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Chapter 22
The true identity of the author Alster is shrouded in complete secrecy.
No one knows exactly who he is or what he does, but still, I can’t wait to read the next volume. Unfortunately, even the publisher has no idea when it’ll be released due to the author’s circumstances.
It’d be a lie to say I wasn’t disappointed.
I do enjoy other writers as well, but whenever I get my hands on Alster’s latest work, even if the genre is different, I can’t help but recall the excitement I felt reading his old series, Leveling Up Because of the Villain.
The way the protagonist would linger hesitantly around their love interest, only to boldly confess at just the right moment…
For some reason, the protagonist in this new book is even cuter than in his previous works, and the romantic tension feels stronger than ever. I found myself smiling like a proud mom the whole time I read it.
“Ah, I just want to lock up the author and make him write all day…”
I was eagerly waiting for the next volume to come out, and in my excitement, I ended up rolling around on the floor—only to be caught by the Duke.
Startled, I quickly hid the book under my dress and feigned innocence.
“You’re back early again today.”
“I just wrapped up something urgent.”
Time spent with him was generally awkward and strained.
For about three days after he returned early, the Duke had slept like the dead—so deeply that he wouldn’t have noticed if someone carried him off. I clicked my tongue, wondering what on earth he had been doing to get so exhausted. But at least today, he looked much better—his color had returned.
“What’s that?”
“Books I like. Don’t touch them.”
I warned him clearly, but he still approached, opened one, and started skimming through it.
“What are you doing?”
“There’s a typo.”
How could he find the one typo I had only noticed on my ninth read-through?
He even pulled out a fountain pen to fix it, staring intently at the barely legible word.
“Anyone can make mistakes while writing! Give it back.”
I quickly snatched the book from him, making sure it wasn’t scratched or wrinkled, then returned it carefully to the shelf.
“Even if you kick me out later, I’m definitely taking these with me.”
“Suit yourself.”
Maybe he was tired of hearing me say I was ready to be kicked out anytime, because he simply lay down and went to bed without another word.
I sat beside him and began rereading the book from the beginning. Just as I reached the long-awaited proposal scene, the Duke’s arm shifted and brushed against my waist.
“What’s he doing?”
I inched away, trying not to disturb him, and he rolled to the far side of the bed. Relieved, I returned to my reading—but then he shifted again, subtly leaning his body against my knee.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“Just wondering what’s got you so entertained.”
To someone who shares the same tastes, a favorite story is always exciting, no matter how many times you read it. But I knew this genre didn’t exactly align with the average man’s interests.
“My heart flutters when I read it. I’ve always wanted a beautiful romance like the one in the book.”
“Then go have one.”
“With who?”
He shamelessly pointed to himself.
I was momentarily speechless, staring at him with disbelief at his oddly overconfident attitude. With a sigh, I shut the book.
“I’m going to sleep. Move over.”
“Didn’t you say you liked me?”
His gruff question made me smirk.
I do like him, but not in the way he’s thinking. It’s more like the affection a mother might feel—cheering for him from afar, wishing the best.
If this were a dramatic romance where the villain and protagonist fall in love, I’d be all in. But personally becoming a part of that chaos? No thanks.
“I really do like you. So go to sleep.”
“I just don’t understand you.”
Soon enough, once the real protagonist appears, he won’t even have time to care about a wife.
With a gentle hand, I patted his back as he grumbled in dissatisfaction.
“I mean it. I like you because of that.”
Because the day he finds true love, my role will be over.
Watching her grumpy husband, Frisia smiled softly. One day, he would surely meet someone precious. When that time came, her job would be to send him off with well-wishes and support.
Rereading the scene where the protagonist first appears, Frisia made a vow:
Never. Not even a strand of hair will I lay a hand on this man. I’ll deliver him untouched to the protagonist.
The next morning, Duke Cromford once again awoke wrapped in Frisia’s arms.
His robe was loose, her slender leg draped over his waist, and the nape of her neck peeked out from beneath tousled brown hair.
He was a man, after all—and yet this defenseless wife of his had declared a year of celibacy, saying she was too scared of him.
