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Chapter – 05
The two remaining aides held their breath.
They were so tense, trying to monitor every move of the woman beside the Duke, that they’d forgotten even how to breathe.
The Duke brushed a lock of her crimson hair spilling over his white shirt and whispered something.
The aides couldn’t make out the words, but it was definitely the Duke’s voice.
And that voice—
Just as their ears strained to catch every syllable, ragged breathing cut through the silence.
“I–I’m sorry! This was the only thing I could find nearby!”
The young aide, panting, held out a bottle of whiskey.
A faint crack formed between the Duke’s brows.
By contrast, her eyes lit up as if she’d discovered an oasis in the middle of a desert.
She didn’t know what the label said, but one glance was enough to know — it was alcohol.
Yes, much better than cold water.
A sure and very effective way to keep her mind from flying apart.
“Don’t talk, just pour me a full glass.”
She turned her head slightly, bringing her lips close to his ear, and whispered — so near it was almost a kiss.
“And the introductions?”
As if answering her teasing tone, he brushed her temple with his lips and murmured in a voice only she could hear.
“We can’t introduce you properly until you’re dressed, can we? Let’s skip it for now — better to make a big splash later.”
“I forgot about the clothes.”
“You’re always forgetting, because you’re always half-undressed.”
“Anyway, hurry up and give me that. It is alcohol, right? Even if it’s not, just say it is. I need the placebo.”
“It’s whiskey.”
“Oh, I know that one.”
A hint of color returned to her pale cheeks. The Duke gave a small nod to the aide.
The nervous aide — looking like a dog desperate to go outside — hurried to open the bottle, clearly relieved to have something to do.
The aide beside him quickly grabbed a glass, but the Duke’s voice cut through their movement like a blade.
“No. Just give her the bottle.”
The trained aides obeyed without hesitation.
The one holding the glass set it down and stepped back, while the other handed over the bottle, then returned to his spot.
The Duke looked at the untouched glass for a moment and let out a quiet sigh.
The aides hadn’t even realized they’d placed it just out of his reach — since they still didn’t dare lift their heads.
“If I just drink straight from the bottle… I mean, that’s bad manners, right?”
Her whisper carried an unmistakable yearning, and the Duke silently laughed.
“It doesn’t matter.”
She stared at the whiskey bottle in front of her as if she could bore a hole through it.
Then she clenched her teeth.
“No, I’ll use the glass. I’m supposed to be sitting here as your lover, after all.”
“My fiancée.”
“Only temporarily.”
They spoke without pause — a seamless back-and-forth.
When he started pouring, she already had a glass in hand — who knew where she’d found it.
It wasn’t their first time matching timing perfectly. In the dream world, they’d shared plenty of drinks like this.
He filled her glass with practiced ease.
She drained it in one swallow, the whiskey sliding down like water. Then she held the glass out again.
He filled it once more — a little more than before. She emptied that one too.
He poured again, this time nearly to the brim — the proper measure for a full pour.
They didn’t even need eye contact; they just understood.
Knock, knock.
Even though the door was open, a knock came — and there stood Sebastian, bowing slightly, a folded outfit in his hands.
“Bring it here.”
At the Duke’s gesture, Sebastian walked toward them, calm and composed.
The Duke accepted the clothing himself — without letting go of the woman in his arms.
Even the ever-composed Sebastian couldn’t help a flicker of confusion cross his face.
He looked up for just a moment and accidentally met the woman’s gaze — her white legs partially revealed under the shirt — but he quickly bowed again, unflustered.
“It’s not perfect. I had to prepare in a hurry.”
“It’s… fine—”
She barely stopped herself from speaking formally after seeing his silver hair right in front of her.
It would be ridiculous to use honorifics toward someone clearly of lower rank, especially when she was on such familiar terms with the Duke.
Years of social survival had sharpened her instincts; not reading the room now would’ve made all that hardship meaningless.
She examined the clothes Sebastian brought. As she expected — judging from the carriages and formal speech — they were elaborate.
She grabbed the dress, unsure if it was Rococo, Baroque, or some impossible mix of both, and started figuring out where her arms were supposed to go.
After a long struggle with the endless ribbons and ties, she finally managed to get it on.
No wonder people back then needed maids to dress them.
Just as she finished, the Duke pulled her back into his arms again.
