Chapter 15
When Peter returned safely, the suffocating gloom that had settled over the mansion lifted just a little.
The Count immediately summoned a doctor, and while the doctor hurried to the estate, Lisa inspected Peter’s injuries.
The military police hadn’t administered any first aid throughout the long night, which had left Peter’s fingers in even worse shape.
“It’s fine. I made it back, didn’t I? We can treat it from here on.”
Peter forced a smile, reassuring his family. He especially kept smiling at Arte, who he knew must be more worried than anyone.
Unable to turn away from that kindness, Arte used all her strength to offer even the faintest smile in return.
But she couldn’t stay by Peter’s side forever—there was still something she needed to take care of.
Since Dimion had taken her hand, she had to solidify their contract quickly.
It was obvious that news of Peter’s release would already have reached Benjamin and his father. She had no idea what kind of trouble they might stir up next.
Before that happened, she needed to make the contract with Dimion ironclad and borrow the money to finally sever her cursed ties with Baron Peet’s family.
Taking advantage of the commotion when the doctor arrived, Arte slipped out of Peter’s room.
She entered the nearest room, grabbed a pen, and hastily scribbled a message onto a small piece of paper.
The ink was still wet when she folded the note. She knew exactly where it needed to go.
Her hurried footsteps carried her up the stairs until she stopped before a guest room door.
Arte quickly glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then slipped the paper under the door before heading up the stairs again as though nothing had happened. The place she had written on the note was still quite a walk away.
“Phew…”
Arriving at the location faster than ever, Arte took a moment to catch her breath.
The place written on the note she’d slipped through the door was none other than her attic.
It was really more of an art studio than a storage space.
Though the ceiling was a little low, it had a large window that looked out over the Count’s estate and even the distant horizon, making it her favorite spot for painting. That low ceiling, in fact, was part of its charm for her.
Inside the small room stood a worn easel and stacks of canvases both large and small.
Arte passed the time looking over her past works, waiting calmly for Dimion—though she was far more on edge than when she had waited for him in the rose garden.
What if he hadn’t seen the note she slipped under the door? What if she ended up waiting endlessly and they missed each other? What if Benjamin made a move first, sparking another incident in the Count’s household? One worry led to another in an endless chain.
Knock knock.
The balloon of anxiety she’d blown up deflated all at once at the sound of a short knock.
Arte hurried to open the attic door.
“…”
“…”
But the urgency vanished the moment she saw Dimion standing there. She found herself momentarily dazed.
It wasn’t just that his looks were arrestingly handsome no matter how many times they met—she was mesmerized by how eyes the color of warm spring could somehow look so cold.
“Ah! I’m sorry, Your Grace. Please, come in.”
Shaking herself back to her senses, Arte ushered Dimion inside.
“I’m sorry to have brought you to such a cramped place. I just needed somewhere private to talk, but there’s no suitable spot. The garden is full of servants during the day, and speaking in your room might invite needless gossip.”
The guest room where Dimion stayed would actually have been the safest option—since it was reserved for visitors, servants rarely passed by, making eavesdropping unlikely.
But if word got out that she had met him alone in his room, the whole mansion would erupt. The risk to the secret wasn’t worth it.
“Thank you very much for accepting the contract.”
She emphasized the successful contract rather than saying he had saved Peter.
She needed to get straight to the point—she was in a hurry. Every second counted in severing ties with the Peet family.
“Thanks to you, Peter came home safely, but the danger hasn’t completely passed. They’re shameless people—I don’t know what they’ll try next. That’s why I’d like to settle the money issue we talked about as soon as possible.”
She knew she might sound brazen, even rude from Dimion’s perspective.
But all she could think of was Peter’s smile earlier and the ruined state of his hands. She would not let something like that happen again.
“How much do you owe?”
She had worried he might take offense, but Dimion remained calm, his characteristically cool face betraying no change in expression.
“A total of twenty thousand lirang.”
At the figure, his brow furrowed slightly.
For the Rocata family, it was barely a speck of dust, but in reality it was an enormous sum—too large for most people to borrow or repay.
“It was because of the accident I mentioned before. I was injured badly enough to lose my memory, and my father did whatever it took to save me. It’s not his fault—it’s mine.”
The look of incomprehension on Dimion’s face felt almost like unspoken criticism of the Count.
Arte firmly defended her father. It had been the best choice he could make to save his daughter. Even if the consequences had bound them in debt, she owed her life to his love and resolve. She would not let him be blamed.
Dimion showed no particular reaction to her explanation. He simply looked at her for a moment before turning his gaze around the room.
“These paintings—did you paint them all?”
The sudden shift in topic startled her.
“Yes. I painted all of them.”
But since Dimion held the purse strings, all the control was his. Arte didn’t question him—she simply answered.
He examined each canvas in the attic, as if breaking down the paintings piece by piece in his mind, committing them to memory.
Ah… I see.
Watching him, Arte realized why he had asked.
Since she had promised to sell her paintings to repay the debt, every canvas here was, in a way, proof of her ability to make good on that promise.
The Rocata family was known for its refined artistic taste—Dimion’s eye would surely be impeccable. He wouldn’t judge them by some vague or unfounded standard.
Still, time was ticking by. Even for an evaluation, he seemed to linger far too long on each work—it was more than what was needed to assess their value.
…Oh.
The thought struck her like a lit bulb switching on.
He might be searching for traces of Peria.
Comparing her work to Peria’s style, perhaps testing whether she could imitate it.
She wasn’t sure, but the intuition was strong.
Though she herself had offered to replicate Peria’s paintings if he wished, the thought left her uneasy.
Maybe it was just that the weight of the contract was settling in now—or that she was suddenly aware she might have to stop being Arte Tian and start being Peria Dutton whenever he wanted.
“Did you study painting?”
“For a few years when I was young.”
Dimion’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
After taking another slow look around the attic, he stepped toward her.
“Let’s go.”
“…Pardon?”
“You said you wanted to settle the debt quickly. Let’s go get the money.”
