satisfied with Layla’s attitude, smiled.
“I’ll come again tomorrow. Can I stop by again tonight?”
“Better not. The lady should sleep early. After being that sick yesterday, her stamina isn’t great.”
“I see… Alright. I’ll come tomorrow then, Layla.”
“Mm, I’ll be waiting.”
But Sonnet didn’t leave right away. He clutched her hand tightly.
“Are you sure I can’t come tonight?”
“No, you can’t. Time to go.”
“You heard him. See you tomorrow, Sonnet.”
“…Yeah.”
Sonnet was practically chased out of the room.
Rainier shut the door behind him, sighed, and sat back down beside her.
Layla figured he must dislike Sonnet just as much as he disliked Hugo, so she said nothing.
That night, Rainier brought her some medicine.
“Rain, remember that rival company to Eclair we talked about?”
“Yes.”
“I thought about it earlier today. Want to hear my idea?”
“Go ahead.”
He stirred the medicine with a transparent stick, then poured it into a teacup. Layla no longer minded the taste—it always seemed to make her feel a little better.
“Eclair’s problem is that they can’t get their supplies, right?”
“Yes.”
“I heard one of their ships sank again this time.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
He was letting the medicine cool. She smiled at him.
“Then their customers must be pretty angry waiting for their goods.”
“Probably.”
“Then why don’t we steal them?”
Rainier gave her an intrigued look.
“Easier said than done.”
“No, really. We sell the same goods—but at a higher price.”
“At a higher price, wouldn’t they be even less likely to buy?”
She lifted a finger.
“Nobles don’t buy Eclair’s goods for cost-effectiveness. They want luxury.”
“…True.”
“So let’s give them that.”
“How?”
He was still waiting, the cup warm in his hands, eyes locked on hers.
“By selling the illusion along with the product.”
“Give me an example.”
Hoping he wouldn’t think her strange, she said,
“Sell it with a story.”
Rainier’s lips curved into an interested smile.
Layla was thinking of using the kinds of marketing she had seen in advertisements in her previous life.
