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chapter 16
Rastaban’s voice echoed in her ears. Don’t worry, I’ll keep your portrait safe. I’ll protect it. I’ll protect it…
The echo grew fainter until it was nothing but an illusion. Velita slowly closed and opened her eyes.
The scenery remained the Barcen estate. Outside the window, golden light fell upon the lawn, which swayed lightly in the breeze.
Though the time she had swum through in memory felt eternal, in reality only moments had passed.
Inside the universe of one person, time was that skewed.
“…How disappointing.”
She had fallen too deep into recollection. Roman’s voice, which she thought had left, spoke right beside her.
“But, my lady.”
Velita turned her head, raising her gaze toward Roman. His face gradually leaned closer.
“I’m always open to you.”
Smack.
He brushed her cheek with a short kiss, then drew back. A soft laugh, like breath against her ear, fell gently.
“Even a second time would be welcome.”
“…Hah.”
Velita waved her hand dismissively, signaling him to leave already.
Roman lingered, his gaze sharp with unspoken longing, but before long he turned and walked away.
Step, step. His footsteps echoed in the wide room. Retracing the same number of steps he’d taken entering, he pushed open the door.
“…Ah. Pardon me.”
Roman’s low voice collided with someone else. Curious, Velita reflexively looked that way.
Through the hem of Roman’s departing coat, Sylvester stood frozen in the doorway.
“Oh, you’re finally here. Took you a while.”
“….”
Velita frowned slightly at Sylvester’s subdued demeanor. Why was he so silent?
“Aren’t you going with Roman? You said you had things to discuss.”
“…Not anymore.”
Sylvester’s lips were tightly pressed. He strode over with faintly angry steps and dumped the tools he had taken out.
Charcoal, quills, ink, even a piece of bread clattered across the oak table. Velita’s eyes trailed over his back as he leaned against it.
“Tired?”
“…Do I look like it?”
“Yeah. Looks like you’ve been walking around a lot.”
No reply came. It wasn’t really a question requiring an answer anyway.
The yard had been very large, after all. Velita thought idly, then cast her gaze back outside.
The sky that moments ago glowed orange was now tinted pink.
At such a view, summer evenings always felt like time caught in a small spell.
White clouds had taken on vivid crimson, and pale blue shadows stretched beneath them.
Yet as she admired it idly, the silence around her became striking. Sure, they didn’t always have things to say—but Sylvester wasn’t the type to be this quiet.
Velita turned back toward him. He hadn’t moved from that posture since earlier.
“What are you doing?”
“Ah.”
“Something wrong?”
“No… just… a little.”
His voice sounded as if it had tunneled underground. What was wrong with him? He didn’t even turn his head as he spoke. Velita stared at his back.
His tall frame and strong build seemed wasted with those drooping shoulders, the slight hunch of his back, and his somber hair.
Everything about him made him seem even more dejected.
Well, whatever. He’ll sort himself out or rest if he wants.
Velita flopped back into the cushions with indifference. When she closed her eyes, she would inevitably return to that summer. Instead, she stared at the ceiling pointlessly, counting the crystals on the chandelier.
Sylvester, meanwhile, was locked on the table, thoughts muddled. Like anyone lost in contemplation, his gaze was unfocused.
Why Velita…?
His mind drifted back to where it had begun.
He recalled the sight of the estate from outside.
Even to him, the Barcen estate was every bit as broad and beautiful as Roman had bragged.
And of course, Roman’s family name—von Barcen—meant “from Barcen.”
He remembered how the sun, descending from its zenith, cast slanted light over the manor, how the symmetrical structures poured out parallel olive shadows side by side.
It was a scene that would naturally spark the interest of someone like Sylvester, who only wished to capture beauty.
The garden lawns and shrubs were neatly maintained, shaped into spheres and cuboids; tall cypresses lined the fountain.
To the right of the main building stretched another garden, blooming with summer flowers and flowerbeds; beyond the road stood an annex, likely the servants’ quarters.
The manor abounded in unnamed trees, flowers, and sculptures.
Sylvester stared at the charcoal sketch he had drawn of that view, then shut the cover. He began tidying his tools into a leather case.
A maid had come by once to give him bread for erasing charcoal, but that was the extent of notable events.
“….”
Yet on returning, he had found something odd in the annex corridor.
No attendants waiting outside the door as usual. Silence in the air. And beyond the door—faint murmuring voices.
Velita wasn’t the type to talk to herself. It could only mean someone was visiting.
And since the manor belonged to Roman… that visitor could only be him.
Roman had been the one to first offer this guest room. Why would he have any need to enter the room where a supposed lover was staying?
After some hesitation, Sylvester had gently pushed the door.
If there were business, wouldn’t he lead her to a proper place for it?
