Prologue
“It’s been fun, Miss Pillone. Think of this as a token of my sincerity.”
A white envelope dropped onto the messy, rumpled sheets. The man, grinding out his cigarette in the ashtray, tightened his loosened tie one last time.
“Let me know if it’s not enough.”
His voice was neat and cold, precise as a ruler. At the nauseatingly frigid farewell notice, Rowina bit the inside of her mouth.
She felt like a vulgar woman who sold her smiles for a single silver coin.
“Ha… Haha…….”
So this is how it ends.
A hollow laugh burst out instead of anger. At the deflated sound of laughter, the man, who had been turning the doorknob, stopped and turned around.
Rowina blinked desperately, trying to capture his face in her eyes even for a moment through her blurred vision.
A black suit drawing a perfect silhouette over broad shoulders and a towering height, a body with lean muscle. Black hair swept back without a single strand out of place, brows arcing sharply, and pale blue eyes of an unfathomable hue.
Frowning, he demanded in a low voice.
“What’s so funny?”
“Even once.”
“…….”
“Did you ever love me? Even once?”
A swamp-like silence descended upon the trembling question. He blinked slowly and answered.
“Never.”
Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. The vow that she would never be clingy melted away in resentment, anger, and sorrow.
Rowina, clenching her teeth, slowly straightened her back.
“You’re a devil. You… you were just playing with me?”
“…….”
“I was just… a young, naive girl excited at the thought of finally coming to the capital.”
A dark shadow fell over her head. He strode close and lifted her chin with his index finger.
“So.”
She swallowed her wet breath at the deeply resonant, low voice. Even though it was merely that small a contact, it burned her as if she were scalded. Looking down at Rowina, who couldn’t move an inch, he asked.
“Did I force myself on you?”
“…….”
“We enjoyed it together. Taking what we wanted from each other.”
The man stroked her jaw a couple of times as one would handle a dog, then turned away.
“Then take care, Miss Pillone.”
Killian Devonshire, third in line to the throne—the Queen’s nephew, holder of three titles, four islands, and the seat of Supreme Councilor in Parliament.
The Duke of Devonshire of Rockford married a fortnight later.
That had been five years ago.
That was why.
“Rowina.”
She couldn’t understand how he could step so naturally into her domain, as if they had broken up only yesterday.
“I gave you quite a sum back then. Yet you’ve lived so shabbily.”
Her heart tore at his gaze, which swept over the narrow house as if looking at a garbage dump. Rowina bit her lower lip and bristled.
“……
Watch your words. I don’t know what reason you have for coming all the way here.”
Killian barged in without even the courtesy of changing into slippers and plopped down on the couch. He fumbled in his pocket, drew out a cigarette, and lit it before speaking bluntly.
“Let’s start again.”……
What?
Her mind went blank and white as if bleached. Rowina blinked, unable to comprehend what she had just heard, then opened her trembling lips.
“You….”
“…….”
“Don’t you remember throwing money at me and discarding me?”
“That’s why.”
“……
What?”
“I threw you away, so I must be the one to pick you up again.”
Killian answered blandly, crossed his long legs, and leaned comfortably back against the seatback.
While she was frozen by the uninvited guest who had stormed in without warning, he lit the end of his cigarette. The acrid smell of tobacco smoke spreading through the air made her feel suffocated.
“Put that out right—!”
It was the moment the belatedly composed Rowina snatched the cigarette roughly from his hand.
Squeak.
An old door opened from inside.
“Demian!”
“Mommy……?”
“Close the door!”
Rowina shouted at the child who was slightly visible, moving toward the door as if to protect her son from him, and glared fiercely at the intruder.
“G-get out.”
Rowina swallowed dryly. Her heart raced steeply, and her hands shook violently.
Had he seen his face? Had he noticed that the child resembled him?
While she was pale blue like a prisoner awaiting the death sentence, a short, sinister laugh pierced her ears.
“Haha!”
“…
Killian.”
“I didn’t expect you to live chastely, but I never thought you’d have sprouted a child in the meantime.”
His lips were smiling, but the gaze containing Rowina was ominous. He showed his desire to break down the door and drag the brat out of the room at any moment plainly as day, then dusted himself off and stood up.
“So you met another man in the meantime, did you? Hmm?”
The Duke, who erased his killing intent as if changing a mask, was still elegant, still perfect. Rowina stepped backward to avoid Killian, who strode toward her.
“Ah—!”
Her escape was short-lived. The moment her back touched the solid wall, he stopped, leisurely closing the distance as if driving a rabbit into a corner.
“Ugh…!”
