Chapter 51
Are You a Crow?

He’s insane.

Layla remembered what she had managed to forget for a while.

Yes. This was that madman—the Duke of Herhardt.

“You should answer me.”

Matthias smiled as he tugged lightly at her hair. His pursuit had been fierce, but his grip wasn’t rough. Not that Layla had the presence of mind to notice. All she felt was the humiliation of having her hair seized and the fear crushing her chest.

“Layla.”

His voice dropped lower.

She instinctively tried to back away, but the tree blocked her path. Unlike her own ragged gasps, his breathing was steady, composed—as if he hadn’t sprinted at all. But every heave of her chest made her more painfully aware of his solid body pressing against hers, and it left her flustered, panicked.

“W-why…”

Struggling to push his shoulder away, Layla’s lips trembled.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

Her arms were useless. She twisted desperately, but Matthias only leaned his weight into her, pinning her more tightly. The terror of being held so close froze her still, and his expression grew more satisfied.

“That wasn’t a question. I said an answer.”

He met her glare unflinchingly.

“Answer me, Layla.”

His fingers toyed lazily with the strands tangled in his hand. The silky feel soothed the irritation he’d carried all week. Even her stubborn silence didn’t grate on him as much anymore.

“Do you think ignoring my letter, ignoring me, makes you a lady?”

“…”

“Layla.”

“…”

“Layla Llewellyn.”

His grip on her hair tightened slowly. Alarmed, Layla blurted out,

“I don’t know what you mean, Your Grace.”

“My letter never arrived?”

“I don’t know anything about it.”

“Think carefully before you answer, Layla.”

His smile deepened as her frightened eyes flickered.

“What do you think I’d do to a useless messenger pigeon that fails its task?”

“You—you promised!”

She cried out, startled.

“You promised not to shoot Phoebe! You swore it!”

“Did I?”

“Your Grace!”

“Strange… now I suddenly don’t feel like knowing what you’re talking about.”

Her clumsy lie—so transparent, so obvious. He grew more mischievous. Her indignation faded quickly into trembling lashes lowered in defeat.

“…I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“You already know.”

“Ignoring my letter, running away, lying to me?”

Each word landed like a blow, and her shoulders flinched in time. She was prettier when she softened, but he hated that she couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Enough apologies.”

With a finger, he tilted her chin up. Even that gentle motion made her flinch, as though he were handling something fragile. He didn’t care. To him, the satisfaction of catching her eyes outweighed her trembling.

“If you can lose your pen and not care, I suppose it wasn’t important?”

“Of course it was precious! But…”

She tried to turn her head away, but he caught her chin firmly.

“But what?”

He refused to let her dodge the conversation, or his gaze. With her hair and her face caught fast, she sighed as if giving in.

“I really don’t understand you, Your Grace.”

Her emerald eyes steadied, cool and composed—like an eternal summer.

“Why do you keep stealing my things?”

Her tone was that of someone scolding a thief. Matthias’s brows arched faintly. Who else in all Karlsbar—no, in the entire Empire—would dare call the Duke of Herhardt a petty thief? He almost laughed aloud at the absurdity.

“Are you… are you really a crow?”

Her sharp words came after a long stare at his dark hair and blue eyes.

“A crow?”

He frowned. But she didn’t stop. Maybe she thought she had nothing left to lose.

“You take my things, and I’m always the one who has to come beg you to give them back. That isn’t fair!”

Her raised voice rang clear, stronger than usual. Beautiful, even. Matthias found himself enjoying it.

“So that’s why you said it?”

His lips curved, amused. Layla faltered. She’d gathered every shred of courage for that tirade, only for him to dismiss it with a smirk.

What is this…

“Layla.”

Her name on his lips stole the words from hers. Her reckless defiance crumbled into something she couldn’t name. She dropped her gaze, fumbling for an escape.

“Layla.”

This time it came slower, almost sung like a tune.

Her cheek brushed his chest as she turned her head. She could hear his heart faintly—steady, deep. Was hers just as loud to him? The thought made the moment unbearable.

