Chapter 12
As Yulia ran out of the office, Henry, who had followed her, returned to the president’s office after losing sight of her. He came in with an awkward smile.
“What happened? Why did the young lady leave in such a hurry… and what’s with your face, Count?”
“Ha, haha, hahaha.”
She actually slapped me. Normally, one would be furious from something like that, but for some reason, Cayente couldn’t hold back his laughter.
Yulia wouldn’t know, but…
—What are you doing here?
In a way, it was Yulia who had started what happened moments ago. The moment they were left alone in the room, she got nervous and timidly approached him, so what else could he do but respond?
She was so transparent in her anxiety, and her face flushed just from being embraced. It made him wonder what she was thinking getting involved in marriage at all.
Did she think marriage was just about holding a ceremony and living together?
Because her reaction was so obvious, he had planned to tease her a bit, but then—he was caught off guard by the sweet scent from her, something he’d never experienced before. It was a thick, sticky fragrance like sugar melting and clinging, like she always had candy in her mouth.
“How ridiculous.”
“Pardon?”
Pretending to be unaffected, yet making it so obvious how hurt she was by her own actions—it was laughable. Did Yulia still see him as the same man who used to walk on eggshells, terrified of hurting her feelings?
He was also annoyed with himself for being briefly tempted to kiss her for real, entranced by that scent. He’d forgotten the main purpose of this marriage and let himself get swayed by that adorably innocent girl in his arms.
“How did you end up with a handprint on your cheek… Don’t tell me the young lady did that?”
While Cayente was lost in thought, Henry put down the tray and stepped closer to inspect the red mark on his cheek. He looked genuinely concerned, but also confused, clearly not believing Yulia would do such a thing without reason.
“It should fade before your next appointment. Please have a seat. I’ll bring a cold towel.”
After Henry left and closed the door, Cayente muttered in a voice barely above a whisper.
“I have no immunity.”
Absolutely none. He never imagined he’d be this weak in such matters.
“Oh my! What happened to your face?”
Yulia cried the entire carriage ride home, her emotions overflowing and impossible to contain. Her red nose and puffy face made it obvious she’d been sobbing, but the Baroness she ran into in the lobby offered no sympathy—just a comment about her appearance.
“You’re about to be a bride. You should be taking care of yourself. What is that face? Sniff sniff, what’s this smell? Did you eat something?”
Was she blind, or just refusing to see? Anyone else would have shown concern, recognizing something had clearly happened outside—but not her.
“Did you eat something salty? That must be why your face is swollen. Don’t you care at all? You’re marrying into the Clue Count family, not just any household. You need to pay extra attention to your looks. What else does our family have besides your face? Am I wrong?”
At a time when she needed comfort more than anything, her mother failed to provide any. And that consistent coldness snapped Yulia out of her tears. If this marriage fell through and they lost everything, including this house, would her mother still act so nonchalant?
The thought chilled Yulia. The only reason her mother could afford this indifference was because their way of life had been secured through her daughter’s marriage.
“Insane. I actually slapped someone.”
Claiming she was tired, Yulia escaped to her room. She closed the door behind her and let out a long sigh. The familiar surroundings—her old, squeaky bed and worn vanity—cooled her heated emotions.
She had acted rashly in anger. No matter how urgently Cayente needed a child, would he really want to marry someone who had slapped him? What if he canceled the engagement? She hovered nervously by the door, unsure what to do.
Should I go back and apologize? Has he already left for the appointment?
“I did what I had to do, yet I’m still worrying…”
Yulia collapsed face-first onto the bed, her back rising and falling with a heavy breath.
—Are you scared of me?
Would he have let her go if she had said yes? Probably not. He might have even enjoyed her fear more. He had clearly enjoyed her discomfort. What could he possibly gain from tormenting her…?
“Ha…”
She felt like she should apologize for slapping him. But even if she did, would Cayente reflect on his own actions? She couldn’t apologize without first hearing him admit he was wrong. That wasn’t about pride—it was about protecting their future relationship. If she apologized alone, Cayente would only tease her more.
But she couldn’t just act like nothing happened either… Frustrated and at a loss, Yulia sighed again and again. Then her eyes landed on the cello standing in the corner of the room.
“I need to practice…”
She hadn’t missed a single day of practice, even after hearing about the arranged marriage. But for the first time, Yulia questioned the point of it all.
If she married Cayente and lost control of her own life, she might not even be able to touch her cello again. What meaning did steady practice have in such a future?
“Now more than ever, I need to stay focused, Yulia.”
Still, she pulled herself up from the bed. It wasn’t because it had meaning from the beginning—she had simply loved playing. She gave it meaning later.
“Where did I leave off yesterday?”
Yulia sat down, embraced the cello, and got into position. As she slowly played the piece she had prepared for the Emperor—if things had gone well—her mind filled with one haunting thought.
Just one week. If only her father had waited one more week to bring up marriage.
Even if things had gone better and another path had opened, the family’s debt wouldn’t have magically disappeared. But still… it hurt to think she had missed her one shot.
Just once—just once, she wanted to perform in front of others properly. To prove that her dream wasn’t a foolish fantasy born of a sheltered noblewoman’s ignorance.
Did her brother know? That what she really wanted was to play the cello for the rest of her life? That she wanted to become a professional performer?
Probably not…
Maybe it was better that way. If he found out in the midst of already mocking her situation, it would just give him more reason to belittle her. A woman from a debt-ridden family dreaming of being a cellist? How laughable.
Of course, that was a concern only if Cayente didn’t announce their breakup in anger after what happened today.
Pushing aside thoughts of marriage, Yulia focused solely on the sound of her cello. She couldn’t change what she couldn’t control, so she would do what she could. No matter what happened, she would calmly accept it—just as she always had.
