Chapter 65
“Blair. There’s something I want to ask you.”
“Me?”
Blair, who had been fuming, looked at Franz with a puzzled face. The others also perked their ears, curious what Franz would ask.
“Blair Mossman. Do you like me?”
“What?”
“Well, you always seem desperate for my attention. Just so you know, I’m not interested in that kind of thing.”
Blair was dumbfounded. The serious tone and expression showed Franz wasn’t joking.
“What the hell are you—!”
He tried to shout back that it was nonsense, but the atmosphere around him was already strange.
The shocked stares directed at Blair seemed to say, “So that’s what it was?” “Ah, no wonder.” “So it was like that, huh?”
“That’s not it! I like women!” Blair yelled, desperate to clear himself.
The more he insisted, the calmer Franz became. With an expression that said he didn’t care about Blair’s private life, he pressed even harder.
“Whether you like women or men, that’s none of my business. But if you ever harbor that kind of dirty intent toward me, I won’t let it slide. Consider this a warning.”
He had always tolerated Blair’s constant pestering, even when it crossed the line. But if Blair dared to bring up Iella again just to provoke him, Franz would have no choice but to crush him completely. A fox foolish enough to bare its teeth at a lion was amusing only up to a point.
“I said that’s not it!”
Blair was beside himself, practically leaping with rage. He glared at Franz, only to see the corners of the man’s lips curl upward ever so slightly.
Devil.
“Arghhhh!”
Blair flailed in fury, forcing the people around him to hold him back and calm him down. When he was finally dragged away still kicking and screaming, the balcony suddenly fell into silence.
Franz, as if nothing had happened, peacefully puffed on a fresh cigar.
“Wow. He actually turned that annoying guy Blair into a gay man and sent him off,” Andrew muttered, shaking his head in admiration. He even clapped in mock applause. Marco and Richard also chuckled in agreement.
“What a scary bastard. The more I see, the more convinced I am—he’s the last person you want as an enemy.”
Indeed, Franz Princeton was someone you must never turn against. The moment you did, you’d be the one to crumble.
“I only returned what I was given,” Franz shrugged indifferently.
“But I have to admit, I was surprised. I didn’t know what exactly you were doing with Lady Clarence lately. Turns out it was courtship?”
“Ah. The gossip rags kept calling it that,” Franz replied with an air of indifference.
The three men were dumbfounded at his nonchalant tone.
“So what about you? How do you feel?”
“Well…” Franz thought. Out of all the words in the world, none seemed to define his feelings.
“Right now, I’d say it’s just… interest.”
To be honest, it wasn’t mere interest—it was almost an obsession, wasting his precious time venting on her. What could he possibly call that?
“Since when? You didn’t care before.”
“You didn’t even know who she was, right?” Andrew and Richard pressed.
They weren’t wrong. Back when men were betting on Iella, Franz couldn’t have cared less. He knew of Viscount Clarence, but he didn’t even know how many daughters that family had.
“Interest can come out of nowhere. It doesn’t have to come with affection.”
That made sense. Franz continued,
“Something unique or curious can spark interest too.”
“True. Lady Iella Clarence is a bit unusual,” Richard agreed.
“There’s no guarantee my interest will last. But right now, that’s what it is.”
“Hold on. That doesn’t sound very positive,” Andrew frowned.
“In that case, maybe stop here. If you go further, Lady Clarence might end up in a difficult spot,” Marco said worriedly.
When Franz once claimed Iella was chasing him around, Marco had been skeptical. But it turned out to be true.
He remembered her words:
‘Why go out of your way to suffer? If you asked Prince Franz, you could paint comfortably somewhere your talent is recognized. You’d earn much more money too.’
‘At first, yes, I wanted the money, so I painted the prince’s portrait. But now… I want to be proud of myself, not a burden. Even if I could earn a lot, I wouldn’t find true fulfillment that way.’
That’s when Marco realized—Iella Clarence truly liked Franz Princeton.
Perhaps that was why she had pleaded so desperately back at the Vermont estate.
