Chapter 59
A Decent Adult

Matthias escorted Claudine to the drawing room, where the two mistresses of the house were waiting. Riette followed along.

Could Claudine have been mistaken?

Watching Matthias treat the accident as if it had never happened, Riette’s thoughts grew more tangled. If Matthias truly was as enamored with that woman as Claudine believed, this behavior made no sense. And yet—knowing full well that brushing it aside was wisest—he deliberately brought up her name in front of Matthias.

“I happened to run into her and thought I’d get a little acquainted, but she frightens easily.”

Riette sat down casually across from him. Dinner had ended earlier than usual for Claudine’s sake. Now Claudine and the two mistresses were having tea in the drawing room, while Riette had joined Matthias upstairs in the study.

“That woman,” he added, smirking at Matthias.

“Layla.”

The name carried a soft, delicate sound, yet to Riette it felt like grit between his teeth. He hadn’t meant to corner her so cruelly at first—but his own leftover frustrations had spilled out onto that pitiful woman.

“Ah.”

Matthias exhaled, as if only just remembering. Then he looked blankly at Riette—and suddenly burst out laughing. The sound was too bright, too genuine to be forced, almost boyish in its lightness.

“So even Riette von Lindmann can be turned down by a woman?”

“What?”

“Quite the sight, really.”

Still chuckling, Matthias opened a silver case on the table, lit a cigarette, and flicked his chin to offer one.

As Riette lit his own, Matthias leaned lazily against the chair back, smoke curling from his lips. Watching him laugh softly, Riette felt something collapse inside himself, and he too let out a hollow laugh. To be treated as nothing more than that—it almost made Layla Llewellyn seem pitiable for real.

“Yes, I suppose I did look rather pathetic.”

Relaxing into his chair, Riette let his posture slacken. It made both him and Claudine feel like fools.

‘That girl… doesn’t she look just like the Duke’s canary in a gilded cage?’

One afternoon last summer, Claudine had smiled as she spoke, her eyes fixed on Layla’s retreating figure after she finished her gardening chores. Her golden hair bouncing with each lively step had indeed resembled a bird’s fluttering wings.

‘You’re not trying to say Matthias suddenly decided to keep a canary because of her, are you?’

He had scoffed then, unable to believe it. But Claudine had only smiled faintly, her silence an answer.

Riette had trusted her judgment. Claudine was too rational to harbor such baseless suspicions. And Matthias—who never valued birds as anything more than moving targets—raising one so carefully? It was suspicious.

And perhaps because he viewed it through that lens, everything seemed to fit. When he heard Matthias had schemed to separate Layla Llewellyn from Kyle Etman, he had been convinced. Claudine couldn’t possibly be mistaken.

But if that were true, then… how could Matthias now be so indifferent?

The questions tangled until Riette felt lost. If Matthias cherished her so much, could he really remain so calm after his cousin cornered her and she ended up injured? Was Claudine wrong after all? Or had it already ended? And if so, how did one explain the “canary” still caged in his chamber?

“Riette von Lindmann.”

Matthias flicked ash from his cigarette, speaking the name with the same calmness as the gesture. Riette quickly smoothed his expression, meeting his cousin’s gaze.

“Save Lindmann scandals for your own estate, cousin.”

Matthias smiled faintly, staring at him.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to preserve order in Arvis.”

He discarded the half-burned cigarette and lit another, never once breaking eye contact. But there was no jealousy or anger in his gaze—only a clear, almost childlike emptiness.

‘Your cousin is a gentleman devil,’

The words of a battle-weary officer who once described Matthias von Herhardt came back to Riette. Instinctively, he swallowed hard, his fingers trembling around the cigarette.

“You know that better than anyone,” Matthias murmured, before looking away.

His profile revealed nothing but a trace of weariness as he smoked.

I don’t understand him at all.

The thought escaped Riette with a sigh, smoke seeping out between his lips. Perhaps it would take something greater, some harsher test, to force an answer.

But Claudine… would the truth really serve you?

He swallowed again, unease clawing at him.

The sound of Phoebe pecking at the window rattled through the quiet room.

