Chapter 16
I froze up like a statue.
There was no helping it—because Ian Brighton had just done something completely out of character.
With great effort, I stiffly moved my neck and looked down at the boy burying his face in my chest.
What the—why are you doing this? This isn’t your kind of character at all.
Then suddenly a thought struck me.
Maybe the “Make Ian Brighton More Human” project I’d been running for the past month had actually had some effect?
I didn’t think Ian liked me.
But maybe… he’d at least gotten to the point of finding me tolerable.
When I jerked my head up, Duke Brighton was staring at me in shock.
Or rather, at his son, Ian Brighton, hugging me.
That awkward silence dragged on and on.
Then, as if nothing had happened, Ian abruptly let go and stepped back, coolly lifting his chin.
“You heard him, ‘Father.’”
The Duke still couldn’t get a word out.
“If this one doesn’t come with me, then I’m not going. Who knows, maybe I’ll just make a second ‘Lezeta.’”
“…Are you threatening me right now?”
The Duke’s voice was low, terrifying. But Ian didn’t so much as blink.
“Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to calm down? If I were you, I’d make the smart choice.”
He’s… unbelievable. He just got slapped by his father and thrown out of the mansion, and still he’s this cheeky.
Is abnormal resilience also part of demonic power?
“sissi.”
The Duke ignored Ian with ease.
“You could very well become the next Lezeta yourself.”
His warning was directed softly at me, and only me.
I pressed my lips together, then answered with as much spirit as I could muster.
“But for now—at least right now—I’m still the first Sissi.”
The Duke’s calm gaze fell on me.
“And that’s enough for me.”
Honestly, I had no idea what I was even saying. The words spilling out of my mouth and my real thoughts were on completely different tracks!
Duke, do you even realize? Ian Brighton is basically a walking time bomb! If he explodes, my job goes up in smoke! And if someone slips up, the whole world could end! Please, please handle him with care!!
At last, the Duke closed his eyes. It was silent permission.
In the end, the picnic never happened.
Ian really did get kicked out and was hustled into a carriage, leaving the estate grounds immediately.
The only one who stayed by his side… was me.
Well, more accurately, the only one left at his side was me.
What would the servants who didn’t get to say goodbye think when they heard? What about the Duchess?
They’ll probably just pity me, right?
“Poor Sissi, she sacrificed herself and went with him to the villa.”
Or maybe, “Thanks for taking him off our hands, good luck.”
Yeah, something like that.
At least, the Brighton estate would be quiet for a while.
That should reduce the risk of the temple growing suspicious and discovering Ian’s existence.
I decided to just be relieved by that—for now, anyway.
“Apparently, the villa is a full week’s journey away. The road won’t be easy. Will you be all right, young master?”
“And if I’m not, what then? What exactly could you do about it?”
The nerve.
“I’m just trying to look out for your wellbeing, as your loyal servant.”
I was sure of it now: Ian Brighton really liked the words loyal servant.
Why else would his lips curve into such a satisfied smile?
“And if the carriage gets uncomfortable, or if you want to rest, I’ll have to ask the coachman to stop. I can fetch you water, medicine…”
“Enough.”
He cut me off, then suddenly patted the empty seat beside him.
I was sitting across from him in the carriage, so I blinked at the gesture in confusion.
“Well? Come here.”
Why though?
…I desperately wanted to ask, but obediently moved over anyway.
The moment I sat down, Ian leaned his head on my shoulder.
Wasn’t he being awfully… touchy today?
This… this isn’t him. He’s not the type to cuddle up to people.
Was it because getting slapped by his father had actually hurt his feelings?
…No way. Ian Brighton? Hurt by that?
And yet—why did I keep feeling like maybe, just maybe, that was it?
Unbothered by my inner turmoil, Ian calmly closed his eyes.
“I’m tired.”
I suddenly wondered—was this human Ian speaking right now?
I looked down at his angelic face.
His cheek was still a little swollen from where the Duke had struck him, though it wasn’t as bad as earlier.
