To My Gentle Dictator – Chapter 017

“Ulrich.”

A low chuckle echoed from the other end of the receiver.

Only then did Sasha realize—once again—that she had fallen for his teasing. Her face flushed red with embarrassment.

“I’ll be back early, so get some rest.”

“Okay…”

“If you get too bored, you can read the magazines there or listen to the radio.”

“The radio…?”

“Tell Yakov, and he’ll turn it on for you.”

“Ah… okay. Okay.”

She wasn’t sure if she was even allowed to listen to the radio, but she answered obediently nonetheless.

Ulrich laughed again. A soft, featherlight chuckle that sent a strange, ticklish sensation through her.

“Then, I’ll see you later, Shura.”

“Yes… Ulrich.”

The moment she hesitantly added his name, there was a quiet click—the call had ended.

* * *

Ulrich set down the receiver and turned his gaze toward the boy standing across the desk.

Kiril, who had just been transferred from the detention center to the NSS, looked dazed and confused. His straight black hair and waxen, pale skin were an exact replica of his sister’s.

“That was really my sister…?”

“Yes.”

“How the hell did she—”

“I told you. Your sister wasn’t in good condition, so she’s under temporary protection.”

Ulrich replied calmly, placing a cigarette between his lips and flicking open his lighter. The silver lid made a crisp ting as it snapped open.

Kiril stared blankly at the expensive-looking lighter in Ulrich’s hand.

He knew almost nothing about this man.

Aside from his earliest childhood years, Kiril had spent his life inside the imperial palace, and as far as he could recall, this was the first time he was seeing Ulrich up close.

The only thing he knew for certain was that three years ago, his sister had leaked internal palace secrets to this man. That betrayal had led to the revolution.

But Kiril had never fully understood the political climate or the details of the coup.

He had always wondered—what kind of man had made his sister turn away from her fiancé like that?

What kind of person had been compelling enough for her to hand over such critical information, leaving Vasily behind?

Now that he was seeing him in person, he thought he might finally understand.

“Did my sister spread her legs for you?”

Kiril’s dark eyes flickered as he shot out the accusation.

“If that’s why you’re letting me go, don’t bother. Whatever she did has nothing to do with me. Just throw me in a cell or—”

“Did I say I was letting you go?”

Ulrich’s smooth voice cut through Kiril’s sharp words.

“People usually panic when they’re transferred here from a regular police station. But you… seem to think it’s the opposite?”

A flicker of unease crossed Kiril’s youthful face.

Ulrich snapped the lighter shut and tilted his head slightly.

“Ah… or are you trying to suggest that your sister spread her legs for the former Director? That’s why she’s comfortable here?”

“I—I never said that!”

Kiril’s voice rose in fury, and the aide beside Ulrich shot him a sharp, threatening glare.

He clamped his mouth shut. Then, after a moment, he mumbled, his face burning red.

“Whatever. I don’t care what she did. Every time she got the chance, she sent me away, and the two of you holed up in that tiny apartment doing who knows what…”

When it came down to it, everyone was guilty.

But all of Kiril’s anger was directed squarely at Sasha.

In an era where everyone held their breath to survive, his resentment had twisted toward the person closest to him.

If only his sister hadn’t been such a fool. If only she hadn’t abandoned her fiancé for some other man and made such idiotic choices, they wouldn’t be in this situation.

Even now, after seeing Ulrich in person, that belief hadn’t changed.

If anything, the moment he laid eyes on Ulrich and realized how utterly untouchable he seemed, his resentment only deepened.

He didn’t know anymore.

Maybe if Sasha hadn’t always looked so guilty around him—if she had instead acted shamelessly, as though she were a victim too—perhaps he wouldn’t have felt so wronged.

“Why didn’t you just go inside and check for yourself? Then you would’ve known exactly what we were doing.”

Ulrich’s words made Kiril stare at him, slack-jawed in disbelief.

His obsidian-black eyes flickered with confusion, and for a brief moment, Vasily’s words echoed in his mind.

“Your sister is a witch.”

On the surface, Kiril and Vasily had never been outright enemies. But that didn’t mean Kiril particularly liked him either.

How could he possibly like the son of the regime that destroyed his family?

And yet, Vasily’s claim—that Sasha had betrayed them first, making the coup inevitable—was something Kiril had reluctantly accepted.

At the same time, he found Vasily’s constant lingering around Sasha utterly pathetic.

But he couldn’t say he didn’t understand.

Leaving aside his resentment toward his sister, even Kiril had to admit—Sasha was beautiful.

Even when she looked like a beggar, she was beautiful.

On the rare occasions they went out together, Kiril would always notice how drivers slowed down, casting lecherous glances at her. It irritated him to no end.

Perhaps she was too beautiful.

If anything, what infuriated him more was how Sasha never firmly rejected Vasily.

Her heart had clearly drifted elsewhere long ago, yet she had never pushed Vasily away forcefully enough.

And now, after all that, she had seemingly switched to Ulrich instead.

That frustrated him even more.

That was why he had lashed out so recklessly.

But the man before him—Ulrich—seemed to know far more about what had transpired than Kiril did.

And more than anything, he didn’t seem to care.

Unlike Vasily, who still clung to the past, Ulrich appeared completely indifferent.

“Kiril.”

Ulrich nudged the lighter across the desk, along with the cigarette pack.

“Want to try?”

* * *

Sasha carefully set the receiver down and, as Yakov turned to leave, she called out to him.

“Um…”

“What do you need?”

Yakov’s voice was neither cold nor kind. The only thing evident in his tone was the strictly formal politeness of a seasoned butler.

Summoning her courage, Sasha asked,

“May I use the shower? I’d like to wash up.”

After days of sweating and being bedridden, she felt unbearably grimy.

She had been too sick to do anything about it before, but now, she didn’t want Ulrich to see her in such a disheveled state—with her hair greasy and unkempt.

“The bathroom is this way.”

Yakov moved toward the wall behind the couch and slid open a door.

It was the same door Ulrich had emerged from yesterday, dressed in a bathrobe.

“Thank you.”

Sasha murmured her gratitude, and Yakov gave a polite bow before retreating.

The bathroom was as luxurious as the bedroom. The floor and bathtub were made of black marble, and gleaming mirrors covered the walls.

Fresh begonias and daffodils, seemingly cultivated in a greenhouse, decorated the sink and shower area in bursts of color.

Drawn in, Sasha approached the sink and picked up a bar of soap wrapped in paraffin paper, bringing it to her nose.

The scent of fine soap overwhelmed her senses.

It had been years since she’d smelled anything like it.

It was incomparable to the crude, lye-hardened counterfeit soap sold on the black market.

On the upper shelf, there were bottles of shaving lotion, an electric razor, a hairdryer, and a sleek black container with a crystal-cut lid.

A glance at the label confirmed it was men’s skincare.

For a moment, she curiously examined the items, then suddenly, realization struck her.

A fact she had overlooked until now hit her with full force.

‘Ulrich came out of here yesterday… in a bathrobe…’

Ulrich had mentioned before that he only used this mansion for brief visits on holidays or to entertain important guests.

But no matter how significant the guests were, he wouldn’t share his personal space with them.

Sasha had visited this estate a few times as a child, accompanying her brother, but she had never seen a guest room this extravagant.

Even on that stormy night years ago, when her brother and Ulrich played backgammon until dawn, the guest room they had used had been nowhere near this grand.

Considering all of this… there was only one conclusion.

‘I’ve been staying in Ulrich’s bedroom this whole time…?’

 

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