Chapter 3. The One Who Shatters the Calm

Thick eyelashes, misty eyes, smooth cheeks and red lips. A long, slender neck and wide-spread shoulders.

Even in the shadows, every feature of his face was unrelentingly defined.

‘…I want to touch him.’

Having drawn since childhood, Claire was naturally an aesthete.

And the being before her was more dazzlingly radiant than anything she had ever seen.

A sharp allure, as if it condensed all the dynamic moments of life into a single form.

Claire was struck with such intensity that she found herself reaching for every abstract metaphor that came to mind.

And so—

She suppressed the urge to touch, blinking slowly instead. Her vision blurred, then cleared again, but the surreal scene remained unchanged.

‘I want to draw him.’

If she could just capture that perfect beauty on canvas.

She wanted it so badly it nearly drove her mad. Never before had she felt such a desperate urge to draw someone, and the unfamiliar sensation left her shaken.

As she mulled over the overwhelming impulse—so intense it made her question her own sanity—Claire was jolted back to reality, as if struck by lightning.

“…Gasp!”

W-Who was that?

She inhaled sharply and scrambled backward on the sofa. She hadn’t even realized that her hair was caught in his hand.

A light, amused laugh echoed from above.

Claire froze instinctively, then slowly, hesitantly raised her gaze.

And she saw it.

The young man’s back as he walked out of the study without a moment’s hesitation. That characteristic, leisurely arrogance in his stride.

Sunlight spilled in through the window, desperately trying to cling to him, but the man remained cold and unreachable.

Click.

The sound of the door closing left Claire alone in the room.

Only the stiffness in her cheek, still tense, bore witness to the encounter that had just occurred. She barely managed to swallow.

The scent of the man still seemed to flutter in the air, carried on the breeze.

Lifting a trembling hand to her cheek, she glanced mechanically around the study. Her drifting eyes came to a stop on the portrait of the late duchess.

Bathed in the afternoon light, the woman’s golden hair seemed to sparkle playfully.

“Ah.”

A faint breath slipped from Claire’s lips.

Because now, she couldn’t help but be certain of who the young man had been.

The “ill-tempered son” the Duke of Bertrand had mentioned… in other words, the young duke himself.

* * *

Daniel found his father not in the study, but at the stables. The duke was listening to the stablehand Sam with a hearty, cheerful laugh.

“Father!”

“Ah, Dan. You’re back?”

Sam quickly bowed in greeting. Daniel slowly approached his father and looked at the horse he had been admiring.

“What do you think! Isn’t this one beautiful?”

“It is.”

“His name is ‘Boreas.’”

The god of the north wind, huh. Fitting for a racehorse.

The horse was clearly a thoroughbred, boasting a glossy black mane and a powerful build.

Clop, clop. Its hooves tapped excitedly on the ground. True to its reputation for being aloof, the horse eagerly showed affection toward the handsome stranger it was seeing for the first time.

Whether or not the animal wagged its tail fondly at him, Daniel glanced at it indifferently, then turned to his father.

“Isn’t it time you gave up on the dream of winning the derby?”

“My son, you don’t understand.”

“Let it go. It’s not happening.”

“Even His Majesty the King can’t let go of that dream! He hasn’t achieved it himself. It’s the ultimate wish of every horse owner—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Completely pointless.

Daniel kept his honest thoughts to himself. If he said them aloud, his sensitive father would surely start lamenting.

“You wicked boy.”

The duke muttered under his breath.

“Yes, I know.”

Daniel replied flatly.

Before the duke could begin airing his parental grievances to poor Sam, Daniel quickly changed the subject.

“By the way, Father.”

That black stallion was beautiful, no doubt, but it wasn’t enough to make him forget why he had come all the way here.

“You’ve invited a guest, I hear.”

“Ah, Miss Claire Wyde?”

Such a generic name.

So bland it hardly left an impression.

But what made Daniel pause was a strange sense of familiarity.

Wyde. ‘Wyde’—that wasn’t a noble surname…

He dug deeper through his memory and finally found the answer.

“If it’s ‘Wyde,’ do you mean the musicians?”

“That’s right.”

The couple who had died tragically in a carriage accident, leaving the music world in mourning.

“So, you brought her here because she’s their daughter?”

“Yes. To sponsor her.”

“I see.”

In that moment, Daniel felt it instinctively. That his father was hiding something.

The vagueness in the duke’s answer was far too noticeable to let slide.

Was ‘Claire Wyde’ really just a simple beneficiary? What was the real reason for bringing a girl who’d lost her parents all the way to the ducal estate?

His guess came quickly. Not because it was the first time, but because it wasn’t.

Beautiful commoners with no background always met the same end. Especially when they caught a noble’s eye.

Ha…

For the first time, Daniel cursed his own sharp intuition. He would have preferred not to know. To stay completely oblivious.

“Treat her kindly. As you know, she recently lost her family.”

“Yes, as your guest, she should be treated accordingly.”

