Chapter 55
What Must Be Broken

“This doesn’t look like the road to Arvis.”

Layla finally broke her silence. Clutching her bag and coat tightly, she had kept her lips sealed until now. The carriage wasn’t heading toward Arvis, but into the bustling heart of Karlsbar.

“Mr. Evers, this road…”

“I told you, Layla.”

Matthias cut her off before the attendant in the front seat could respond. Anger burned so hot it had briefly drowned out her fear. Layla met his eyes head-on without flinching.

“I said I’d take responsibility.”

The weight he gave that word—responsibility—made her fists tighten around her skirt.

“I ruined your clothes. Of course, I’ll be responsible for replacing them.”

“No, that isn’t necessary. I…”

“Why? You think my mistake wasn’t enough?”

Even with the driver and his man in the front seat, Matthias spoke without hesitation.

Layla couldn’t argue. She drew in a long breath instead. Her hands were still blotched with red where she’d tried in vain to scrub the ink away. The stains reminded her of her own heart—ruined, shameful, unbearably raw.

I should have just thrown it away.

She had thought returning his gift would end this twisted bond between them. How foolish. Biting down hard on the soft flesh inside her cheek, she felt the pain slice through her. What name should she give this humiliation, this suffocating weight that made her want to sob until her chest split open?

As if seeking the answer, she looked at Matthias. He was already looking at her. Behind his expressionless face, the gray cityscape blurred past the window, lit by dim lights.

For a fleeting moment, she thought his eyes looked just as bleak as hers. Then the carriage stopped.

They had arrived at a street lined with high-end boutiques.

Without a word from him, the driver and attendant stepped out, leaving them alone inside. The air grew heavier. Layla’s shoulders hunched.

“I’ll be going, then.”

Snatching up her umbrella, she turned to leave. But before her trembling hand could touch the door, Matthias’s grip closed around her wrist. She gasped, struggling, but his hold was unyielding. He didn’t even have to try.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I don’t need new clothes! I’m going home!”

“Selfish, aren’t you, Layla.”

His fingers pressed so hard they almost hurt, then slackened just enough for a low laugh to slip out.

“What about Bill Remmer?”

“…What?”

Her resistance faltered at the sound of that unexpected name.

“How do you think Mr. Remmer will feel, seeing you come home like this?”

“You… You’re the one who did this to me, and now you pretend to worry about Uncle Bill?”

“Well, Remmer has served my family for decades. He deserves better than to see his girl return in such a state.”

He tugged her closer. Layla was dragged right up to him, close enough to feel his breath.

“And when he asks what happened? Do you think you can explain it away?”

“Of course I can!”

She tried to pull back, but he caught her cheek with his other hand, holding her still.

“Stubborn little thing.”

His voice slipped through his tilted lips like velvet.

“I made this mess, so I’ll take responsibility. For you, Layla.”

The more she tried to avert her gaze, the more relentlessly his eyes pursued hers.

“That means dressing you properly and sending you back to Remmer looking spotless. That’s my duty tonight.”

“I don’t want it! Let me go, I—”

“Think carefully, Layla. If you accept my apology and let me replace your clothes, it’s ordinary, reasonable. But if you resist, cling to your pride, make a scene… well, how will that look?”

His eyes flicked toward the window. The driver and attendant were waiting outside with their backs turned, but of course they could hear.

“Like a sulking mistress, perhaps. Doesn’t that sound right?”

The vulgarity of it struck her like a slap.

Matthias chuckled and released her at last. He rapped on the glass, and Mark Evers quickly opened the door. Layla bolted out, as if fleeing.

Inside, Matthias glanced at the bag and coat she’d left behind, then beckoned Mark Evers over with a brief instruction. The man nodded and stepped back out.

Layla stood under the driver’s umbrella, shivering, shoulders hunched against the rain. Matthias’s gaze narrowed. Mark Evers hesitated, then removed his own coat, but before he could drape it over her, Matthias tapped on the window again. The attendant froze, then straightened, and instead carried out Matthias’s coat.

Soon, Layla was wrapped in it, dazed, hardly even aware of whose garment shielded her.

