♡ TL: Khadija SK
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“Sister, have you heard the latest news?”
It was the afternoon of a day when the rain poured heavily.
Hazel was seated, as was her custom, near the window, reading a book, while her younger sister, Charlotte—who rarely stayed home—languished on the bed in idleness.
“No.”
Hazel replied coldly, without lifting her eyes from the book.
“As I expected, I knew you wouldn’t know. Honestly, what would you do without me, sister? Come over here, I’ll tell you.”
Charlotte suddenly rose from her resting place and sat up, patting the bed repeatedly with her hand as she called out to Hazel.
“No, thank you.”
Hazel declined immediately; her younger sister’s stories were familiar and repetitive.
Especially during the social season in Westen, when the warm, clear days stretched long, a rainy day like this—perfect for reading—was a rare treasure.
Thus, Hazel needed to read now.
She had already reached the climax of the story.
Hazel had arrived at the moment when Lady Giovanni, enraged by her husband’s betrayal, hesitated between pouring scalding water on Mr. Giovanni’s sensitive area or not.
“Sister!”
Charlotte abruptly snatched the book from Hazel’s hands.
Hazel stared at her empty hands with shocked eyes.
“That was an important moment!”
It was the moment that would determine whether the book was merely a trivial work or a literary masterpiece.
The Secret of Lady Giovanni?
Charlotte, who had seen Hazel leap from bed the moment she noticed the rainy weather that morning, skipping breakfast to dive into her reading, had been intensely curious about the book that had consumed her sister all day.
She had assumed it was a great work since Hazel had ignored her questions and immersed herself in it, but it turned out to be just another novel, the kind Hazel always read.
“Reading these novels won’t do you any good.”
Hazel reached out to retrieve her book, but her attempt failed miserably.
For Charlotte, who knew Hazel as well as she knew herself, swiftly raised her hand in a fleeting moment.
Hazel sighed deeply.
It seemed she wouldn’t reclaim her book peacefully unless she listened to whatever Charlotte wanted to say.
Leaning against the wall, Hazel asked, “Do me good in what?”
Charlotte clutched the book tightly and squeezed herself into the empty space beside Hazel on the wide windowsill—her private reading spot, which felt a little cramped for two.
“Sister, do you remember? When we were little, this spot used to feel so spacious. We’d sit facing each other even~”
Charlotte was like a bouncy ball, her trajectory unpredictable. So too was her conversation. The topic had already shifted three times: from gossip to the book, and now to childhood memories.
Fearing she’d be dragged along by Charlotte all day if she let things continue, Hazel interrupted the flood of nostalgia at just the right moment:
“We’ve grown up. If the windowsill still felt as spacious as it did back then, we’d need to visit a doctor for stunted growth. So, what do you want to discuss with me? The gossip? Or the book?”
“Everything!”
Charlotte’s eyes sparkled with a gleam.
Charlotte was like a round ball.
Her face, her eyes, her mouth—all were round.
Not because she was plump, but because her gentle features exuded a lovable charm.
Her personality was round, too.
Charlotte easily overlooked negative things, rejoiced intensely at the smallest joys, and didn’t know how to hate or disdain anyone.
Hazel loved her younger sister, who was her opposite in every way.
So when those round eyes filled with expectation, a strange sense of duty sprouted in Hazel’s heart to fulfill those expectations.
Even if it meant a slight disruption to her routine or later regret after Charlotte dragged her through endless tangents, Hazel could only surrender.
And so it was this time.
Hazel sighed deeply, then looked into Charlotte’s eyes and said, “Go on, speak.”
“You’ll listen to me?”
Charlotte tossed the book onto the nearby table and hugged Hazel’s arm.
“Yes, I’ll listen to everything.”
Charlotte’s eyes narrowed with a hint of suspicion, but they quickly lit up with excitement.
If Hazel weren’t ready to listen, she would have darted for the book from the start, but her older sister remained firmly seated on the windowsill.
“Well then, sister, the rumor says that the kingdom’s most renowned bachelor will soon return to Westen!”
Another tale about high society.
Hazel, who was beginning to feel bored, nearly yawned but restrained herself and asked, “And who might that be?”
“It’s…”
***
“Theodore.”
Theodore Caron Bernier, the man regarded as the kingdom’s most renowned bachelor, turned when his close friend called his name.
