Chapter 19
“Surely you’re not thinking of becoming the Grand Duke’s physician, are you? His Grace doesn’t know you’re a hopeless troublemaker, which is why he made such a suggestion. If he knew what you were really like, he’d be disappointed. So don’t even dream about becoming his physician. You, his doctor? That’s the funniest joke I’ve heard all year.”
Leticia’s sharp warning echoed in Irene’s mind.
“I can’t be a doctor for people.”
“I know. You said you dislike people.”
Divoa paused for a moment, narrowing his eyes slightly and pulling his lips into a sweet smile. His face was as smooth as a perfectly peeled potato.
“Then, do you dislike me?”
“…”
If she had to categorize it into liking or disliking, Irene still leaned toward “dislike.” After all, she didn’t like potatoes. On days when potatoes were served as the main dish, she’d rather skip the meal altogether.
“Then why did you stop my bleeding without hesitation? If it’s so awful for you, wouldn’t it have been better to leave me alone?”
“That’s…”
Irene quietly dropped her gaze.
Why indeed?
She looked down at her gloved hands. The moment she saw blood, her hands had moved on their own.
Divoa whispered in a gentle, enticing tone, like a devil tempting the first human.
“If you don’t want to be a doctor, then be my physician. Just as you did earlier, if I ever suffer another accident, I’ll need someone I can trust to stop the bleeding. A personal doctor who can treat me.”
Irene slowly raised her head and met Divoa’s gaze. He smiled flawlessly, his lips curved in perfection.
“I need you, Miss Irene Rios.”
But Divoa wasn’t a flawless potato. On the outside, he seemed perfect, but inside, he was rotting.
Irene had no interest in flawless people. But wounded people? They always caught her attention—especially patients with mysterious genetic diseases yet to have a cure.
As Divoa’s smile grew even brighter, Irene felt her heart pound.
Thump.
Her heart contracted forcefully, sending blood rushing through her arteries. It was probably the thrill of observing an unknown disease.
What else could it be? She didn’t have any arrhythmia or heart conditions.
Irene opened her mouth with a serious expression.
“How much did you say the weekly salary was?”
“…”
“If I remember correctly, it was ten thousand gold, with a one percent increase every month. Is that still valid? We should put this in a contract, just to be clear.”
Human memory wasn’t perfect, and people remembered the same situations differently. It was better to formalize things in writing than to rely on uncertain memories.
“Should we include a clause about sweet potatoes in the contract? Like having sweet potato dishes served at least once a week?”
“Hahaha.”
Divoa, who had been staring blankly at her, finally burst into laughter, bending over and wiping tears from his eyes with a finger. He waved a hand lightly.
“I’ll send my lawyer to you soon. Name any conditions you want. Not just once a week—I can make it every day if you’d like.”
“Yes.”
Irene picked up a pair of scissors from the floor as if their conversation had concluded. Then, she cut the end of the stitched thread cleanly.
Snip.
Her connection to Therapia ended there. She wouldn’t have to worry about boarding fees anymore, and Leticia’s warnings didn’t matter.
Looking at the neatly stitched corpse, Irene thought that maybe this was for the best.
Starting a new life in a place where no one knew her was something she had always wanted. She had no ties in the North, and no one would look for her.
Not even those who truly knew her.
She thought, Work hard for a few years, save some money, and move to a quiet countryside. Then I’ll grow sweet potatoes.
The idea came out of nowhere, but it seemed like a good plan. For the first time, a dream formed in Irene’s heart.
Not about what she would do tomorrow, but about what she would do in five or ten years.
Thud. Thud.
Her heart started pounding again. Irene tilted her head and placed a hand over her chest. Her heart was racing more than usual today.
Maybe it was because she hadn’t been sleeping well lately, worrying too much.
“At noon tomorrow, I’ll send a carriage to your dormitory.”
Startled by the sudden remark, Irene quickly shook her head.
“There’s no need for that. I can manage on my own.”
“I can’t.”
For a moment, Irene’s gaze focused on Divoa’s eyebrow, which twitched like it was angry. His well-groomed brow furrowed briefly before smoothing out as he flashed a charming smile and continued in a friendly tone.
“I can’t let a lady carry heavy luggage and walk such a long distance. My coachman will escort you to the station.”
Thinking it over, Irene still couldn’t understand. She was the one carrying the luggage and walking the distance, so why did Divoa say he wasn’t okay with it?
Whenever she went home, Irene always walked that path—every single time for the past four years.
Besides, on practical days, Irene always carried her tools. No one ever helped her.
Sometimes, Max would snatch her bag while yelling at her for getting in the way, but that was a different story.
Divoa sighed lightly, watching her expression, and smiled.
“I don’t treat my physician poorly.”
When he said it like that, it seemed to make sense.
Still, Irene nodded reluctantly, as if convincing herself to accept it. At that, Divoa’s smile deepened even further.
Most noblewomen would blush and exclaim softly at his words about a lady needing protection. They all wanted to be looked after by Divoa.
But Irene Rios was different. She didn’t need Divoa’s help. She was fine on her own, just as she said.
The problem was, that he wasn’t fine with it.
Divoa’s radiant smile concealed a flicker of doubt. For some reason, the thought of Irene carrying heavy luggage and walking that long distance unsettled him deeply.
Perhaps it was because he compared Irene’s situation to the comfortable lives of his four siblings. Yes, that must be it. He was a fair man who couldn’t stand injustice, after all.
“Even so, there’s no need to send the carriage. I have to stop by my house anyway to pack a few things.”
“Your house, huh.”
Divoa muttered with a meaningful look, then nodded briskly.
“Fine. I’ll instruct the coachman to pick you up after you’ve visited your house. I’ll wait for you at the station.”
Honestly, Irene never knew how to respond to such gestures. It was easier to deal with sarcasm or mockery.
She wasn’t used to unconditional kindness.
“Though I’d like to come fetch you myself, I have things to sort out. I hope you’ll understand.”
Irene figured he must be a generous employer to his staff.
“Yes, thank you.”
“I guarantee my land will suit you perfectly.”
Divoa’s bright smile lit up the dim dissection room. Irene rubbed her eyes, only to see the radiant glow vanish like an illusion.
Hearing the carriage slow down, Irene peeked outside, pushing aside the curtain.
A lavish carriage, far from her taste, had stopped in front of the building. She pulled out her pocket watch, the smooth surface polished from years of use, showing it was exactly noon.
She already liked the coachman, even though she hadn’t met him yet. Irene appreciated punctual people.