“She likes me. That much is clear.”
If she truly hated him, she wouldn’t even want to be near him.
Those occasional soft gazes she gave him—he couldn’t deny them. She definitely liked him.
And he knew she wasn’t lying, but… it still wasn’t enough. So, Duke Cromford decided to summon someone who might know more.
“I never expected the Duke himself would summon me using Frisia’s name…”
Matthew Napier, Frisia’s childhood friend, stood before the Duke, conflicted.
Had it been a summons from the Duke, he would’ve ignored it. But from Frisia? That was different.
He had even dressed up in formal wear and tied a ribbon around his neck, too excited to think clearly.
Only to realize—this was a trap laid by the Duke.
“I just wanted to confirm a few things.”
With a graceful gesture, the Duke set down his glass and offered a meal.
Matthew, feeling like he was sitting on thorns, was uncomfortable—but the roasted sea bass was surprisingly good.
As he savored the tender fish, the Duke asked suddenly:
“Did you sleep with my wife?”
“Pfft—!”
Matthew nearly spat his food all over the Duke’s face.
Flustered, he hurriedly covered his mouth—his reaction far too honest.
“So you were just friends.”
“Just?! We’ve been close since childhood! She’s a precious friend!!”
The word “childhood friend” would’ve sufficed, but Matthew rambled on, desperate to salvage his pride.
While Matthew flared with emotion, the Duke simply rested his chin on his hand, scrutinizing him.
A young man still green and awkward.
The Duke’s opinion of Matthew was harsh and cold.
“So, she’s told you she likes you?”
“Of course.”
“Really?”
“Naturally!”
A lie, of course.
No matter how much he tried to insert himself into her life, Frisia never let anyone close that easily.
So he had aimed for her younger sister, Lily.
He figured that helping raise young Lily might bring him closer to Frisia little by little—but then the Duke appeared and ruined everything.
And yet, the Duke acted like Matthew was the interloper and openly showed hostility.
“Since when?”
“We’ve always been together, ever since we were young.”
Well, technically, Lily was part of that “we,” too.
Trying to act cool, Matthew puffed himself up in front of the Duke.
“There’s nothing I don’t know about Frisia.”
“Then let me ask you something. If you’re so confident—why did Frisia marry me instead of you?”
A direct hit.
The Duke’s words pierced sharply, and Matthew tried to play it cool, feigning nonchalance.
“Obviously, it was to save Rose. If it weren’t for that emergency, Frisia never would’ve chosen you.”
He insisted it was all circumstance—not love—but the Duke scoffed at him.
“Right. Because I had the power to save Rose, and you didn’t.”
“That’s because I—!”
The words “haven’t inherited my title yet” caught in his throat.
But even if he reached the Duke’s age years from now, the chance that the Marquess of Napier would wield the same influence as Cromford was practically zero.
Among his peers, the Duke was truly in a league of his own.
Even now, facing the Duke’s imposing presence, Matthew felt a strange sense of defeat.
“So it was just one-sided love after all.”
Despite his desperate denial, the Duke saw through him at a glance.
Still, Matthew was certain of one thing—Frisia didn’t love the Duke either.
“I think the same goes for you. Frisia has someone she truly loves.”
Matthew smiled confidently and went on the counterattack.
“Yes, my pathetic crush was long since crushed by her. So please don’t use that against her.”
“As if I’d be threatened by someone like you. That’s some oversized confidence.”
Still arrogant as ever, the Duke looked unfazed. But Matthew was ready to challenge him.
“Do you even know who Frisia loves?”
“Of course. She’s told me countless times that she loves me.”
Seeing the Duke’s smirking face, Matthew finally realized—
This man had summoned him here for no other reason than to brag.
The Duke wanted to rub it in the face of his “rival.”
But Matthew snorted and calmly retorted:
“Frisia is a kind person. She likes stray cats on the street and cheap music boxes at the market.”
“Oh?”
“She likes pastel-pink dresses and her favorite flower is the amaryllis. So when she says she likes something, I can assure you—it’s no different than saying she likes pudding.”
