Chapter 7
Do You Really Love Me?
Daphne felt steam practically hissing out from the top of her head.
“Circuits all wired to Psyche Denver, Psyche Rodriguez. Psyche this, Psyche that.”
She had thought he might be hesitating because there was something deeper behind his actions. But there was no twist.
This man loved Psyche, and Daphne instinctively knew that love would last forever.
“Yes, of course. Why am I not surprised?”
How incredible.
In this story, the prince’s undying love was destined to reach no one but Daphne, yet he remained hopelessly devoted to someone else.
****
Daphne summoned the servants, who had been anxiously waiting, and asked them to clean up the scattered shards of glass. They were so delighted to finally have something to do that they practically jumped for joy.
Amid the chaos of people bustling in and out, Daphne reached out to fix Celestian’s disheveled appearance.
“You tried to kill me.”
He quietly allowed her to straighten his clothes. Gossip throughout the kingdom claimed Celestian was a master in bed, earning Daphne’s affection, but the truth was, they had never shared a bed.
“You won’t have to die, as long as you don’t run away.”
Starting from the hem of his shirt, she buttoned it up. Despite living a life of eating and lounging around, his torso was still tightly packed with firm muscles, and veins stood out around his lower abdomen.
Daphne forced herself to focus, mentally reigning in her wandering gaze before it traveled any lower.
“You held a gun and pulled the trigger.”
“And thanks to that, you can enjoy a clear view of the Angel River.”
Lifting the Winchester rifle had been just a way to see if Celestian’s backstory in the novel still held true.
‘Doesn’t seem like it left him with much trauma, though.’
Celestian gazed out through the shattered window behind Daphne. The scene outside was breathtakingly beautiful, almost surreal, in stark contrast to the chaos inside. For a moment, he was mesmerized.
“Beaucater.”
“Hmm?”
“Do you really love me?”
Daphne nodded silently, her thoughts churning.
‘To be precise, I love the version of you who hopelessly pines for Psyche.’
“Even after, I’ve made your room like this?”
His tone was playful, and his gaze held a mischievous glint. A voice in Daphne’s head whispered seductively, coaxing her to commit crimes she could easily cover with her wealth.
“Oh, please.”
“Ah.”
Finally finishing the topmost button, Daphne feigned a slip of the hand and grabbed his collar tightly, only to release it just as quickly.
“I figured you’d pull something like this sooner or later.”
There was a part in the novel where Celestian, though professing his love for Psyche, impulsively destroyed her house and then rebuilt it whenever he got emotional.
Back when she read it, Daphne had rolled her eyes at his obsessive behavior. Experiencing it firsthand, however, she found herself tempted to slap that perfect face of his.
“Well, I was planning to redecorate anyway.”
Celestian rubbed his neck where she’d grabbed him, his lips curving downward. He was clearly pretending it hurt when it didn’t at all.
“Even though your face turned into a beehive?”
It was a topic she had deliberately avoided—talking about the portrait.
“Sigh…”
Daphne exhaled deeply, and Celestian chuckled softly.
“Cele.”
His gentle green eyes fixed on her with a calm intensity.
“Do you know who painted that?”
“Someone who painted you, I suppose?”
“Yeah.”
“Hmm, not sure.”
Celestian smirked again, as if amused.
“Well, it’s rough and poorly done, that much is clear.”
“What? Poorly done?”
“Was it one of your court painters, perhaps?”
“No. My grandmother painted it.”
The lie came out effortlessly. Daphne’s maternal grandmother passed away when she was too young to remember.
“That’s her masterpiece.”
Celestian chuckled again, then widened his eyes belatedly and made an excuse.
“It meant she couldn’t capture the real thing. I know a bit about oil painting, and the coloring technique was so sophisticated and delicate that I expected a great artist to have painted it.”
“You’re trying hard.”
Even after covering Daphne’s face with both hands, there was still a large hand left, which he used to pat her around.
‘His aversion to losing is so severe, it’s practically bleeding out of him.’
She’d gone out in the early morning, only to return by evening, and now, instead of resting, he was already back to draining her energy.
“Cele, I’m busy. I’m really tired when I come home.”
“I know.”
“Then behave yourself.”
This is exactly the kind of line male leads regret saying after stacking up bad karma.
“When I’m not around, don’t mess with the Sasha brothers just because you’re bored. If you’re restless, spar or something. And if you want to eat, politely ask Narid.”
As she spoke, a nagging sense of déjà vu crept over her. She decided to ask Psyche about it later—if Romeo had ever said something similar to her.
“Do I, Celestian Rodriguez, have to make polite requests to mere knights or maids? And with courtesy, no less?”
It stung as if there were glass shards stuck in his clothes, around his back and calves.
“Yeah.”
While replying, Daphne pulled at the ribbon on her shirt and unbuttoned it with a quick flick. A yawn escaped her lips, and with it came an overwhelming wave of drowsiness.
“The reason why my people call you ‘Prince’ and why Maril didn’t shoot you with a fully loaded gun when you acted like this today, that’s because I ordered them not to. I’m the master of this house, not you.”
“Beacater, I got it. But why are you taking off your clothes?”
“You need to know your place, Cele.”
By the time she had unbuckled her pants and grabbed the waistband to pull them down, Celestian raised his voice slightly, his tone a notch higher.
“Alright, alright, I get it. But why are you undressing?!”
Surprised by his exaggerated reaction, Daphne turned to look at him.
“I’m wearing innerwear inside.”
As if to prove it, she soaked her shirt to reveal the lingerie, causing him to hurriedly clench his fists and cover his eyes.
“Can’t I undress in my bedroom? And look outside. It’s night. It’s time for bed.”