“A lady who receives the prince’s attention would surely have fine suitors lining up. Wouldn’t it be pitiful if she missed out because of you?” Marco said.
“Well, that’s none of my concern.”
Franz dismissed it lightly and took another drag of his cigar. Smoke drifted upward, scattering toward the plaza with the breeze.
Marco rubbed his aching forehead. Franz’s arrogance went beyond confidence—it was outrageous. He acted as though Iella’s well-being didn’t matter at all.
What was worse, Franz had no malice.
It was pure selfishness.
From childhood, Franz had learned many things, but never restraint. Even if he later grew bored and threw it away, he had to seize what he wanted first.
Andrew, Richard, and Marco knew this well—after all, they weren’t much different themselves.
This isn’t the first time Franz has been like this. Better to ignore it. Marco thought. Yet for some reason, Lady Clarence weighed heavily on his mind.
Why? He wasn’t her brother or anything.
Maybe it was because of a faint hope—that she might actually be important to Franz.
“Marco’s right. What do you plan to do afterward?” Andrew suddenly spoke up, siding with Marco.
Everyone was surprised. Of all people, Andrew was the one most like Franz in personality and behavior.
But Franz remained calm, answering without a flicker of surprise.
“Afterward? There’s nothing to clean up.”
“I told you—just because you’re in a position of power doesn’t mean you can treat a lady that way.” Andrew cleared his throat, uncomfortable with his own words.
“If you don’t intend to take responsibility to the end, then stop it, Franz,” Marco added firmly.
“……”
Franz said nothing. He knew they were right. He knew he was being stubborn.
He had already taken out enough anger on Iella. His rage had subsided long ago, to the point he couldn’t even remember why he had been angry in the first place.
Sometimes, just seeing her made his temper flare inexplicably. He knew it was ungentlemanly, yet he lashed out almost by habit. In front of others he treated her like a noble lady, but behind closed doors, he ignored and cold-shouldered her.
And every time, he could feel her patient endurance. Her clear, transparent eyes, silently saying she would endure as long as it eased his anger, made him feel oddly guilty.
Am I really the type to vent my emotions on something so trivial?
His style had always been to crush things outright and move on. Why was he behaving so childishly now?
What irritated him most was himself—not letting go of Iella despite not understanding why.
Yes, he was bad enough to use her as a shield for his own comfort. But he knew there had to be a line.
Yet… where was that line?
“I know you guys care about me. That’s why you’re saying this, right? But just now, you crossed the line.”
“Well, it feels good to know we managed to offend you,” Andrew smirked.
“Seriously, who else would dare to say this crazy stuff to you?” Richard added, and the three laughed among themselves.
Idiots.
Franz shook his head and stood up.
“I’m leaving. Oh, and thanks for worrying about Iella—but you don’t need to. She’s tougher than she looks.”
There was something pointed in his words that made the three of them pause, their smiles fading.
“Wow. Is he… bragging?”
“Don’t tell me he’s proud of that?”
“Oh Lord, please make Your son pay the price for his arrogance,” Marco muttered in mock prayer.
Franz smirked at their jeers, looking genuinely amused, as if he’d found a new toy to stave off his boredom.
The three men exchanged glances as they watched him go.
“Was that serious?”
“Right? Confusing, isn’t it?”
“Not like his usual self at all… Weirdly subtle.”
Seeing this new side of Franz was baffling.
“But what was that just now? Why did he thank us for worrying about Lady Clarence? Like she’s… his person or something?”
“Yeah, strange.”
“For now, we’ll just have to trust Franz.”
At the carriage station, Tom Wagon, who had been chatting with other coachmen, quickly rushed over to open the door the moment he saw Franz.
“My lord, you’ve returned.”
“What about Iella?”
Franz asked if she had gotten home safely.
“She said she had some business and parted ways with us at the plaza,” Tom replied quickly.
“Business?”
“Yes, she said she wanted to paint. She mentioned wanting to sketch Pelga Square.”
Franz pulled out his pocket watch from his vest, checked the time, and gazed toward the square.
