MLBR 04

Chapter 4

There was a problem.

My memory was missing. Right after Herace’s bombshell question and my bombshell answer to it, my mind went blank. The crucial conversation I should never have forgotten was wiped away completely, leaving me with only scattered flashes of clutching at Herace—mask removed—and pouring out my frustrations. And the man who escorted me back to the carriage… his mask hadn’t been Herace’s black one, but a blue one.

“I must be remembering it wrong.”

That seemed the most likely.

Herace and I had wandered off on our own, separating completely from the group. Human memory is never perfect—it’s easily distorted or fabricated. This must be one of those times.

“Anyway, I still need to write a breakup letter to Whistler.”

Based on what I’d overheard, I would probably receive a breakup notice within a week. Whatever else happened, I needed to end things first.

…But I had no motivation left to dig for “evidence” or try to seduce my way to revenge. Facing “that” Whistler alone was simply impossible for me right now.

“Sending the breakup letter first counts as revenge, right?”

I needed to phrase the breakup in the most insulting way possible. As I pondered what would sting the most, I called Clara.

“What do you think is the most unpleasant way for a man to break up with a woman, whether or not he ever loved her?”

“The worst way? That’s obvious.”

“What is it?”

“To say: ‘I never actually loved you. I loved someone close to you—your friend or your brother. I only used you to get close to him.’”

Clara added crisply,

“Or: ‘There’s someone else I love. I imagined his face on yours, but I can’t keep doing that anymore.’”

“That would definitely be insulting.”

I clapped like a seal, genuinely impressed. Clara’s precise tone and firm expression made it all sound convincing.

“And, my lady, a letter arrived for you. But I think it was sent by mistake.”

“Why?”

“Because your personal letters only ever come from your pen pal. And I know that name well.”

But that was about to change. Anticipating a busier future, I said solemnly,

“I’m going to change from now on.”

“Yes, yes, my lady,” Clara replied half-heartedly, clearly not believing me.

“Who’s it from?”

“Duke Gray. You know, him.”

Clara clasped her hands, eyes shining with admiration. Her attitude piqued my curiosity—until now, as a stay-at-home recluse, I’d known very little about Herace.

“He’s the sort of man who wouldn’t bleed or shed tears even if stabbed with a needle—or an axe!”

“If you stab someone with an axe, they die.”

Ignoring my realistic retort, Clara pressed on with gusto.

“Herace Gray! In society, he’s called the very worst—so awful people won’t even forgive that handsome face of his.”

An inspiring figure, perhaps? Clara murmured to herself, nodding gravely.

“That bad?”

I grew serious. Herace Gray might actually have a worse reputation than mine—and that was no easy feat.

Which meant that while I needed to repair my ruined reputation, I had just agreed to an alliance with a man everyone called a villain. Worse still, it wasn’t clear what I stood to gain.

Through romance, one usually gained honor, wealth, or fame.

“But Herace doesn’t seem to gain anything either.”

Or maybe he did. If he truly desired romance, then obtaining a pledge for that relationship wasn’t nothing.

Still… for someone who had abruptly returned from studying abroad, to want nothing more than a contract under the name of “love”? It didn’t make sense.

For now, I decided to simply gather information.

“Why exactly is Duke Gray called a villain?”

“Why? Because he bullied Marquis Gas from childhood! Do you know how many humiliations the poor Marquis suffered because of him? Whenever the Duke went abroad to study, the Marquis was left cleaning up after him. Honestly, the Duke and Duchess Gray are clever people, but why they let him cause so much trouble, I’ll never understand.”

“What kind of humiliations?”

“Well, when they were both still young masters, Duke Gray once sabotaged a carriage wheel so that Marquis Gas arrived at a party near the very end!”

“If he still had the strength to spread gossip after dragging his weary body there, why arrive so late? With that much energy and determination, shouldn’t he have made it by the middle, at least?”

Clara gave me a look that said, “Do you think everyone’s like you, my lady?” I pursed my lips.

“And! The Duke hit on the lady Marquis Gas liked, ruining his first love!”

“That just means she didn’t like Whistler. Even if he’s the ‘male lead,’ Whistler can’t possibly be everyone’s type.”

Clara tilted her head at my odd phrasing but let it slide, though her expression clearly said, “You’re the last person who should be saying that.”

“And that’s not all! The Marquis’s business projects and social events—every one of them ruined because of Duke Gray!”

“That just means he never intended to succeed in them anyway. Businesses and parties take months of planning, preparation, and hosting. One man couldn’t possibly ruin everything.”