But whether the pain had fully faded, I couldn’t tell.
I carefully brushed the back of my hand against his cheek—there was a faint heat there.
“I should’ve brought a cold cloth.”
“Unexpected.”
His eyes stayed shut, but he murmured:
“I thought you’d question me about that servant first.”
He cares about that?
I honestly thought he’d brush it off like he does with everything else.
“Were you waiting for me to ask about Lezeta?”
“At least ‘Father’ was. Why would you be any different?”
“I mean, I do want to ask a lot of things. Honestly, I think it would be nice if you treated the other servants a little more… kindly…”
My voice shrank away by the end.
That last bit was definitely overstepping. He was bound to snap at me.
I braced myself for sharp mockery, but instead… nothing.
Ian stayed quiet. He only pressed his forehead against my shoulder, as if urging me to keep talking.
“Is Lezeta all right?”
His movements stilled.
“…Does that matter to you?”
“I was just curious. I hope she’s okay. Though, well, she wasn’t completely blameless either.”
“She scratched the back of my hand.”
Ian’s voice turned strangely pitiful, almost heartbreakingly so.
If you didn’t know better, it would’ve made you melt.
I inhaled sharply.
…A demon.
Wasn’t it said that demons would mimic the voices of loved ones to exploit someone’s weakness?
“Look, Sissi. See this scratch? There’s even a drop of blood…”
In that gentle tone, he took my hand in his and intertwined our fingers.
And there it was—a faint mark between his thumb and index finger.
It really did look like a fresh scratch from yesterday.
I bit my lip, emotions tangled.
“And at sunset, she looked at my shadow first. She walked right into hell herself. Not my fault.”
Third Rule: Never meet Ian Brighton’s eyes through his shadow at sunset.
Lezeta hadn’t known. She was new, like me, and had never served him before.
But still—most servants learned the rules about Ian pretty quickly.
Her ignorance had pushed her straight off the cliff.
…Was that really all there was to it? Could I just shrug it off like that?
“Hey.”
His voice snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts.
I realized my tied-up hair was being tugged.
“You dare zone out in front of me?”
“I just… have a question.”
“Hmm.”
His gaze slid lazily toward me. Then he leaned his cheek against my shoulder again.
“I’ll allow it. Special privilege.”
He really was acting spoiled. Or was I imagining things?
Wait. Spoiled? Ian Brighton?
Ha. Yeah, right. Definitely just my imagination.
“What if I happened to look at your shadow at sunset? Would I end up like Lezeta?”
It was a purely innocent question.
After all, I needed to know—after a month of sticking by him, had my standing changed even a little?
Ian Brighton had once called me “his person.”
At the very least, he didn’t hate me.
Maybe… maybe he even liked me, in his own way. But what did that actually mean for me?
Or was I still no different from any other human?
I needed to check.
Surprisingly, Ian didn’t answer right away.
I’d expected him to click his tongue and scold me for asking something so obvious.
But no—he was actually thinking about it.
I was quietly stunned.
“I wouldn’t like it if you ended up like the others. Then I’d lose one of my toys.”
Toys. I laughed wryly inside. So that’s my place, huh?
“…You, I’ll ‘spare.’”
Finally, Ian spoke.
And it sounded almost like a declaration—like a vow.
“That means… I’ve become someone special to you, doesn’t it!”
I blurted it out with a little too much excitement.
Surely he’d scold me for overstepping.
But he stayed silent. Completely silent—enough to make me nervous.
Still leaning against me, he idly brushed his thumb over my knuckles and whispered:
“Someone special…”
And then, nothing. Just silence.
I felt awkward all of a sudden.
It’s like he just learned the word “friend” for the first time… like some kind of monster.
Or maybe not so different.
Outside the carriage window, the world was dimming.
Night was coming.
I thought quietly, weighing one thing after another—until my heart suddenly clenched.
Wait.
It was almost ten o’clock.
Which meant… for the next whole week, I’d be stuck facing Ian Brighton at ten o’clock every single night…!