Daniel spoke dryly.

* * *

After that, Claire didn’t see the young duke again. The estate was vast and sprawling, so it wasn’t surprising.

Her days settled into quiet monotony once more. One could even call them lonely, but in truth, Claire had long grown used to solitude.

Her busy parents had been away from home for ten months out of the year.

She finally encountered a new face when she was summoned to the drawing room by the duke.

“Miss Claire.”

As she bent her knees to offer a proper greeting, Claire realized someone else was seated on the sofa.

“Allow me to introduce Henry, the legal advisor to House Bertrand. Henry, this young lady is Miss Claire, the one I’ve decided to sponsor.”

The duke added a mischievous remark, clearly amused.

* * *

“We’re all accomplices now, it seems.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Claire. I’m Henry Rotner.”

“Claire Wyde.”

After a brief exchange of names, the two shook hands. When Henry pulled some papers from his bag, the duke twirled a pen between his fingers.

“Well then, Miss Claire. Your little vacation has come to an end. How do you feel?”

“I’m looking forward to starting the work.”

“That’s a very textbook answer. Was the Bertrand estate boring? I mean, of course it was, Miss Claire! Anyone would be bored if they stayed holed up in the study and their room!”

Ridiculous. There are so many things one can do in a study or a bedroom!

Claire almost protested reflexively. And surprisingly, she heard the lawyer beside her mutter something under his breath.

“Being outside is even more boring.”

“Are you saying it’s boring here, Henry?”

“But Your Grace, there’s nothing but trees, grass, and flowers out there. It’s all just plants. What’s supposed to be fun about that?”

Claire was once again stunned.

“Mr. Rotner.”

“Yes, Miss Wyde?”

“This vast coniferous forest is something unique to the northern region of Lenore. As you well know, it’s a spectacular sight you can’t just see anywhere.”

“……”

“Don’t look down on the plants.”

While the duke burst into loud laughter, Henry raised both hands in surrender.

“Sounds like the duchy suits you well, Miss Claire.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Right? You hear that, Henry?”

“But Your Grace, I’ve been surrounded by this scenery since the day I was born. How could I not be tired of it by now?”

Ah. Fair enough.

Apparently, Henry Rotner was a local.

The Duke of Bertrand grumbled and took the contract. He skimmed through it quickly, then nodded in satisfaction.

“He’s too competent to let go.”

“I swear I wasn’t asking to be let go, Your Grace. I don’t want to get fired.”

“Since I won’t let him go, poor Henry has nothing to look at but plants all day.”

“No, I mean, I—”

While Henry was being lovingly bullied by the duke, Claire finished reading the contract thoroughly and signed it.

When she looked up, Henry was sending her a desperate plea for help.

Claire casually pretended not to see it. She had no choice—if she got involved, she’d likely end up being the scapegoat instead of Henry Rotner.

The duke seemed to sense the quiet exchange between them and chuckled under his breath. Then, finally, he picked up the pen and signed.

“Miss Claire, since this is a personal agreement, the contract is written in this format.”

“Ah, I see.”

“If the other party were a noble house, the contract would look very different.”

“Thank you for the explanation.”

“You’ll probably have more contracts to sign in the future, so feel free to ask Henry about them. Right, Henry?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well then, why don’t the two of you chat a bit to get to know each other better?”

With a jolly laugh, the duke exited the drawing room, leaving the two of them in a slightly awkward silence.

Henry didn’t speak right away and simply observed her, a composed and calculating gaze flashing behind his glasses.

Claire slowly took the initiative.

“Mr. Rotner, are you from around here?”

“Yes, I was born here. My mother works as a cook at the ducal estate.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Yes, and thanks to the duke’s support, I was able to become a lawyer.”

It was a background that explained the relationship between Henry and the duke quite well.

Whether his assessment of her was finished or not, their conversation began to flow more naturally from there.

Like many others, Henry found it interesting that she had chosen art despite being the child of famous musicians.

“I wouldn’t say I chose art. I just have no talent for music.”

“Oh, really? If it’s not too much to ask, would you show me?”

“Pardon?”

“There’s a piano right there, after all.”

And that was how Claire ended up opening the piano lid—only to unleash a noise so chaotic it could snap a listener’s soul in two.

Henry’s eyes widened after only a few notes, and he leaned back in his seat, laughing uproariously.

Not a surprising reaction. Her parents always reacted the same way.

Whether or not he noticed Claire pouting and glaring at him, Henry Rotner buried his face in a pillow, still cackling like a madman.

Claire glared at him with all the strength she could muster, but eventually lowered her head in defeat, staring at her hands resting on the piano keys.

‘Ugh, so what if I’m bad at it! I told you I couldn’t play!’

Just as she was about to snap at him, she suddenly realized the drawing room door was slightly open.

And leaning casually against the doorway was—

…Daniel Cypress.

The Young Duke of Bertrand.

Claire quickly rose from her seat and bit her lip.

She was utterly mortified.