Clara stared at me now like something was off. I accepted her gaze calmly and took Herace’s letter from her hands.

I was about to open it when—thud! Clara fell to her knees.

“My lady, you mustn’t!”

Covering her mouth as if about to cry, Clara squeezed her eyes shut. Her voice broke with desperation.

“Murder is wrong!”

“Killing someone isn’t that easy. It’s not something you can just say and do.”

“Of course, it’s not just murder. Fraud is wrong, theft is wrong, gambling is wrong too!”

Clearly Clara was flustered by my sudden change in behavior. I had warned her beforehand, but apparently that hadn’t been enough.

“Clara, fraud, theft, and gambling all require meticulous planning and strong connections to avoid drawing attention as a noble. I don’t have the ability for any of that, so don’t worry.”

The letter simply said to meet. Since I felt the same, I agreed to set an appointment as soon as possible.

Time passed, and I had gathered my thoughts somewhat. Most of them circled back to Herace.

“Herace Gray.”

I’d barely seen him before the masquerade, yet I’d never forgotten him.

Because our first meeting had been so different from what I’d imagined based on Whistler’s words—it shocked me. That shock had seared him into memory.

Herace had been adopted into House Gray the year Whistler turned fifteen. To adopt a child nearly grown—it had caused quite a stir.

That was around the time I began spending time with Whistler. Back then, Whistler was different: mischievous at times, yet calm and composed. Not without kindness, but steeped in stillness. He changed as he grew—maturity, perhaps.

“Though his lack of morals is the problem.”

From ages fifteen to eighteen, Whistler and I got along well—until suddenly, we didn’t. We reconnected when I was twenty, and at that time, Whistler confided a secret to me.

His stories about his brother were vicious.

His brother was a bundle of inferiority complexes. Violent enough to throw objects at any time, manipulative, greedy. Their parents pandered to him so much they planned to give him the dukedom.

Looking back now, it seemed Herace had been the real victim.

Even in the original version of the novel, there was a line about how Herace was the complete opposite of Whistler. I had thought it only meant their personalities differed. But today I realized: Whistler was “trash,” while Herace was “a moral man.”

Despite the objections, Herace was granted the Gray dukedom, and Whistler the Gas marquisate. Though objections continued, House Gray caused so little trouble that nobles soon hushed it up.

“I’ve written the breakup letter to Whistler. Now my problem remains.”

Beyond revenge, I needed to survive without being framed for a crime.

As I’ve said, the original novel was pure melodrama. The author had abandoned commercial appeal entirely, making Philena the icon of misfortune.

After being betrayed, “Philena” still loved Whistler, obsessing over him until she ended up in prison.

“I couldn’t escape suspicion, even though I hadn’t committed any crime.”

Reputation was terrifying. With a bad one, you were immediately suspected; with a good one, you weren’t even considered.

So there was only one way to survive: I had to change my reputation for the better.

For that goal, I intended to make Herace a proposal.

“There’s still time.”

I repeated the words calmly as I arrived at the bookstore where Herace had asked to meet. Leaving Clara outside, I entered, and the elderly shopkeeper greeted me warmly.

“Hello there.”

“Good day.”

“You here for the new release of ‘I’ll Kiss You for 100 Gold’?”

The old woman eyed my clothes, her smile shifting into a merchant’s gleam. It was true—romance novels were even more popular among nobles than commoners.

“No, I’m here to meet someone.”

I glanced around.

“Have you seen a tall man, over six feet, blond with red eyes?”

“Oh, the handsome young gentleman?”

“That would be him.”

“He’s just over there.”

Nodding, I followed her indication. At the far end of the shelves, I turned the corner—but Herace wasn’t there.

Perhaps I’d meet him as I wandered. Browsing, I examined the shelves closely.

“This one… isn’t this the book Clara mentioned?”

Clara had raved about the romance novel ‘I Was a Bad Man’—a masterpiece, she’d called it. And this was a limited edition. She’d surely love it if I bought it.

Hugging volume one to my chest, I reached on tiptoe for volume two. But the shelves were too high.

“Just a little—”

“You’ll hurt yourself like that.”

A voice, laced with a faint amusement, followed the creak of wood.

“You’re not cut out to be a knight, Philena.”

“I never wanted to be one.”

Herace’s shadow fell over me. He placed a steadying hand on my shoulder and whispered,

“The shelf behind you is warped. Careful not to fall like last time.”

“I’ll be careful.”

With guilt weighing on me, I answered meekly. His solid arm reached past my ear, high above.

“Pick your books.”

“Books? Why?”

“Why? Because we have to look like we’re dating.”