The classic model of wealth could be summarized in two words: inheritance and succession.
Whether royalty or nobility, wealth passed down from parent to child, and preserving that wealth for the next generation became the purpose of a lifetime. Status and fortune alike were confined within that same framework. For those not born with the right blood, acquiring wealth was nearly impossible. Even those born into it faced the same fate if they failed to inherit properly.
Recently, however, cracks had begun to appear in that solid structure. And some people had started slipping through those cracks.
The most common trait among them was simple.
They ignored customs.
They ignored rules.
Simon’s gaze drifted toward the man leaning back at the head of the table.
There sat someone who had personally torn the words custom and rule out of his life.
A man who had rejected the academy every noble attended and descended to the bottom on purpose. A man who climbed back up with bloodied hands and refused to stop until he reached the summit.
Oscar leaned into the chair, a cigarette between his lips.
Several buttons of his shirt were undone. Empty liquor bottles lined the table. One leg—hidden beneath the ornate tablecloth—was likely crossed carelessly over the other.
“Your Excellency, thank you so much.”
The man, who was like a nephew, entertaining him bowed so deeply his forehead nearly touched the table.
“I will never forget your grace, Your Excellency.”
Oscar let out a quiet laugh.
“Grace? We’re doing this for mutual benefit, aren’t we?”
The man quickly raised his head and smiled, then excused himself and stepped out of the room.
Simon tracked his departure with only his eyes before looking back at Oscar.
“……”
His mood was unmistakably foul.
Oscar had been unsettled all day. It wasn’t excitement. It was irritation—like a small, persistent problem lodged somewhere in the back of his mind.
Simon checked the time discreetly.
Fortunately, the day was nearly over.
Once the other party returned, Simon could wrap up the meeting and escort Oscar back to the mansion.
Whatever was bothering him, he seemed to need time for now. Oscar clearly needed space to sort it out himself. If not, he would eventually issue orders.
Still, Simon had overlooked something.
Those who exploited through the cracks of the solid-old wealth structure tended to ignore customs and rules.
And the man who had just left belonged to that category.
Outside, the man stood waiting, his face flushed. His secretary hovered nearby, clearly anxious.
“The Marquis’s secretary explicitly said we should wrap things up cleanly today.”
“Yes, yes.”
The man waved him off casually.
“Everything ended well. Why stir things up now?” the secretary pressed, trying to persuade him again.
The man lit a cigarette and grinned.
“I’ve never met anyone who dislikes a little entertainment on the way out. Ended well? Don’t make me laugh.”
“……”
“This is just the beginning. And for beginnings, you need things like this.”
He gestured behind the secretary.
When the secretary turned, several beautiful women were approaching through the hotel lounge, their presence clashing with the room’s formal atmosphere.
The man smirked.
Business was done by people, after all.
And nothing was more irrational than people. How many times had he traded favors like this to get where he was? If he could find a woman tonight who suited the Marquis’s taste, it would be worth as much as the contract itself.
The secretary stepped back a few paces, resigned.
Meanwhile, the man headed toward Oscar’s room.
A strange mix of fear and thrill crept through his body. The more it stirred, the broader his smile grew. Before that fear could harden into hesitation, he knocked.
“I’m coming in.”
He opened the door.
The moment he stepped inside, Simon—who had been waiting for the cue to conclude the meeting—swore inwardly. All that had been required was a polite farewell.
Instead, this fool had decided to complicate everything.
For a fleeting second, Simon genuinely considered cracking the man’s skull open just to understand what possessed him.
As Simon wiped the annoyance from his face, the prostitutes followed the man into the room one after another.
Each woman was dressed in a different style, as if arranged for selection according to taste. Their hair colors varied. Their figures differed as well.
Simon, only then realizing he had been holding his breath, slowly rolled his eyes toward his master.
“……”
Oscar, who had been lounging lazily while smoking, was staring fixedly at one spot.
The loose, drifting air around him tightened at once, like a predator that had found its prey. His focus sharpened. He seemed not even to breathe.
Unlike Simon, who recognized this as a dangerous signal, the man entertaining him took it as a very good sign.
See? No one dislikes this.
He quickly followed Oscar’s line of sight. He unerringly recognized where Oscar’s gaze had landed. He thought the Marquis would prefer a dazzling beauty, but—
The Marquis’s gaze had settled on the most plain and unremarkable woman among them.
It didn’t matter.
With a broad smile, he pushed her lightly forward.
“Tonight is Your Excellency’s night. If one night isn’t enough, I will extend it as long as you wish. Please enjoy yourself.”
The woman flushed as she stepped ahead.
At that moment, Simon rose.
“I will wrap things up, Your Excellency.”
He shot the man a sharp look, bared his fangs towards the man who had done something unasked for, ready to dismiss the women.
“It’s fine, Simon.”
“……?”
Simon turned, bewildered.
Oscar leaned back against the chair and smiled faintly, the expression lazy and worn.
Then he muttered,
“It seems it’s time to truly let loose.”
Suspicion crossed Simon’s face, but Oscar was not a man who cared for others’ concerns.
“Then… have a pleasant evening, Your Excellency.”
The man—who had brought the prostitutes, overjoyed, hurried out, ushering the remaining women with him. Simon, having no choice, followed.
Soon, only the Marquis and a single prostitute remained in the large room.
The woman had curly brown hair that fell to her waist. She cautiously lifted her eyes to look at him.
Marquis von Reinnhardt.
He was far more imposing than she had imagined.
Photographs captured only a fraction of his presence.
It wasn’t simply his appearance. There was something about him—the unique aura—that could not be flattened onto paper.
He sat alone in the wide chair, leaning back carelessly, head resting against the backrest and sprawled out lazily. His half-lidded eyes drifted toward the ceiling as he smoked.
The slow movement of his hand looked languid—yet, at times, as if he were enduring something.
Then his gaze lowered.
It settled on her.
“What are you standing there for? Shouldn’t you do what you came to do?”
His low voice brushed against her ears.
Drawn forward without thinking, she stepped closer.
The nearer she got, the more it felt like approaching deep water—dark and unfathomable. Instinct warned her to stop for she could not know what was lurking inside, yet something about him made her couldn’t look away.
The sharp, chiseled jawline and high nose bridge, along with the plump lips that evoke a strange feeling, exuded an incredibly sensual air. The open collar of his shirt and his disordered hair only added to it.
At the same time, the thick cords of his neck, the jut of his collarbone, and the firm muscles beneath the fabric carried something rough and untamed. A faint scent of sweat lingered.
Oscar.
There was an indefinable contradiction in him.
And that contradiction made him complete.
Tonight, she alone would be the one to embrace this man.
A cold thrill spread through her body. Heat pooled low in her lower abdomen.
She stopped just a step away.
Their eyes met.
The instant she faced those clear, icy blue eyes, something sharp ran down her spine.
Her shoulders shrank. Her head lowered without thought. Brown hair slipped forward and covered her face.
It was right after that when Oscar, who had been looking at her with cold and indifferent eyes, got up from his seat
Without a sound or tremor, he closed the distance.
Like a predator seizing the nape of its prey, he gripped the back of her head and tilted it upward.
—