Through the narrow crack spilled a thread of light, and with it, voices grew clearer.
“…If the woman from the painting appeared before you, which would draw your eyes more?”
“You tried to buy the painting, but then I appeared and you coveted me instead. From how it sounds, it’s not me being given to you, but you offering yourself to me.”
Sylvester almost burst through the door and hurled his easel.
Hearing such words from Velita’s lips—so Roman’s purpose all along had been her.
“….”
The sound of cloth brushing followed. Through the crack, Sylvester vaguely saw the long legs of a man crossing and intertwining with Velita’s seated legs.
That bastard…
He ground his teeth silently but didn’t storm in.
Because Velita had already made it clear to him:
Don’t think yourself anything. Our relationship is only pretense, not real. Don’t get closer.
That had left a bitter taste.
But bitterness was only bitterness.
Sylvester placed Velita’s will far above his own feelings. He respected her wishes completely.
Even if his insides boiled, her actions were hers alone.
As someone who was nothing to her, he had no right to burst in, ruin things, or demand fidelity.
He clenched his fists, repeating that to himself.
“Shall I undo it?”
Of course, when he heard that, he nearly lost his mind.
“….”
From then on, he swayed between only two choices like a broken compass needle.
One: storm in and kill the bastard. Two: endure and wait for Velita’s decision.
Then Roman had suddenly swung the door open and left, and Sylvester missed his moment.
He entered, imagining Roman tossed into a lion’s cage, and found Velita greeting him as if nothing had happened.
That angered him too.
Sure, she claimed he meant nothing to her. But had he arrived a little later, he wouldn’t have known at all.
And Velita—who would never bother telling him of such trivial events—certainly wouldn’t have.
Because he wasn’t her real lover, and had no right to know.
Somehow, that feels worse…
He thought. At the very least, weren’t they partners in a contract?
She had even promised to help him find happiness.
And outwardly, at least, they were lovers.
Yet here his supposed lover was, receiving another man’s advances with ease. When he imagined that…
“…Hah.”
It was deeply unpleasant.
He sighed faintly. Though he’d finished tidying his tools, he remained rooted in place. His thoughts kept spiraling darkly.
Roman, barging into a lover’s bedroom and saying such things… Velita, calmly entertaining him as if nothing…
Everything unsettled him.
“….”
And so, seeing no end to the rot of his mood, he decided—better to hand the reins of his emotions to Velita.
“…Velita.”
She answered right away.
“What?”
Even after counting crystals and tracing wallpaper patterns, she was now idly examining every trinket as she spoke.
“….”
But Sylvester stayed silent.
He had called her name without thinking, but what if, carried by emotion, he said something rash like last time? He didn’t want to quarrel with her, nor appear childish.
As a curious silence stretched, Velita—ever impatient—turned toward him.
Her gaze shifted from the room’s decor to Sylvester himself.
Still turned away, head hung low. From the side, his face was faintly visible.
“….”
His bangs fell to his eyelids, trembling faintly with each breath. His ears, perhaps from heat, burned red.
“…What is it? Spit it out—”
Curiosity piqued by his unusual reaction, she was about to prod when—
“That earlier… incident.”
Sylvester finally spoke.
Velita shut her mouth. Her eyes drifted from his ear to his cheek.
“….”
His breath quicker than usual, his cheeks flushed red, his posture stiff as if frozen.
“…May I be angry?”
Ah.
Realizing what those signs meant, Velita leapt to her feet.
The heavy sofa scraped loudly. She strode over, yanking his coat.
“Ah, no, wait—”
“Angry? Tch.”
Velita smirked. Without hesitation, she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in.
“Mmf—”
Their lips collided.
Velita parted his lips with hers and slipped her tongue inside. As before, Sylvester yielded without resistance, entwining his tongue with hers.
Opportunist, aren’t you?
Velita cast him a lazy sidelong glance, then slid her hand under his shirt.
So jealous over just a hand-kiss. Now jealous again, just for a conversation in a room. What was she to do with him?
Her leg pressed slyly between his thighs. His hand crept to her waist.
They stumbled back, lips locked, until Sylvester’s back thumped against the wall.
Velita, annoyed at the height difference, yanked him lower. He grinned and bent obligingly.
Gradually, like a snail sliding down, he sank toward the floor.
Velita followed without breaking the kiss.
By the time they settled almost to the ground, she was straddled atop his lower body.
…
Moments later, their lips parted.
“…Hah.”
Sylvester laughed breathlessly. Velita’s hand crept further under his clothes, and he twisted slightly.
An impatient smile played on his lips as his large hand slipped higher along her inner thigh.
Biting her lip at his foxlike antics, Velita finally gave her belated answer to his question.
“If I say you can be angry… what exactly will you do about it?”