She shoved at his shoulders again, knowing it was futile, but needing to try. When Matthias finally stepped back, pretending to indulge her, she gasped out a shaky breath.

Timid yet defiant, meek yet biting—she was impossible to categorize, but irresistibly interesting.

“Give me back my pen.”

The sudden demand made him laugh outright. As expected, she didn’t disappoint.

“I don’t have it.”

His tone was almost careless.

“I threw it away.”

“What?”

“You weren’t looking for it, so I assumed it wasn’t needed.”

“Then why… why treat me this way—”

“Layla. Shouldn’t I at least tell you?”

He shrugged lightly, as if it were obvious.

“I am a gentleman, after all.”

He stroked her hair again as he said it.

“The finest gentleman in Karlsbar—recognized by Miss Llewellyn herself.”

Then he released her, and her hair slipped free. She stumbled back, glaring.

But before she could escape, pain ripped at her scalp.

“Aah!”

He’d yanked her hair again, cruelly tight.

“Don’t you agree?”

Even as her eyes welled with pain, his smile stayed bright.

He’s insane.

Layla clawed at his hand, desperate to free herself. He chuckled, deliberately shaking the strands he held like a trophy.

This man is the master of the Herhardt family?

Just as despair seeped in, he suddenly let go. She teetered backward with a scream, the world tilting—until it stopped.

Matthias’s face filled her vision. His arm was firm around her waist. She realized she’d fallen straight into his embrace.

Bite him. Scratch him.

Like a cornered mouse, she screwed her face into a scowl. But he released her at once, casually, as if nothing had happened. His composure made her shudder all over again.

She bolted toward the brook. He stayed where he was, only checking his watch.

“You take that back, Your Grace! You’re no gentleman. Never!”

Her angry voice rang out.

“Harsh words.”

He laughed, and her cheeks burned hotter.

“I mean it!”

“Ah… do you?”

“Yes! If you’re a gentleman, then I’m a queen!”

She hated herself for ever flattering him before.

Matthias smirked, straightening his lapel, and bowed toward her—graceful, courtly, mockingly reverent. The gesture, so perfectly elegant, seared her with humiliation.

Layla could only stare blankly as he walked away. A predator who chased her down, tormented her cruelly, and then left with a flourish.

When he reached the annex, the car was already waiting.

Matthias climbed in. The annoyance from earlier was gone without a trace.

The car rolled along the riverside road. For a while he watched the Schulte, then turned to the letters and files at his side. His eyes, which had still carried a hint of mirth, grew cold again.

Yet when he slipped a pen from his jacket pocket, his lips curved faintly once more.

Layla Llewellyn.

Her name gleamed in gold engraving, catching the afternoon light.

He stroked the glossy barrel with a fingertip and chuckled softly as he uncapped it.

The scratch of the nib filled the sunlit car.

“This one’s for Miss Llewellyn.”

The postman handed over a final parcel at the school.

“For me?”

Layla blinked. Odd. Why had it come to the school instead of her home? And the sender’s name and address were unfamiliar.

“Could it be a mistake?”

“No… it’s correct.”

He smiled awkwardly. The addressee was undeniably Layla Llewellyn.

“Thank you.”

Layla carried the parcel inside, distributing the day’s mail as usual. By the time she reached her classroom, the break was nearly over.

She sat at her desk and opened the package. Inside was a slim, elegant box. No note—just the box.

Layla checked the sender’s name again. Still no recognition.

“Hm…”

She lifted the lid—and gasped softly.

A black pen, adorned with gold trim, lay nestled within. At once she understood. Who had sent it, and why. The weekend’s chaos replayed vividly in her mind, and she sighed. The pen was far more expensive than her own had ever been.

Lifting it carefully, she saw her name engraved on the cap, just as it had been on the one he claimed to have thrown away.

The bell rang, children poured back into the classroom.

Layla slipped the pen into its box, tucking it deep into her desk drawer. If only she could lock away the memory of that day so easily. But she knew it was a futile wish.

“All right, children, let’s begin!”

She forced a bright smile as she stood before the class.