Normally, Layla would have leapt up to open it. But tonight she lay curled on the bed, staring blankly at nothing. Her eyes blinked slowly, dark and bottomless, reflecting nothing back.

Several minutes passed before she came to herself. Even then, it took time to sit up. Nothing was broken, but her left shoulder and side still throbbed from the car’s impact, a pain that made even sleep impossible.

At last she opened the window with one hand. A letter was tied to Phoebe’s ankle—no doubt from him.

Gently stroking the pigeon’s feathers, she untied the letter. Phoebe, apparently well-fed again by the Duke, fluttered back to her cage in the yard.

Layla closed the window and sat at the edge of her bed.

She could hardly remember the accident, only that she had to escape Riette… and then the blinding lights, the shattering pain.

She drew a deep breath, closing her eyes.

She had been in agony. Yet the moment she realized it was Matthias’s car—Matthias and Claudine inside—all pain had fled, leaving only the crushing urge to run. Shame, misery, desperation… nothing else.

Pressing her reddened eyes, she reached for her glasses at the bedside. After much hesitation, she unfolded the letter.

In his characteristically ruthless hand, it read:

Bring me my handkerchief, Layla.
If you won’t come, I’ll come to you.

With a grimace, she crumpled it in one fist and let it fall under the bed. Curling on her side, she let out a strangled laugh that sounded almost like a sob. She tore off her glasses again, burying her face in the pillows. She felt she might go mad.

If only she could flee—far, far away where he could never reach her.

But dreams were useless. This was Arvis. Matthias von Herhardt would never let her go. If she didn’t go to him, he would come to her. He always had, and he always would. He didn’t care if Bill found out.

And if that happened, Uncle Bill…

‘You’ll grow into a fine adult, Layla.’

Bill’s gruff yet warm voice echoed in her mind. He had always believed in her, always been proud of her, no matter what anyone else said.

‘The Duke’s mistress.’

But when Marquis Lindmann’s cold voice overlaid that memory, her breath stuttered.

Unable to bear it, Layla stood. She took the handkerchief from her bag and left without hesitation. Uncle Bill was already asleep, his snores faint through the walls.

She stepped out into the freezing night air without even a shawl. Her vision blurred without glasses, but she didn’t care.

She hated him.

She hated Matthias so bitterly she thought her chest would burst. Maybe it wasn’t fair—after all, it was Riette who had caused the accident. But fairness didn’t matter. Not when he never cared to be fair.

Clouds smothered the moon, but Layla pressed into the woods without fear. As the Schulte riverside—and the Duke’s annex—drew near, her pace quickened. The cold bit hard enough for her breath to frost, yet her flushed cheeks burned with heat.

“You came.”

The voice stopped her. Matthias stood at the balcony railing of the annex, where an outdoor stairway joined the second floor. He leaned there, watching her.

“I was about to come myself.”

He descended leisurely, as if nothing were amiss, even with the faint trace of a smile.

He stopped a step away. The river wind lifted her tangled hair and dress hem.

“Aren’t you cold?”

His brow creased at her bare appearance. Layla let out a bitter laugh, thrusting the handkerchief into his hand.

“Here is your handkerchief, my lord.”

“Layla—”

“Goodbye, Your Grace. I don’t ever want to see you again. Not like this. Never again.”

She turned, her steps sharp, ringing in the clear night air. Whenever the pain threatened to bring her to tears, she bit hard into her lip.

“Stop.”

His command froze her. She tried to run, but her legs betrayed her.

“Layla.”

His voice drew closer with every step.

“Layla!”

His hand closed over her injured shoulder. She screamed, shoving him away.

Matthias narrowed his eyes, then seized her in one swift motion, lifting her off her feet.

“No! Put me down! Put me down!”

Thrashing wildly, she screamed, but Matthias slung her over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

Her fists and nails struck his back, but he didn’t waver, climbing the stairs with steady strides. Inside the annex, her cries only grew louder. But here, there was no one left to hear.

Ignoring the drawing room, he strode down the opposite corridor and stopped at the final door. Without hesitation, Matthias pushed it open.