She didn’t resist. The warmth of his chest and the solid weight of his arms around her waist were far too comforting to reject.
She leaned the back of her head against him, sighed faintly, and lifted the glass he had refilled.
Sebastian stepped back; the aides’ heads snapped up like meerkats.
With his chin resting lightly on the crown of her head, the Duke spoke.
“We’ll wait until everyone’s gathered… then I’ll make introductions.”
It was a roundabout way of saying he couldn’t introduce someone whose name he didn’t even know yet — but also an indirect declaration that she was someone worth announcing.
The aides’ eyes went wide as saucers.
Then, when he added his next words, their mouths followed suit.
“Just wait two days.”
Even his dry, almost soothing tone as he addressed her made Sebastian subtly close each aide’s hanging jaw one by one.
She had started to say something, then stopped — unsure whether to speak to him casually or formally.
In the end, she half-lowered her eyes and simply nodded.
Her slender fingers turned the whiskey glass slowly.
The rich amber liquid slid down the transparent surface.
Whiskey flowed between her pale lips.
The aides — who had been stiff with discomfort — finally began to relax, seeing her composed demeanor.
Her narrowed eyes caught that reaction.
Why do all three of them look relieved right now?
Then his dry voice brushed against her ear.
“Didn’t you say your world doesn’t have a class system?”
Just one sentence.
And it all made sense. Her mouth twisted faintly.
The aides had relaxed because they assumed she wasn’t of low birth. That’s all.
How ironic.
The same social masks she’d learned to wear at work — smiling, calm, pretending — had ended up helping her even here.
Who could have guessed the dream world — the world inside a book — would turn real?
Even on the verge of mental collapse, she could still smile and make small talk, just as she had done at business meetings before everything fell apart.
The veins stood out on the back of her pale hand holding the glass.
His hand came over hers.
His voice, dry as sand, drifted from above her head — and to her, desperate for a way to end this chaos, it was sweeter and more thrilling than any confession of love.
“Everyone, leave.”
The aides froze, unsure of what to do, but their bodies obeyed before their minds caught up.
Behind them, Sebastian also quietly withdrew.
The door closed, leaving only the two of them.
She threw off the outer layer she had barely managed to put on — all ribbons and laces — and collapsed carelessly onto the sofa.
A long finger brushed her forehead.
Her crimson hair slipped over his knuckles like silk, then slid away.
Silence fell.
It wasn’t entirely comfortable, but not uncomfortable either.
She stared at the flickering light for a moment, then spoke.
“I thought it was morning when I woke up. But it’s night.”
“The time must flow differently here.”
“Maybe… maybe it’s not even morning there.”
She closed her eyes. His touch on her temple was familiar — and yet achingly strange.
The man from her dreams.
“Someone once said dreams are only beautiful while they’re dreams.
I never knew I’d understand that so deeply.”
She really hadn’t.
His long fingers stroked through her hair. A faint sigh escaped her lips — half sigh, half moan — colored by exhaustion and whiskey.
“Mmm…”
She opened her eyes suddenly and shook her head.
When his hand withdrew, she giggled.
“My God. I can’t believe this feels good — even now.”
“I told you. It’s an addiction.”
“Even in the dream, when I couldn’t feel anything, it still felt good… so now—”
Her words trailed off, strangled by her own realization.
Now — this isn’t a dream.
She drew her knees together, propped her chin on them, and looked at him for a long time.
A man who had become reality.
She reached out. Her slender fingers brushed his honey-gold hair.
They traced his forehead, his brow, down the bridge of his nose, over his lips — and stopped, lingering at his jawline.
“You’re warm.”
“And your hands are cold.”
He smiled faintly, a crease forming between his eyes, and took her hand in his.
She laughed softly.
“Because I’m nervous.”
“Nervous? You?”
“Yeah. Ever since I realized this isn’t a dream.
It’s like my nerves are about to snap.”
It was a miracle she’d managed to deal with anyone besides him at all.
Her years of working life had built her improvisation and acting skills — lucky, since she was using all of them now.
Her eyelids fluttered, trembling slightly.
A gentle warmth covered them — his hand.
He said nothing. Just held his hand over her eyes, silently staying there.
She let out a deep breath from somewhere deep within and slowly traced his hand from below.
Her pale fingers glided over his veined hand, then touched each of his knuckles, one by one.
Her colorless lips parted.
