"Yo, Oli!"
"We're here!"
Olivier's plan to spend a peaceful evening was soon ruined. Before the servant could even announce the guests' arrival, a group of young nobles burst into the living room ahead of him.
"No way."
Olivier, who had been lying stretched out on the sofa reading a book, furrowed his brow. Since this was a common occurrence, the servant awkwardly lowered his head and soon returned to his post.
"Olivier d'Ampierre, I heard you pulled off another one? Charlotte Garel, of all people. Impressive."
"You little shits, really."
Olivier tossed aside the book he had been reading and sat up. Viscount Monceau, who had sported a sharply pointed mustache from a young age, grinned and forcibly hugged Olivier.
"Our impotent bastard, all rumors and no substance as always."
With faces flushed red, each holding a wine bottle in hand, it seemed they had stormed in after causing trouble somewhere again.
Armand and Jacques Belpre, who followed them in, were all men with debauchery clinging stickily to their faces.
While Olivier grabbed Monceau, who kept lunging at him reeking of alcohol, by the collar and shook him back and forth, the rest of the group continued to stream in one after another.
"Lady Estelle Godreche, Marchioness Julie Amand..."
It seemed they had even brought along the women they were currently seeing. Olivier swept a hand over his face and sighed.
"Ah, fuck off, all of you. Let me rest."
"What's with Charlotte? I thought something might actually happen this time, but you didn't even go to the theater?"
"If I weren't around, you were just planning to eat and drink at someone else's house among yourselves?"
"Obviously."
Monceau stroked his mustache and let out a snort of laughter. Olivier couldn't help but let out a hollow laugh too. At any rate, his friends were pathetic wherever they went. Nothing but filthy rich, screws-loose bastards...
"Ah, young masters, ladies, welcome."
Henri, who had quickly popped out, bowed politely to Olivier's friends.
Monceau grabbed Henri's arm as if he had been waiting for this.
"Henri, order us some dinner. From Restaurant Dubois. Lots of alcohol. We'll be drinking all night."
"What, all night? Here?"
Olivier bristled, but it was already too late. A wad of bills from Viscount Monceau's pocket slipped into Henri's.
"Please, Henri? Use plenty of pocket money too. Your indifferent master never gives you this kind of thing."
"How could I possibly refuse?"
At the sum of money far beyond what one could imagine for a dinner, Henri vanished with a grin splitting his face.
No wonder he didn't even notice his master in the back, frowning in displeasure...
"It's not like you lot don't have homes. Why do you barge in here whenever you're bored?"
"Because Olivier d'Ampierre is our only friend who has a grand apartment in the heart of the city in addition to his family estate?"
"And the blessing is that he lives alone!"
"Olivier doesn't even have parents!"
"You crazy bastards."
Because of the guests spewing such unfilial words so nonchalantly, the eyes of the servants standing like shadows trembled as if an earthquake had struck, not knowing what to do.
Regardless, Viscount Monceau flopped onto the sofa and loosened his cravat.
"Who knows when my fossil of a father will pass. This time, it was a full-blown war with mistresses grabbing each other by the hair."
"Don't even talk about it. My aunt got her hair torn out. You know? Her father is sleeping with my aunt."
Jacques Belpre, who had been listening quietly, cut in. Olivier let out a hollow laugh and eventually downed the wine Monceau handed him, bottle and all. The bare face of high aristocratic society was a complete mess.
They were all close friends with Olivier since childhood, but each one was a walking disaster. They were all descendants of major nobles so well-known that uttering their names would ring a bell, and some even had royal blood.
Armand squinted his eyes and looked Olivier up and down.
"Oli, so what's going on with you and Charlotte? Are you just putting on airs again without doing anything, like a eunuch?"
"Yeah, the noble d'Ampierre isn't like us. He doesn't lay a hand on women, yet he has the most rumors."
Jacques Belpre snickered and wrapped his arms around his lovers. On his left arm was Estelle Godreche, on his right was Julie Amand.
"We're having threesomes these days. Not a single word in the society pages, though."
"How about four, with Olivier?"
Julie Amand blew cigarette smoke straight into Olivier's face.
"Olivier would vomit. He's a mysophobe. He even hates the smell of perfume."
"Of course. Olivier would really throw up. He doesn't even date, so how could he join four people?"
The other friends snickered. Olivier shuddered and wiped his face.
"Even beasts are more wholesome than these bastards."