He bowed his head and grasped her chin with one hand, lifting it. She struggled against the approaching lips, but when he bit her lower lip, she was forced to open her mouth from the pain.
“Ha….”
Only after enjoying what was his as if the five-year gap meant nothing did their lips part. The bitter taste of cigarettes and acrid smoke filled her to the back of her throat. Fury ignited in Rowina’s eyes.
Slap.
The next moment, he slowly straightened his turned head. The moment their eyes met, Rowina caught her breath at the madness visible in them.
“Choose, Miss Pillone.”
Crazy… crazy man.
Killian smiled with satisfaction at her pale face and tapped her cheek with his index finger.
“Whether you’ll become my mistress again, or die on the streets with your child.”
At the despair that descended upon her, Rowina squeezed her eyes shut.
It wasn’t a choice.
It was an announcement that he would make it so.
Because a devilish man like Killian Devonshire was more than capable of such a thing.
Because she had been that man’s mistress for three years.
Chapter 1
Five years ago.
The Duke of Devonshire’s mistress.
The word people used to call Rowina Pillone was simple. Honeyed, luscious blonde hair and emerald eyes that sparkled like the midsummer greenery. While newspapers praised her beauty, they also painted over her as a vain woman who sold her fleeting looks to indulge in luxury using the Ducal family’s fortune.
Beautiful and extravagant Rowina Pillone.
But regardless of public perception, Rowina was the hidden goddess of Eselwood’s social circles. Whether recitals, concerts, or garden parties, invitations piled up before her in advance the moment an event was announced. Countless artists created works using her as their muse.
The noblest yet most vulgar woman.
Whatever they called her behind her back, no one dared insult Rowina Pillone, who had the Devonshire Ducal family at her back.
At least not to her face.
“They’re talking about Rowina Pillone.”
It was a voice filled with malice. Rowina’s hand, which had been fixing her makeup in the powder room, faltered.
“The bag that woman brought this time—it’s the limited edition bag that Madame Elredi only supplied to the royal family, right?”
The voices coming from beyond the wall were more than one or two. Another woman chimed in at the subtle question.
“That’s right. And what about the clothes she wore? It’s the dress from the Herden atelier that I’ve been waiting for for three months.”
“What about the earrings and necklace? They looked like treasures passed down exclusively through the royal family.”
“Isn’t it absurd? The moment that woman appears, men all start drooling?”
“She’s the same. No matter how great the Ducal family’s power is, doesn’t she know any honor? No matter how well she’s packaged, she’s just a mere mistress in the end.”
“Exactly. For a vulgar woman of unclear origins, she really has no shame……”
The slander that seemed like it would go on endlessly stopped the next moment.
“Miss Pillone.”
Along with two knocks, a familiar voice called her name. At the same time, the disparaging voices fell silent.
It’s okay. This always happens.
Rowina barely caught her breath in the deathly silence and examined her face in the mirror. Her hair and makeup were exactly as the professional’s hands had arranged them—not a single detail out of place.
“I’m coming.”
As she pulled open the curtain and stepped out, she sensed the presence of women holding their breath in the adjacent space. Before she could even stop for a moment, an attendant urged her from outside the door.
“His Grace is waiting in the carriage.”
* * *
The carriage, having passed the crowded entrance of the opera house, glided smoothly down the newly paved road. Thanks to the plush leather, the interior of the carriage was comfortable without a jolt, yet colder than anywhere else in the world.
The air, frosted with thin ice, had been so since around the time the intermission ended and Act 2 began. Killian, who had been silent the entire time, broke the heavy silence.
“What’s the complaint this time?”
“…
Pardon?”
Rowina, who had been watching the gas lamps and pedestrians sweeping past outside, slowly turned her head.
“I did as you wanted, didn’t I?”
Her slender shoulders shrank instinctively at his irritated voice. At times like this, Killian hated it most when she avoided his gaze.
Rowina barely raised her head and looked at the Duke.
Pale blue irises amidst raven-black hair.
A man with underlying arrogance and pride befitting someone who had held wealth, honor, and power since birth. A serpent of a man possessing scales so beautiful they could momentarily bewitch, yet bearing sharp, fatal venom.
The moment their eyes met, an apology sprang out automatically.
“I’m sorry if I’ve displeased you. I have no complaints…… I’m rather grateful.”
The opera they had just seen was the domestic debut of a prima donna who had been wildly popular abroad. From seeing the actress she usually admired in person to the grand stage and the enchanting song that delighted the ears.
All from the best box seat. It was surely a night to remember. She was thankful to him for taking the time to accompany her despite his busy schedule.
If only the sidelong glances the moment she left this man’s side and the slander in the powder room didn’t exist.
