"That's right.
It's not your fault.
It's the men who are going mad—and you're just standing there."
"Excuse me?"
Marin's eyes widened as she stared at the Duke in disbelief.
"You are too dangerous."
"Sorry?"
"Why can't you hear me properly?
I'm speaking perfectly clearly."
The Duke's voice sharpened, taking on the irritable edge of a grumpy lord of darkness.
"You're the one who's always talking nonsense, Lord Gerald."
Marin shook her head, incredulous.
"I stand there calmly, and men go crazy over me?
Pfft—*ha-ha-ha!*"
Repeating his words aloud, she couldn't hold back her laughter any longer.
The Duke's head jerked sharply, as though checking to see if anyone was listening.
Then, in one swift motion, he slipped an arm around her shoulders, guided her out onto the terrace, and yanked the heavy curtains shut behind them.
The terrace—a place where lovers usually stole moments alone—was plunged into near-total darkness with the curtains drawn.
Almost nothing could be seen ahead.
"What was that for?"
Her laughter had brought tears to her eyes.
Marin took a deep breath, trying to compose herself.
"Don't you *dare* laugh like that."
"Are you afraid men will go mad over it?"
"So you *do* understand."
Marin laughed again—pure, ringing, unrestrained.
At that very moment, it felt as though she had been doused with ice-cold water.
They had to deceive people, feign feelings—and she kept falling for the lie herself.
She had started to believe that the Duke truly loved her.
The wild, thunderous beating of her heart slowed.
Weakened.
A cold draft swept across her disappointed chest.
Her head dropped of its own accord.
"Why?"
"What?"
"Why do you suddenly look so disappointed?"
Without raising her head, Marin deliberately lightened her voice.
She didn't want the Duke to catch her feelings—these emotions she couldn't even understand herself.
Luckily, it was dark on the terrace.
And the Duke's eyes were closed.
Which meant she wouldn't have to mask her expression.
"Nothing of the sort."
"Why are you lying?"
His tone was genuinely baffled, as though he couldn't fathom it.
"I'm not lying."
"You're lying again."
"I'm *not* lying!
If you keep saying that—"
Marin's head snapped up.
A deep shadow lay across the Duke's face.
And suddenly, it seemed to her that he was looking straight at her.
She stepped closer without realizing it.
"Lord Gerald, just now—"
Up close, his eyes were closed as always.
"Just now?" he echoed softly.
"Ah—it seems we've stayed away too long.
There should be a chaperone beside Daya."
Marin quickly changed the subject and tried to step away.
At that moment, the Duke's hand tightened around hers like a vice.
"First, tell me why you looked so disappointed.
*Then* I'll let you go."
"There's no disappointment.
If you press me like this, it really does start to feel like I'm—"
Marin's throat tightened.
She lowered her head again.
"Who makes you disappointed?"
His voice turned cold, edged with anger.
"Who brings you to tears?"
Marin bit back the scream and yanked her hand away.
"I have to go."
But the Duke's fingers closed around hers again—firm, unyielding.
Their hands, intertwined like tree roots, filled her vision.
"Don't let go."
"What?"
"Don't let go of my hand."
His voice was hoarse, harsh—as though he were forcing the words out through clenched teeth.
"I don't like it."
Marin looked up at him in shock.
He squeezed her fingers tighter and frowned, his expression bordering on desperate.
She bit her lip, utterly confused.
He filled her entire field of vision—as though letting go of her hand caused him excruciating pain.
"...Because we need to pretend that we're in love?"
But the question had already broken free.
Marin deliberately looked away, hiding the flush creeping across her face.
While she waited for his answer, her long, shaky breath dissolved into the night air.
There was no response.
Unable to bear the anxiety squeezing her chest, Marin looked at him again.
The Duke frowned as though he didn't understand the question.
She turned her gaze to his scarlet lips.
Finally, as if he had worked it out, he said in a voice barely above a whisper:
"...Yes."
Marin's lips trembled with bitter understanding.
"I see."
"So love me.
Truly."
He stepped closer.
"W-what are you—"
Marin recoiled, utterly thrown.
"We're officially in love, aren't we?"
His voice was steady, measured.
"To make it look like you love me—*love me.*"
She blinked rapidly.
She stared at him, dumbfounded by the unheard-of sophistry.
"Marin.
Love me."
He repeated the command and took another step forward.
She instinctively retreated.
Her peach-colored slippers struck the marble floor.
But as soon as she stepped back, he was closer again.
Through the thin fabric of her dress, she felt the cold bite of the stone balustrade pressing against her spine.
There was nowhere left to retreat—but he took another step anyway.
His broad chest was very close now.
"W-where have you ever seen this?
Truly loving someone for the sake of a *performance?!*"
The Duke placed both palms on the railing on either side of her.
Marin felt trapped.
His face descended slowly, coming almost level with hers.
A high nose.
Beautiful lips.
Both emerged clearly from beneath thick lashes.
The Duke smiled faintly at one corner of his mouth.
"It's not difficult, is it?"
Marin swallowed hard, staring up at him.
"Is it?" he drawled lazily.
Marin's shoulders drew inward involuntarily.
Her gaze trembled.
"Remember, Marin."
His voice dropped lower.
"...What, exactly?"
Her voice barely broke through the tight band of tension constricting her throat.
The Duke leaned down slowly.
His scarlet lips grazed past her cheek, almost—*almost*—touching.
Marin held her breath.
And a hoarse whisper sounded right beside her ear:
"That you should love me."
Marin's pupils fluttered wildly.
*What on earth is happening here?*
"And how, exactly, do you expect me to do that?"
His expression darkened with displeasure.
"Marin, why are you always so negative?"
His tone turned mockingly petulant.
"My wrist isn't growing.
I'm not getting taller.
You can't love me, either."
Marin looked at him with indignant amazement.
"Because you're demanding the *impossible!*"
With his eyes still closed, the Duke furrowed his brow even deeper.
A pronounced crease formed between his eyebrows.
His face suddenly hardened.
"If you can't, then *make it so you can.*" His voice turned icy.
"That's an order."
He spoke the words coldly—and then straightened up.
Marin turned her face away and released a long, pent-up sigh.
When she looked at him again, his face seemed strangely lonely.
She called out involuntarily:
"Lord Gerald—"
At that very moment, magnificent bursts of light suddenly erupted into the sky, drowning out her voice entirely.
The curtains on the terrace were flung open.
Dozens of eyes turned toward them.
Marin turned her gaze to the sky as well.
White, firefly-like lights rose in long, graceful arcs and exploded overhead.
Streams of blinding radiance fell from the heavens like a waterfall of stars.
"How beautiful..."
She had never seen fireworks like this before.
"...Yes.
Beautiful."
She suddenly felt an insistent gaze on her and looked around—but there was no one nearby.
Except for the Duke, standing with his eyes closed.