The woman whose hair Oscar had seized thought their lips would soon meet.
She thought she would be completely consumed by this dangerously sensual man.
“……”
However, the man who seemed ready to claim her at any moment stopped short, their noses barely misaligned.
A sharp, wild scent reached her first. For some reason, the faint warmth made her chest tighten. She tried to lean closer.
He stepped away.
Oscar lifted his head and looked at the ceiling. Tilting his head back, his throat moved as he swallowed. Then he let out a long, slow breath and laughed under it, as if baffled by himself.
The one left worn out was the woman.
“Your Excellency…?”
At her soft call, Oscar lowered his gaze.
His clear blue eyes fixed on her as he untangled his hand from her simple brown hair. Then he caught her chin and pressed his thumb against her lips, rubbing lightly.
Aren’t all lips the same?
Just a thin red line marking the boundary between skin and flesh.
She blinked up at him.
It was disappointing that the kiss had not come. Even so, the fact that this terrifyingly attractive man’s gaze lingered on her lips made her feel lightheaded.
She closed her eyes and brushed her upper lip over his fingertip.
A damp, suggestive sound filled the quiet room as her lips moved against his skin.
She wanted to swallow his finger whole. To bite wherever his touch remained.
The air thickened with the faint, indecent sounds.
Oscar watched coolly as she tried to please him with her mouth. The messy sensation—licking, biting, entangling—tingled faintly at his fingertips. And he allowed it.
Why.
What exactly was he trying to feel?
As her movements grew more eager, the faint smile that had lingered on his lips—even if it was insincere—disappeared. The intoxication from several bottles of alcohol seemed to drain away all at once.
Clarity returned.
Suddenly, he withdrew his hand.
At that moment, the woman who had tried to swallow not just the fingertips but the entire finger down to the root, suddenly opened her eyes at the finger that was quickly slipping away. She had expected him to push her down next. To tear at her clothes. To take her roughly.
Heat surged up her spine, ran up to the top of her head.
But instead—
She turned her body to follow him blankly. However, his subsequent actions were completely different from what she had expected.
Oscar stepped past her. He picked up the water bottle from the table and poured water over the hand she had just touched. Then he dried it calmly with a towel. Afterward, he lit a cigarette.
His shirt, as he brushed his hair back, still hung loosely open. His posture was relaxed as ever.
Yet the air around him had turned cold.
Unconsciously, she spoke.
“Your Excellency… did I make a mistake…?”
The tip of the cigarette, deeply inhaled, flared red.
Smoke rose and blurred her vision. Through it, those blue eyes looked at her.
Cold.
Empty.
Not once had they warmed.
Not even for a moment.
Oscar looked away.
He tossed the towel onto the table carelessly and walked toward the door.
“I have a weak stomach.”
“……”
“Take the money.”
With that, he opened the door and left.
The wolves waiting outside stirred at their master’s sudden appearance.
Simon, already alerted, immediately followed. The man who had brought the prostitutes rushed over as well, but by then Oscar had already crossed the hotel lobby.
“Your Excellency, the crowd is heavy. I’ve prepared a detour. I will guide you.”
It was a holiday, and the city was overflowing with people.
Because the hotel stood near St. Roel Cathedral, the area in front was packed. The streets were clogged with pedestrians and carriages.
Oscar smoked quietly, his gaze moving between the crowd and the waiting vehicles as Simon helped him into his jacket.
Then he opened his mouth.
“It’s not far. Let’s walk a bit.”
With that light remark, Oscar stepped forward.
Despite the casual tone and easy movement, the darkness clinging to him made the sight unsettling. He was quiet and cold, like a reaper on his way to pronounce a sentence.
Simon signalled the waiting wolves to follow. They spread out at once and cleared a path. No one dared to question their intentions, let alone speak.
Oscar left the hotel confidently, with a cigarette between his lips, one hand buried in his pocket, and headed straight toward the congested road.
“How much longer do we have to stay here?”
“Madam, please wait a moment. There’s no movement yet.”
“Mom, I’m bored!”
Petty complaints. Irritated voices. Drivers cursing under their breath. Lanterns flickering above the carriages.
None of it reached him.
Everything simply passed by. If something became bothersome, it could always be pushed aside.
Oscar drew on his cigarette. Between the tightly packed carriages drifted the thick smell of perfume and sweat.
Even a rumor that the Marquise Reinhardt had used something was enough to sell out dresses, perfumes, cosmetics—sometimes the talk even spread among the knights. Half the population of East Norfolk seemed to wear the same scents.
He had started smoking because the smoke at least masked that smell.
After crossing to the opposite sidewalk, where the crowd thinned, Oscar paused.
He felt as though he were catching his breath in stagnant water.
A thorn.
For some reason, there was an unpleasant sensation, as if a thin splinter were lodged in his throat.
So small it was almost invisible, yet it scratched at him whenever he forgot about it.
Where had it lodged?
When?
Why?
No—
Perhaps it had always been there.
A ridiculous thought surfaced—that maybe the drug the brothel owner had once used had seeped into him. That day.
Oscar let out a short, smoky laugh at himself and kept walking.
People brushed past him constantly, yet nothing remained.
Like wind slipping through his fingers.
Things flowed around him endlessly, filling the space—
and yet, paradoxically, there was nothing. He kept walking.
Step after step, the prickling sensation gradually faded.
The crowd moved around him like a river. Oscar stood alone, like an island in its current.
“Not here—over there’s better!”
“It’s starting soon! Hurry!”
He watched them pass. Perhaps no one imagined that Marquis Reinnhardt would be walking on foot. Or perhaps something more important had simply captured their attention.
No one cared who the unusually tall man was. They flowed like water, drawn toward a single point.
His gaze followed that current.
The cathedral rising sharply into the sky. The glittering department store that filled his coffers even now.
The square between them looked like a thickly painted oil canvas—so dense with bodies that faces disappeared, reduced to indistinct dots. A cheap landscape where the painter’s intention was impossible to read.
And yet—
Something stood out. Among the overwhelming mass of people, one figure caught his eye.
Oscar stopped.
He took a slow breath.
The wind broke apart and slipped into his soot-filled lungs again and again. The suffocation remained, as if even breathing offered no relief. Still persisted.
But the thorn—
the irritation in his throat—
was gone.
There she was.
A foolish woman who couldn’t even lift her head among people who didn’t care about Marquis Reinnhardt at all. So scared that she can't even lift her head like a fool.
Oscar watched Seo-ah as she swayed in the crowd.
Both of them were moving against the current.
But unlike Oscar, who stood firm like an island, Seo-ah was jostled from side to side, unsteady, pushed and pulled by the flow.
The tip of his cigarette burned down.
He smoked quietly, observing her with cold detachment.
Then—
she disappeared.
Swallowed whole by the crowd.
That was when the island, which had been standing still, began to move.
The dense sea of bodies, the heavy smell of sweat and perfume, the lingering thoughts with the thorns—
everything vanished at once.
“Damn…”
The curse slipped out. Aimed at someone unknown.
Oscar flicked away the cigarette and stepped onto the road.
Before he knew it—
he was running.
—