“But then why were you sitting there with your mouth shut, sulking?”
Tsk, Killian clicked his tongue and reached out, grasping her chin.
“Speak. Must I now mind my mistress’s temper?”
His voice was soft but clearly a warning. Rowina’s lips trembled as she shook her head.
A myriad of emotions flooded into the small face held in one hand and drained away instantly.
The eyes watching that sight gleamed with an unusual light.
He found the woman before him intriguing. Except for when she would clamp her mouth shut like a doll and turn away from him. He wanted to crush her in one hand, yet he also wanted to place her in a glass cabinet and preserve her preciously.
While his divided mind wavered, Rowina, who had been looking at him pallidly, moved her lips.
“It’s just……”
“Just.”
Killian raised his eyebrows and urged her answer.
The lamp attached to the ceiling cast his face in a red glow. Rowina quietly looked at the man before her for a moment. It had been three years since she had been labeled a woman noble yet vulgar. It had been that long since they had shared a bed and a life.
Far from becoming comfortable, and though she should have grown somewhat accustomed by now, she still hadn’t. Whenever she faced this man so closely like this, her heart still raced and all her blood rushed to her face.
Even the deep dimple on his left cheek when he threw a blatant sneer.
There were two instances when this man, who always addressed even his own mistress with polite deference, treated her with such contempt.
In bed. Or when something had displeased him.
“I’m a little tired. If I offended you… I’m sorry.”
Rowina answered listlessly and closed her mouth again. She shouldn’t provoke his mood at a time like this. Yet no matter how much she told herself not to mind, the women’s revolving slander tormented her.
“If you know you’ve done wrong.”
Killian, looking at his mistress who had quietly closed her mouth, furrowed his smooth forehead.
“You must be punished.”
“Yes……?”
To her, whose eyes widened at the sudden notice, he extended his hand. A short command fell upon Rowina, who stared blankly at the white glove.
“Take them off.”
Tying his necktie and tidying his clothes instead of the chambermaid was something she did every morning. Instead of answering, Rowina reached out. She was about to remove his gloves as usual when a thunderbolt-like remark struck above her head.
“With your mouth.”
“Ah—!”
Before she could even comprehend what he meant, Killian grabbed her slender arm.
Staggering, Rowina sank directly to the floor. As she knelt between the spacious seats wide enough for an adult to lie down straight, Killian smiled as if satisfied and stroked her blonde hair.
“Bite them off. Miss Pillone.”
Huk. Rowina exhaled a short breath at the mercilessly plunging pressure. Shame surged at the hand that pressed down on her as if petting a lapdog.
Her cheeks flared crimson as if set aflame, but the moment his low voice called to her afterward, her hesitation ended.
“Miss Pillone.”
He never called her name more than three times.
“Do you dislike it?”
There was no choice. She was always the absolute weaker party. If she refused, she would likely be left alone for over a week. Like a pet dog waiting for its master to return.
“If you dislike it……”
“Ah, no.”
At her urgent answer, the hand that had traced down her ear swept the nape of her neck. Her skin burned where it touched through the thin fabric.
“…
I-I’ll do it.”
Rowina swallowed dryly and bit the end of his glove with her teeth. The moment she removed the glove, his long index finger dug into her mouth.
* * *
When Rowina, who had fainted from exhaustion the previous day, opened her eyes again, it was around noon the next day. The Duke, having sated his fill, had gifted her a bouquet and shoes early in the morning. Rowina woke alone in the wide bed and traced the empty space beside her with her eyes.
“How was the opera yesterday?”
Melissa, the maid brushing her wavy blonde hair with an ivory comb, chirped like a lark.
“It was good.”
“I’m so jealous. Commoners like me can’t even afford a single back-row seat after saving three months’ wages. And it was the debut performance!”
The hand brushing her hair carefully paused for a moment. Looking at the excited girl beyond the mirror, Rowina smiled bitterly.
“Did you want to see it that badly?”
“Yes. I once dreamed of becoming an opera singer. My brother always teased me that I’d fail from the face alone, though.”
“You’re plenty cute.”
Melissa flushed at the kind reply.
Unlike her, a beauty who made one’s eyes widen just by looking, her own appearance had always been a complex. Coppery brown hair, rusty grey eyes. Her figure was plain and her stature short; in her countryside hometown, her predetermined future was to become at best the wife of a farmer with some land.
She never dreamed she’d come to the capital and become the maid of such a kind young lady.
“What was your dream in the past, miss?”
A sudden question flew over Rowina’s head, lost in thought. Rowina blinked at the sudden question and lowered her head. She gripped the hem of her skirt with her fingertips and answered in a small voice.