Chapter 8
The royal ball ended not long after I fled to the balcony.
I trembled like a leaf in the cold, but my head was too noisy with unsettled thoughts to go back inside. Part of me was afraid I might run into Armin Gray by accident.
Just as I was about to freeze, the balcony door opened.
It was Shasha. But the expression on his face was unusual. He strode over and immediately started questioning me.
“Bibi, what did you do?”
“Huh? W–what do you mean? Ahaha. What are you talking about all of a sudden?”
Like the saying goes—when a thief is caught, his heart jumps first. My voice trembled under Shasha’s stern gaze.
Then he suddenly held something out to me.
It was the shawl I had been wearing earlier—familiar and soft in appearance.
“So why is this in Armin Gray’s hands?”
His tone contained no respect whatsoever for the young man of the Gray ducal house.
Shasha had always had a bit of a sister complex. From his perspective, he already disliked the man—so seeing him bring back the shawl his little sister usually wrapped around herself would naturally annoy him.
“Uh… what?”
Confused, I looked at Shasha.
My brother seemed just as surprised by the situation.
“Yeah. He said he picked it up off the floor in the hallway. Tell me the truth—what happened?”
I flinched.
“He picked it up? That guy?”
I glanced at Shasha, trying to read the situation. My brother also looked unsettled by the unexpected development.
“Yeah. So tell me—what happened? Don’t hide it. If you do, it’ll only get worse later.”
Shasha’s words made me hesitate.
Should I tell him the truth? Or hide it?
For a brief moment, an intense struggle raged inside my head.
‘Right! No matter how I think about it, it’s not like he would report me to the Inquisition just for reading that book. It’s a bit strange, but in the end it’s not that big a deal, right?’
So I chose the latter.
If he returned the shawl, maybe it was a good sign.
I didn’t want to confess and end up getting scolded for two or three days. The temptation to just let it pass convinced me.
“Oh, I must have dropped it when I was running, and he picked it up! He really is kind, unlike what you said!”
“Kind? That’s Armin Gray we’re talking about. Does he look like the type of person who would pick up something off the ground?”
“Well, I’ve never met him, so I don’t know. Ahh, it’s cold! Can we go home now? Eh… achoo!”
I exaggerated as I spoke—and sneezed. I had been outside too long.
Seeing this, Shasha’s suspicion faded, replaced by worry.
“You’re going to catch a cold if you keep wandering around in thin clothes! Come here.”
He quickly draped the shawl over me.
It was true that I had been cold, but I acted even more dramatically, shivering exaggeratedly so that Shasha would focus on worrying about me instead of Armin Gray.
My little scheme worked.
Shasha, now fully convinced I might get sick, hurriedly ordered the carriage to be prepared.
Even inside the carriage, I pretended to fall asleep—acting tired so I could avoid his sharp gaze.
Feigning sleep was the best strategy.
Days passed, and a fragile peace followed.
After the ball, I kept having nightmares about Armin Gray.
In my dreams, I was trapped again in that strangely structured room, alone with him—staring at each other in the same terrifying silence.
The nightmares made me look increasingly pale.
Mother and Father blamed themselves for sending me to the ball.
Shasha, too, seemed to regret teasing me about marriage.
I claimed to be sick and stayed in my room, refusing to step outside.
I was simply too afraid of Armin Gray.
I feared that the door would suddenly burst open and the Inquisition would drag me away.
But humans adapt.
After a week passed without anything happening, my tension gradually loosened—just as nature intended.
I even started eating cookies again.
Seeing me relax, my parents felt relieved, and Shasha stopped questioning whether something had happened.
I thought the storm had passed.
But the story, which I believed to be over, restarted the moment Shasha came in with a book.
“Looks like the young master is very angry.”
Michell said this as she cleared the cold tea from the room.
I replied casually.
Whenever Shasha’s footsteps sounded that heavy, it meant something had happened outside. Usually, in those cases, he would return to his room and slam the door.
“Oh? It sounds like he’s getting closer?”
Today, however, his footsteps headed toward my room.
Surprised, I looked away from my book and toward the door.
“Vivian Loha!”
“Ow! Why are you shouting?”
Startled by my brother’s sudden entrance, I complained.
