Tick, tock.
The second hand of the watch continued its excruciatingly slow movement.
His expressionless face was reflected in the transparent glass.
“Given the location, there should be no threat to her life. I will instruct her to remain as inconspicuous as possible and wait for an opportunity to leave.”
Yes. That was the rational approach.
Oscar lifted his head and brushed aside the hair obstructing his view.
The slanting sunlight, stretching longer by the minute, struck his eyes. He did not even register the glare.
Someone addressed him with a trivial remark. Oscar responded with a habitual smile, as though lighting a cigarette, and the speaker appeared satisfied.
“When are you coming?”
The question came suddenly.
The hand holding the watch tightened.
Though the veins rose sharply across the back of his hand bulged, his face remained composed, in a relaxed smile.
That cursed remark.
Oscar tried to erase the image of the woman standing alone, her head held high while wolves leaned in around her.
It did not fade.
Her pallor remained fixed in his mind.
“I cried and cried?”
She must have cried once she returned to her room.
Oscar removed a cigarette from the case and lit it.
It was the last one.
Still, there was no taste.
He had stayed awake all night, to the point that even moving today felt burdensome.
Fragments surfaced unbidden.
A low breath.
“Hng, ugh… Nn…”
A muffled sound. He could almost hear the moans melting into his eardrums.
The memory of her body responding beneath him, the sensation of pressure, the way she had reacted when touched—details sharp and unblurred. the sensation of having penetrated the woman all night long spread from his lower abdomen throughout his entire body. The red veil that had tightly gripped his engorged member. The reaction she showed when he pressed it with his fingertips, every detail was vividly etched in his mind.
He drew deeply on the cigarette.
Still tasteless.
He looked again at the watch.
Tick.
Tock.
“The nobles are positioned directly beside the target.”
A thin laugh escaped him.
Irritated by the worn face reflected in the glass, he flipped the watch over. The moment it turned, he forced the image of her from his mind.
Beyond the window, the sun was descending.
After that, Marquis Reinhardt maintained an appropriate presence—interjecting when necessary, withdrawing when required. He appeared attentive. He appeared composed.
Occasionally, he glanced beneath the desk. During a meeting of such length, it was not unusual.
Tick.
Tock.
The prolonged session finally ended as the sun dipped lower, casting the world in a red hue over the world.
The King departed first.
The nobles rose one by one.
Even as they stood, they stole glances at Oscar. It was rare to encounter him so closely. A word exchanged now could leave a lasting impression.
“It’s been some time, Marquis. I heard the railway now connects to Norfolk. Remarkable.”
“And that’s not all. I hear you’ve secured three mining contracts in Faulder. Expanding beyond the continent—impressive.”
“I was merely fortunate.”
Oscar replied with ease.
The nobles slipped their hands into their pockets and walked beside him, speaking in lowered voices.
“Marquis, if you have no pressing engagements this evening, would you join us for dinner?”
Several ears sharpened, quickly observed Oscar’s reaction. Should he accept, they would follow.
His composure encouraged them.
He did not answer immediately.
They walked several steps in silence.
“Marquis?”
At last, when the duke who had extended the invitation called out to him, Oscar opened his mouth to reply.
“I apologize, Duke. I considered postponing my work, but it seems difficult.”
The proposer’s face stiffened at the rejection, delivered before many witnesses, stiffened the Duke’s expression.
Oscar removed his hand from his pocket and bowed courteously.
“I will make it up to you next time.”
The older noble’s displeasure softened slightly at his polite bow.
“A pity. However, it can’t be helped. Very well.”
Oscar continued conversing amicably as they exited the building.
“Then until next time.”
“Yes, of course.”
With a pleasant farewell, Oscar turned toward his carriage.
The playful curve at the corner of his eyes disappeared. The smiles and the performance that had clung to him all day fell away with each step.
His earlier prediction had been correct. The day had been tedious—precisely, exhaustingly so.
Tick, tock.
The sound of the watch’s second hand—something that should have been inaudible—rang sharply in his ears. All day, it had been the only sound that lingered. Echoed in his ears. This damned watch’s second hand.
Leopold’s words and expression. The nobles who had spoken to him without pause. The words he himself had uttered.
Of the countless sentences that had entered his ears and left his mouth, not one remained in his memory.
Once inside the carriage and seated, her face surfaced without resistance.
That damned woman’s face.
“Fuck…”
Oscar squeezed his eyes shut and struck the back of his head repeatedly against the seat.
He had counted every minute and second of that agonizingly long meeting. He had endured every minute and second of a day that had already promised to be tedious.
The carriage began to move.
Across from him, Simon opened and closed his mouth several times, hesitating.
Oscar spoke first.
“If you have something to say, stop acting like a hesitating idiot and say it properly.”
“……”
Oscar opened his eyes, head still resting against the carriage wall. He looked at Simon, whose face was intermittently revealed by the gaslight before sinking back into darkness, and asked casually.
“Is she still there?”
The subject was omitted, but Simon seemed understood. He quickly replied, for the sake of his owner’s rapidly dwindling patience.
“She says she could not leave before the exhibition ends.”
Unbelievable.
Oscar leaned back and let out a slow laugh.
“Did something happen in the meantime?”
“Rather, Countess Jerome’s daughter—”
“So, she’s become Sabine’s plaything.”
Oscar cut him off before he could finish. He chuckled softly and turned his gaze toward the dark window. A harsh outline of his own face reflected back at him.
A plaything.
“Fuck… a plaything.”
The curse slipped out.
Blood was thicker than water.
“She asked to be played with. Then I suppose I’ll play with her.”
Her half-siblings likely found the same amusement—finding pleasure in playing with a woman who cried easily. The nobles who trailed Sabine would have been eager to touch what Sabine claimed. And his half-sister, indulging in that spectacle, would substitute her inferiority with superiority.
Pathetic.
Tick, tock.
The vibration of the watch seemed to pulse against his palm. It did not cease simply because the meeting had ended.
His grip tightened.
Suddenly, the red ribbon came to mind—the one that had remained tied even after an entire night of passion.
That ribbon, like a red flower against the white of her spine.
Sabine’s followers must have touched it at least once.
A dry laugh escaped him. Heh heh—
Those useless shadows trailing Sabine must have recognized her state—the only person she had to rely on in this world.
Pathetic.
And strange.
Like that red ribbon, barely clinging to the ends of her completely disheveled hair.
That was why they would want to touch her. To provoke her.
“Ugh, … Hnn.”
Perhaps they wanted to see her completely broken within themselves.
The hollow laughter he had managed completely ceased.
Images unfolded without permission. The actions of delinquents.
The bastards circling a woman isolated from others’ sight. Blocking her from view. Taking turns.
“Ah…!”
They would laugh at her wriggling reactions. They would wind the ribbon around their fingers.
Crack!
Something shattered in his grip.
He withdrew his hand from his pocket.
The broken watch and glass shards cut into his palm. Blood spread across his skin.
“…Your Excellency!”
Simon immediately offered a towel.
Oscar stared at the blood seeping from his hand without moving to wipe it. Even now, the image of that red ribbon wrapped around the fingers of those scummy bastards returned to him.
His thoughts were fraying.
“I will have them accelerate. Please return to the mansion for treatment.”
Simon rose from his seat and reached toward the small interior window leading to the driver.
“Turn the carriage around.”
“Yes?”
“We’re going to Vues Department Store.”
Simon’s expression hardened with bewilderment.
Seeing his utterly incomprehensible look, Oscar casually pulled a fragment of glass from his palm. Then he pressed the wound firmly with the towel.
He did not know.
Whether he was losing control—
Or being made to.
—