"Yes, well then, the beasts will excuse themselves for a moment."
Julie Amand and Estelle Godreche wrapped their arms around each other's waists and disappeared into the guest room.
When Jacques, who had been watching the two women with lecherous eyes, also quietly got up, Olivier shot the back of his head a look of genuine disgust.
"Please, have some decency about the location. This is my house."
This wasn't something that had only happened once or twice. An elderly maid crossed herself several times as if she had seen a demon, then quietly vanished into the darkness.
Monceau tapped Olivier's arm again.
"By the way, Oli, Katarina is throwing a banquet soon; let's go. Let's drink ourselves silly and have fun together for the first time in a while."
"I don't have time for that."
Olivier cut him off flatly.
"Why are you like this, it's hurtful. Can't you leave the stocks and such to Henri? Do you really have to handle the business yourself? Just make your capable underlings do it."
"It's just... fun."
Armand kicked at Olivier, who was sipping champagne.
"Fun, my ass. Who doesn't know you're just messing around to avoid your grandmother's nagging? She pesters you every time to get married and go into politics."
"Why don't you just play the field? People think you're Ejyong's greatest womanizer."
Monceau, who had been tugging at his mustache, responded with a deliberately serious expression.
"Is it a perverted sex drive? Enjoying the rumors and getting excited, but nothing actually happens."
"Shut up."
The friends held their bellies and laughed at the growling Olivier.
"Anyway, Olivier."
Armand looked at Olivier's face seriously.
"You really need to meet someone now. You can't avoid this forever. Date properly and get married before your grandmother foists just anyone on you."
Olivier let out a sigh instead of answering. What was he supposed to do when his heart wasn't in it? Just as he cut the end of his cigar with a stony expression, a servant who entered at that moment held out a letter.
"What is it?"
— Mademoiselle R.
Olivier furrowed his brow after checking the sender on the envelope the servant held out. From the concise sender's name alone, there was no way to know who it was.
"Give it here. Let's see if she sent nudes again."
Olivier casually tossed the envelope to Monceau and leaned back loosely against the sofa.
These days, there was no shortage of women who recklessly drew their own nudes in nameless letters. Since there was no telling what was inside, he figured it was better to let Monceau open it first.
Monceau tore open the envelope and, as he read the contents, let out a long puff of cigar smoke and burst into laughter.
"My goodness, there are so many pitiable women who don't even know our Olivier is impotent. She says she wants to have a passionate night?"
"I've gotten letters like this countless times. Throw it away."
"No, look at this! She says she'll pay you to sleep with her. Is she crazy? Offering money to the Young Duke d'Ampierre!"
Monceau began to roar with laughter, nearly breathless.
"...What?"
Olivier snatched the letter away. His annoyed gaze slowly read over the letter once more.
"..."
The letter's contents were filled with blush-inducing descriptions from start to finish. For example, how the night would begin, the shape of the luxurious bed, and so on...
Every single line was elaborate nonsense, but the ending was the most absurd of all.
"Olivier d'Ampierre, if you spend the night with me, I will cover your family's New World investment funds. Is this not a condition that would satisfy even you, who hates marriage, and your grandmother, who loves money?"
"This lunatic."
Olivier was so dumbfounded he let out a hollow laugh. What kind of drugs did she have to be on to have such delusions?
"Ah, I haven't laughed this hard in ages. That's an astronomical fee for a whore, isn't it? Still, she isn't asking you to marry her. I guess Eleanor d'Ampierre is truly terrifying."
"Monceau. I said shut up."
Monceau, who had been sipping wine, cackled again. Olivier glanced at him with a displeased look, then read the postscript written at the end of the letter again.
"P.S. If you wish to reply, send it to post office box 33D in Ejyong's 6th District. It will be delivered to me every hour."
The letter felt unclean to the touch. Olivier, who had been about to tear it to shreds, folded it back up and tossed it into the study.
"Damn it all."
Who knew someone could make wanting to sleep together sound this bizarre? She was completely insane, yet meticulous to boot.
"There are so many interesting people in Ejyong. Well, there was that woman who said she'd been reincarnated four times to meet Duke Olivier. And that woman who cried day and night claiming a crystal ball had foretold her marriage to you..."
Monceau teased Olivier with snickers. Olivier snatched the wine bottle from Monceau's hand and drank straight from it. Though he had resolved not to respond, the letter left an oddly unpleasant, lingering feeling.