At that moment, the clouds parted to reveal the sun, its rays slipping through the window to settle on Theodore’s face as he sat nearby.
His face, which glowed even in stillness, shone even more under the sunlight, as if it were radiating.
For a moment, his friend—a man like himself—felt a pang of jealousy. His pride wounded, he frowned deeply.
How could a man who had traveled through battlefields possess skin as smooth as a porcelain doll? Why were the lines of his jaw so perfect? And his high nose, like a mountain embracing the sky? And his lips… they seemed crafted to enchant women. Moderately full, forming a refreshing smile.
Theodore was perfect, without flaw, but the crown of his beauty was his eyes.
Almond-shaped eyes, holding in their depths a captivating abyss, with calm gazes that hid a hint of mischief, framed by long, thick lashes his sister wished she could have.
God is truly unjust.
Theodore’s friend, Macason, scowled even more.
“You called me and then went silent? Why the sour face?”
Theodore smiled gently, ignoring the fact that Macason had called him and then fallen quiet—and that he was frowning at him.
“I was cursing you in my mind.”
“Ah, I see. I’m too perfect, aren’t I?”
Macason’s jab, thrown after regaining his composure, didn’t faze Theodore in the slightest.
Not because it was weak, but because of Theodore’s nature.
Theodore was beloved by all—young and old, men and women—not just for his beauty but because he was kind and accommodating to everyone.
“And you have a perfect personality, too.”
The irritation that had risen to Macason’s throat suddenly burned out and faded.
Even jealousy needed to be on equal footing.
Macason himself wasn’t lacking—a handsome face and a prestigious baronial family backing him—but he wasn’t on Theodore’s level.
“The more I think about it, the more I realize God is even more unfair.”
Macason, in a fit of impulse, threw a pillow that had been beside him.
Theodore caught it with his hand and set it aside calmly. He wasn’t interested in responding to his friend’s random bouts of envy.
Theodore wasn’t easily swayed by others’ emotions. No matter what was said, his beauty remained an unchangeable fact, and he had long grown accustomed to envy and jealousy.
Theodore picked up an apple from the nearby table, tossed it high, caught it, and then threw it to Macason.
Macason fumbled, nearly dropping it before catching it with difficulty.
“Consider it a reply to the pillow.”
“Your manners are—!”
“Beautiful, aren’t they? I know.”
Macason’s blood boiled.
Theodore wasn’t wrong about anything, but something about him sparked his anger.
It wasn’t his awareness of his beauty that was the issue, but that comfortable indifference he displayed no matter what others did.
His nature was undoubtedly good.
He wasn’t demanding except in what he ate, wore, or used. But from another angle, that meant he didn’t care about much else.
Theodore was a selfish man.
“Enough. Anger will only add to my gray hairs.”
“What? Has gray hair started showing already? That’s awfully early! We’re only twenty-nine. Shouldn’t you take better care of yourself?”
“I’m joking, you fool! Don’t you understand humor?”
Macason bristled, and Theodore shrugged.
“If you’re done messing around, tell me why you came.”
Theodore finally said what he’d wanted to from the start.
He wanted to know why Macason, who had spent the previous night at a party until dawn, had come before even sobering up.
He himself was tired after a night at the gentlemen’s club playing billiards, though his face didn’t betray it.
“My mother’s in a frenzy. She’s asking if you’re going to marry this year.”
“Hmm, the Baroness?”
“Do I have another mother? She suddenly started talking about every family with a marriageable daughter to arrange a meeting for you, and she’s dragged me into it, too.”
The interest of mothers with marriageable daughters in Theodore was immense.
Theodore Caron Bernier, the gifted man and the kingdom’s most renowned bachelor, was a prize they raced to claim.
“Marriage… marriage…”
The playfulness vanished from Theodore’s face.
His expression turned rigid, cold, and imposing.
Macason grew serious in turn.
“Theodore, have you really come back to get married?”
Theodore slowly turned his head to look at Macason, and finally opened his mouth.
But what came out wasn’t the answer Macason expected.
“Something like that.”
“What?”
“Marriage—I’m thinking of trying something like it.”
Macason muttered, furrowing his brows in confusion.
If it was marriage, then it was marriage. What did he mean by “something like it”? What kind of madness was this?
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