When the driver returned, the carriage moved again. Still clutching the Duke’s coat tightly around her, she followed Mark Evers into a dressmaker’s shop.

Matthias’s eyes lingered on her retreating back.

“Why are we going there?”

Layla stopped short when she realized their destination. It was the grand hotel where Claudine had dragged her the previous summer.

“It’s the Duke’s order, Miss Llewellyn,” Mark Evers explained, smiling politely.

“He said he wishes to offer you tea as an apology before returning to Arvis.”

“No. This coat is more than enough.”

“That isn’t for me to decide.”

“But—”

“I follow my master’s commands. As you well know.”

His expression was faintly apologetic. Layla had no choice but to follow.

“You know,” Mark Evers said suddenly as they entered the lobby, “His Grace also keeps a bird. A very small, very beautiful bird.”

“A bird? The Duke?”

Layla frowned, incredulous. It was absurd. The slayer of beautiful birds, keeping one of his own?

“…Is it for hunting?”

She asked earnestly, after a pause. Mark Evers looked completely taken aback. But they had already reached the tearoom.

Matthias was waiting by the window, with the rain-streaked terrace behind him. His attendant bowed and withdrew, leaving them alone.

“Sit.”

His command left no room for refusal. Under the curious eyes of the other patrons, Layla reluctantly sat across from him. She removed his coat, revealing a teal velvet dress with a wide lace collar as white as snow.

Matthias’s gaze traveled down. The pearl buttons, the hem brushing her calves, the new shoes and stockings. Much better. The dowdy old gowns she had worn before were nothing compared to this. Even her hair was arranged more gracefully.

Tea was set before her, along with dainty cakes.

“Eat.”

Matthias lifted his cup. Layla only glared at him, frozen.

“Shall I feed you myself?”

He tilted his head, eyes mocking.

“If that’s what it takes, I’ll take responsibility for that too.”

Straightening in his chair, he made her snatch the fork in haste. She toyed with the cakes, finally cutting into one covered in pink cream. He watched her lips and cheeks as she chewed.

“What do you like?”

His voice was low, curious. One thing led to another—he wanted to know more.

“I think I could like everything—except whatever I’m forced to eat in front of you.”

She twirled the fork, staring straight into his eyes as she said it. Bold words, but her voice trembled pitifully. Matthias’s laughter rippled through the sound of rain.

“If you don’t mean to provoke me, you’d better try another approach. When you’re brazen like this, I find you amusing.”

He leaned toward her across the table.

“And when I’m amused, Layla—I go mad.”

His voice dropped to a near-whisper.

Layla blinked, shrinking back until her spine pressed against the chair. The fork was still clutched in her hand, cream clinging to its edge.

“Wouldn’t it be better to behave meekly? To bore me instead?”

He finally sat back, letting her breathe again.

It took her a long moment to put down the fork. She dabbed at her lips with a napkin, cheeks burning.

“What do you like?”

He asked again, as though for the first time.

“I… don’t have any particular dislikes.”

She answered demurely now, forcing herself to suppress her temper.

“Good girl.”

The words made her bristle, though she tried to hide it. But her eyes gave her away—shining, bright, impossible to conceal.

Let’s see if you’re so defiant elsewhere, Layla.

Matthias swallowed the thought with a sip of coffee. Her cowering had irritated him, but the idea of anyone else seeing this side of her was intolerable. Perhaps even Bill Remmer had never witnessed the true Layla Llewellyn. The thought stirred something like pride.

For the rest of tea, she behaved meekly. She answered when asked, ate what was set before her, and sat quietly. Yet her glances—resentful, dissatisfied—never ceased. Sometimes she flushed, sometimes she bit into the cakes with trembling lips.

Watching her like this, Matthias let out a dry laugh. How ridiculous, that to have her, I must first break her.

But then his face softened, a strange light in his eyes.

Still meek, still quiet—and still driving him mad.

So tell me, Layla. What must I break, to make you mine?

His head tilted, lost in thought. Layla, gazing past the rain-darkened window, turned and met his eyes.

Emerald green. Eyes that only he had seen like this.