Instead of answering, he thrust out his hand.
In it was the book he had taken from Armin Gray—The Demon Duke Who Became Obsessed With Me.
He watched my reaction carefully, noticing how I flinched at the sight of it.
I forced my voice to remain steady.
“What is this?”
“What is this? That’s what I want to ask!”
“Did you buy it, brother?”
“Of course not.”
“Then how did you get it?”
The book was already out of print—impossible to find in stores.
Shasha explained its origin, speaking through clenched teeth as if barely holding back his anger.
“I received it as a gift.”
“A gift? From who?”
“Bibi.”
Shasha didn’t answer directly—he called my name instead.
When I looked up, I saw his cold gaze. I knew that expression—he was truly furious.
“Tell me honestly. Did you do something wrong?”
“I didn’t! Why do you keep thinking I did something?”
I tried to sound confident, as if convincing myself.
A week had passed without incident.
No incident meant I hadn’t done anything wrong—right?
I repeated that to myself.
But my confidence shattered at Shasha’s next words.
“Then why would that guy give me this book?”
“That guy? Who?”
“Armin Gray! The same guy who returned your shawl at the ball!”
His voice finally rose in anger.
“What?!”
I jumped to my feet.
“Ar… Armin Gray?”
Shasha’s eyes grew even more suspicious.
“Tell me the truth. You definitely did something. You should confess now.”
“I didn’t! Why do you keep thinking I did something?”
I spoke as if hypnotizing myself.
A week had passed. Nothing had happened.
If nothing happened, doesn’t that mean I did nothing wrong?
That was the logic I clung to.
But Shasha’s words shattered it.
“Then why did that bastard give me this book?”
“That bastard?”
“It’s Armin Gray! The same bastard who brought you your shawl at the ball!”
His angry tone echoed through the room.
“What?!”
I shot up in shock.
“Ar… Armin Gray?”
Shasha’s eyes darkened with suspicion.
“You really did something, didn’t you? Tell me now before it gets worse.”
“I didn’t do anything! Why do you keep thinking that?”
I insisted, trying to sound innocent.
After all, nothing had happened in a week. If nothing happened, wasn’t that proof I had done nothing?
I repeated the thought.
But Shasha’s next words shattered it completely.
“So then why the hell did he give this to me?”
“Who gave it to you?”
“Armin Gray! The same guy who took your shawl at the ball!”
His voice boomed in frustration.
“Wha—?”
I gasped.
“A… Armin Gray?”
Shasha’s gaze grew sharper.
“You really did something, didn’t you? Confess before it gets worse.”
“I didn’t! It’s not like that. Why would he do something like this all of a sudden?”
“I don’t know! He came up to me and told me to give it to you. That’s all.”
It wasn’t just that.
With a rough motion, Shasha opened the book’s cover and held it right in front of me.
“Look at this. Why would he tell you this?”
With trembling hands, I took the book.
Inside was a short note:
Thank you for liking my book. With love, to Lady Loha.
Below the note was a seal.
R.G.
I couldn’t understand what it meant.
I stared at the paper, my nose almost touching it.
Seeing my confused expression, Shasha sighed.
“What I want to know is two things: how Armin Gray knew you liked this book, and why he would tell you about Rebecca Gray.”
Rubbing his temples, Shasha continued.
“Ever since the ball, something has been suspicious. I told you not to get involved.”
“Shasha!”
“What?”
“Who is Rebecca Gray?”
I asked, barely containing my frustration.
When I read the book, Armin Gray had accused me of being a devil worshiper.
But the author’s surname was Gray?
I didn’t know who Rebecca Gray was, but it meant she and Armin Gray were connected.
If the author shared the same name, then Armin Gray’s accusation at the ball must have been nonsense—just a bad joke.
Why would he do that? I didn’t understand.
Why? Why would he play such a prank?
“Who is Rebecca Gray? She’s the duchess!”
Shasha shouted, exasperated.
I stared at him in disbelief.
“Then Rebecca Gray… is the duchess…?”
“Exactly. She’s the R.G. author. She had hidden it so carefully—so why would he tell you? And how did he know you liked her books?”
“Hah… so she’s the duchess.”
I barely heard his words anymore.