As soon as she said it was time for bed, Celestian’s Adam’s apple gulped.
“Are you going to sleep with me?”
“Did you get shot?”
All Daphne had done was remove a her clothing, yet she suddenly felt like a scandalous woman. She scowled and muttered under her breath.
“Why do you keep suggesting we sleep together? Are you trying to seduce me? Even though your heart’s somewhere else.”
She flopped onto the bed sideways, grabbing Celestian’s night robe from the other side.
“I never did that.”
“What?”
“I never tried to seduce you.”
“Oh, what a shame.”
Leaving her discarded pants and shirt on the floor, Daphne got up and draped the robe over herself. The familiar scent of her own fragrance on his clothing felt oddly unsettling. As she tied the ribbon and slipped her hand into a side pocket, her fingers brushed against soft silk.
“My gloves?”
To be precise, they were the gloves Daphne had falsely claimed belonged to Psyche. She hadn’t expected him to keep such a thing so carefully, despite it being a fake.
“Why are you acting like someone who’s been assaulted?”
“You’re irreverent.”
“And you’re downright rude, Prince.”
She wondered if his lack of experience stemmed from being the story’s devoted second male lead. It was a reasonable suspicion, though the social hyenas in high society surely wouldn’t have left such an attractive man alone.
“Just shut up and go sleep with your beloved gloves.”
Daphne threw the gloves at Celestian’s face with a satisfying thwack before leaving the bedroom. Her cheek, which had been struck earlier, still throbbed and felt like it would bruise.
*****
As expected, an ugly blue bruise had appeared on her face.
“Did the Duke hit you?”
Misha, whom she met in front of the Countess of Konya’s manor, held her face in his hands, fussing loudly.
People passing by shot them curious glances, prompting Misha to quickly pull her into a quiet balcony.
“It was an accident.”
“You could’ve at least covered it up. And why didn’t you kill him after he laid a hand on you? That’s not like you.”
“Didn’t you see yesterday? It was a lovers’ quarrel.”
“Oh.”
Misha withdrew his hands from her face, as if dismissing the matter entirely. There was an odd undertone to his movement, almost like a subtle shove.
“Misha, are you putting feelings into this?”
“You must be imagining things. Today’s event is on the second floor.”
Misha skillfully changed the subject. Daphne nodded but paused, raising an eyebrow.
“The second floor?”
Misha pulled an invitation from his pocket, glanced at it, and confirmed with a nod.
“Yes, the left balcony.”
“Wait, really? The second floor?”
“Yes, the second floor.”
Daphne’s heart felt unsettled as she looked into Misha’s confident gray eyes.
“Why? I usually sit next to Stella.”
“Today’s seat belongs to Miss Psyche. This dinner party is for the engaged couples.”
“Oh, so it’s a polite way of saying, ‘Get lost, marriage-market reject’?”
The Countess of Konya, or Stella, was known for her whiskey with a bold flavor and champagne with a tangy grape aroma. Daphne had come excited, imagining a night of drinking parties with her maids and boxes of Stella’s finest.
“My seat is on the second floor?”
Stella was Daphne’s peer, and they had a decent relationship. Although she didn’t notice any particular signs when they greeted each other earlier. It felt like being completely pushed to the back.
As Misha said, it was natural for the main character to sit next to the host at such parties. Although superficially, Daphne was famous as Psyche’s rival, but that was a thing of the past!
“Lady, His Royal Highness the Crown Prince is also here today.”
Misha found an idol to admire and whispered. Piqued by the hint, Daphne, who was completely sober, muttered very softly as she sipped champagne.
“The male lead is back—still not dead, I see.”
“Miss, be mindful of your words. People can hear you. …But if he were gone, who would inherit the steel industry? Does he have insurance?”
“He probably does. But I’m not the heir.”
Misha sighed loudly.
“What a shame.”
The Crown Prince, Romeo, had recently returned from his diplomatic mission to Herbon, where he was apparently overseeing the construction of a railway.
“The Duke has no ambition. If it were me, I’d capture that idiot and make him a hostage.”
Daphne took another sip of her champagne but grimaced at the faint rotten taste. This was not a drink she could share with her maids, let alone serve to clients.
“Let’s cut ties with Konya starting next quarter.”
“That’s rather abrupt, Miss.”
“The liquor’s terrible. They’ve lost their touch.”
Misha, after sipping his own glass, tilted his head in confusion, noting that the taste seemed the same to him as before. Daphne pouted in response.
She set her glass on the low table, leaned on the railing, and gazed down at the floor. Amidst the crowd, the male lead stood out with his tall stature and jet-black hair, towering over all the other men.
Daphne’s cousin was incredibly handsome. Even if he did something regrettable, just looking at his face would calm her down. And next to him, sticking to his arm, was Psyche, who was small but had a unique presence.
Psyche, radiant as ever, was wearing a dress Daphne had never seen before today.
The twelve dresses Daphne had gifted her previously apparently weren’t enough for the soon-to-be crown princess, who was making her way through a series of pre-wedding parties.
Misha, clearly uninterested in joining Daphne in her musings, excused himself to go downstairs and greet them in her place.
Psyche, arm in arm with Romeo, scanned the room as if searching for someone. Her gaze swept across the first floor, the landing of the staircase, and finally the right side of the second floor—before landing on the left.
Their eyes met.
Daphne, as if she had been waiting for this exact moment, broke into a wide grin and waved energetically.
Psyche froze.
Her blue eyes darted around nervously before she quickly averted her gaze, pretending not to have seen Daphne. She bit her pink lips inward, as if suppressing something.
“What’s this about?”
Then, Psyche slipped behind her fiancé’s back, disappearing from view.
