Episode 21
At that moment, the man stepped forward again.
“Miss Mollet, I’ll handle it.”
“No, sir. This woman…”
Riella paused, taking a moment to catch her breath. Her face was flushed with shame and anger. She looked up at the man before continuing after a moment.
“She is a servant of our mansion.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Riella. I was just taking a quick break here. I really didn’t know you two were here,” Monica said, bowing her head and apologizing repeatedly.
It didn’t work. Riella stared at her coldly, took a deep breath, and spoke again. Monica, sensing the hostility, unconsciously shut her eyes tightly. That was it.
“No, Miss Mollet. I think it would be better if I intervened,” the man interrupted.
“Sir,” Riella began, but the man had already stepped forward, blocking her. Only then was his face, previously obscured by the backlight, revealed.
It was a face Monica knew well—blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. But… something was different. It was both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
The man ignored Monica entirely as he addressed Riella.
“This is a conversation prone to misunderstanding. In such cases, it’s better for a neutral party to mediate and resolve the issue to prevent any further complications.”
His words came quickly, as if he were in a hurry.
Nonetheless, they were overwhelming.
The man spoke with an air of arrogance, as if he had never encountered defiance in his life. Even his choice of words distanced him from Riella. He referred to himself as a “neutral party” when he had clearly been engaged in the situation moments earlier.
For a brief moment, Monica wondered if this man had suddenly materialized from elsewhere.
Riella looked up at him, her eyes filled with confusion. But soon, she seemed to concede, nodding slightly. When her gaze shifted back to Monica, it burned with anger.
“Understood, Lord Sullivan,” Riella said.
Monica froze.
Sullivan? Not Berfeil?
Sullivan. The name struck Monica like a thunderclap. She had heard it before—in whispered conversations between Riella and Mrs. Mollet, as well as in the gossip of the maids.
The son of one of the most prestigious noble families in the kingdom…
Suddenly, Monica felt suffocated. Riella glared at her, then raised her chin with a look of pure disdain.
“Let’s continue this conversation later,” Riella said, her tone sharp.
“…There’s no need,” Monica muttered, though she wasn’t sure if Riella heard her.
“You’ll regret it,” Riella snapped before turning abruptly and striding away.
Monica flinched, but Riella brushed past her without even a hair touching her. Still, Monica felt a cold chill settle over her.
Now, only two remained.
Hesitant, Monica looked at the man. He had been staring at her, so their eyes met naturally. But he said nothing, forcing Monica to speak first.
“Luis, you never mentioned your last name…”
The man’s gaze remained steady.
“Are you Lord Sullivan?” Monica asked.
But something didn’t add up. The Sullivan family hailed from the northern part of the kingdom, yet the name Garcia—a distinctly southern name—had been associated with him.
“Garcia Sullivan?” Monica asked tentatively.
The man’s lips twitched, betraying a hint of irritation.
“Luis? Garcia? How do you know those names?” he asked sharply.
Monica frowned. “How do I know? You… You’re not Garcia?”
The man cut her off. “I am not Garcia.”
Her eyes widened. “No?”
“Yes. I am Not Garcia.”
Monica was stunned. The man before her was undeniably tall and handsome, with broad shoulders and an air of elegance. His blue eyes, however, carried none of the cruel innocence she had come to associate with noblemen.
“You’re not Garcia?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.
“How many times must I say it? That’s not my name,” he said coldly.
The atmosphere around him was chilling—almost inhuman. It was different from anything Monica had ever experienced.
‘Is this really a different person?’ Monica thought.
She was reminded of something. A sense of déjà vu swept over her. It was the same feeling she had experienced when she met Luis and Garcia.
“…You’re about to tell me your name is not Luis again, are you?” she blurted.
The man’s lips curved into a frosty smile.
“My name is Enrique Sullivan,” he said.
“…What?”
“Enrique Sullivan.”
Monica bit her lip. It was unbelievable.
Three men. Three identical faces. Three different names.
Luis. Garcia. Now Enrique?
This was absurd.
“Lies… This has to be a lie,” Monica whispered.
Enrique smirked. “I’ve heard that a lot in my life, but never immediately after introducing myself. This is new.”
His eyes scanned Monica, cold and calculating. She shivered under his gaze.
Normally, Monica would have been furious at such insolence. But instead, she felt a strange sense of familiarity.
‘Why does this feel so familiar?’
“Did you say your name was Offen?” Enrique asked.
Monica hesitated. “…Yes.”
“I heard from Miss Mollet that you’re a servant in this household. Eavesdropping may be a virtue for a rat, but it’s certainly not one for a servant.”
The insult stung. Even Garcia, as savage as he was, had never belittled Monica like this.
“What do you know?” she snapped.
Enrique chuckled. “Nothing. I asked a pointless question.”
Monica’s breath hitched as she noticed a small scar appear at the corner of his eye when he laughed.
‘That scar… I’ve seen it before.’
“Wait…” Monica began.
“I’ve wasted enough time on you,” Enrique said, turning on his heel.
But Monica couldn’t let him leave. She reached out and grabbed the hem of his shirt.
“Wait!”
The man froze. Just then—
POP!
A deafening noise erupted from the banquet hall. Bright flashes of red and blue lit up the night sky. Monica stood frozen as the acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air.
It was the Mollet family’s signature firework display.
The dazzling show continued, the sky painted with beautiful colors. Even Monica found herself mesmerized for a moment.
When it ended, she realized she was still clutching Enrique’s shirt.
“I’m sorry, I…” she began, but trailed off.
Enrique was gripping a tree for support, his body trembling violently.
“Ugh…” he groaned.
Monica stared back in shock.
—
