Chapter 44

Elwin discerned precisely where this cunning fox of a man steered their dialogue. Guileless though he might be, he possessed enough wit to recognize the treacherous mire beckoning to him; the true tragedy lay in his own complicity, understanding the danger perfectly yet marching forward entirely of his own volition.

“That is true,” Elwin murmured.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he surrendered to the dark, shuddering too violently to withstand Leon’s piercing gaze any longer. A broad, faintly callused hand cupped his chin, tilting his face upward just before a warm, velvet pressure enveloped his lips.

Though their lips met for the third time, the contact yielded no familiar comfort. Vertigo claimed him, and he feared the subtle, intoxicating fragrance of Leon’s pheromones would swallow him whole, yet his limbs refused to flee. The universe shrank until only the two of them remained. In this suspended moment, Elwin shed his identity as the count’s heir and the responsible master of the estate; he was stripped down to his barest self—simply Elwin. He cradled a fleeting, desperate wish that this dreamlike haze would endure forever.

Reality shattered with the sudden, harsh rattle of the study’s brass doorknob.

Click. Click.

The chilling sound jarred Elwin awake to his grim reality: this was no sanctuary of dreams, but the bustling heart of the count’s manor, teeming with prying eyes. He recoiled, severing the contact of their lips as panic seized his chest. Who is it?

Then, filtering through the thick wood of the door, came the one voice Elwin dreaded above all others.

“Sir Elwin!”

Oh, for heaven’s sake.

At the sound of Lord Dwight’s voice, Elwin’s features contorted in instant annoyance. Though guiltless of any true crime, he reflexively scrambled backward to put distance between himself and his companion. Leon’s brow furrowed even more severely than Elwin’s, though a playful, conspiratorial whisper soon softened his lips.

“Fret not,” Leon murmured. “I secured the lock when I entered.”

“You… what?” Elwin gasped.

Leon’s chest rumbled with a quiet chuckle. “Why so startled? Did you truly believe I would steal a kiss without taking such a basic precaution? It appears you have little desire to welcome Lord Dwight in this state. Is there a path for you to slip quietly into the garden?”

Even before Leon finished the sentence, Elwin’s sheer panic spoke volumes. Reading his frantic expression, Leon smoothly pivoted. The suggestion sparked a memory: Elwin recalled the heavy glass door tucked in the far corner of the study, veiled behind thick drapes. Because this chamber had once served as a grand banquet hall, the exit remained intact.

Nodding quickly, Elwin crept toward the glass door and slipped behind the heavy velvet drapes. Before parting the glass, he cast one final, anxious glance back over his shoulder. Leon waved him off, gesturing urgently for him to flee while he handled the intrusion.

Turning back to the locked entrance, Leon rattled the heavy brass handle and commenced his performance.

“Is that Lord Dwight?” Leon called out, his voice a perfect facsimile of bewildered frustration. “Gracious, this ancient door is acting up again. Why on earth does the latch keep jamming like this?”

From the corridor, Dwight’s suspicious voice boomed. “Leon? Is that you? Is Sir Elwin in there with you?”

“Ah, one moment, my lord!” Leon answered, grunting as if wrestling with the mechanism. “I believe it will yield if I apply a bit more pressure…”

While Leon spun his elaborate fiction to purchase precious seconds, Elwin quietly unlatched the glass door and slipped into the cool air of the garden. Only when Leon heard the soft click of the latch and saw the velvet curtains settle back into place did he finally throw open the study door.

Dwight stormed into the room, his heavy boots thudding against the polished wood as he swept his gaze across the chamber like an aggressive debt collector. Having failed to corner Elwin all afternoon, frustration radiated from his every pore. Finding the vast study empty of his quarry, he went so far as to flare his nostrils, trying to catch any trace of lingering pheromones in the air.

Leon observed the display with eyes that had turned flat and glacially cold. Yet the moment Dwight snapped his head around in irritated suspicion, Leon’s face instantly smoothed into his usual, impenetrable mask of polite amusement.

“Leon,” Dwight demanded, his voice tight. “Have you seen Sir Elwin?”

“Sir Elwin?” Leon echoed, tilting his head thoughtfully. “I cannot say I have. I merely came here to enjoy some quiet reading.”

Whether fueled by general irritation or some primal instinct, Dwight narrowed his eyes, boring a hole through the younger man. Leon, utterly unfazed by the hostility, casually flipped a page of the leather-bound volume cradled in his hands.

“If you find yourself at leisure, Lord Dwight, perhaps you might enjoy a book as well?” Leon offered, his tone dripping with mock cordiality. “As Sir Elwin so proudly noted, this library boasts an extraordinary collection.”

Dwight’s jaw tightened, his face contorting in disgust at the sheer insolence of a lowborn man daring to lecture him. He stared down at Leon, who met his gaze with an unyielding, razor-thin smile. For a tense second, Dwight looked as though he were calculating the merits of striking the arrogant upstart down then and there.

Even through the thick glass of the garden door, Elwin could feel the suffocating tension vibrating in the room. Terrified that violence might erupt, he shifted his weight to press his ear closer to the seam—and accidentally nudged the frame.

Rattle.

The subtle noise instantly drew Dwight’s sharp attention, his ears seeming to prick like a hunting hound’s. “What was that noise?”

Ignorant of the hidden exit behind the drapes, Dwight scanned the opposite corner of the room. Leon seized the moment, casually pointing toward the far corridor.

“It sounded as though it originated from the drawing room,” Leon lied smoothly.

Taking the bait, Dwight spun on his heel and strode out into the hall. Sensing that he was running out of time, Elwin abandoned his post. He slipped away from the garden, re-entered the manor through a side door, and ascended the servants’ spiral staircase to reach his chambers undetected. He remained holed up there, refusing to stir until twilight painted the sky in shades of bruised purple.

“It has been some time,” Dwight remarked as they sat down.

Evasion, however, was a luxury Elwin could not sustain. When the dinner bell chimed, propriety demanded he face his guests at the dining table. Selena, who had remained secluded in her chambers for days, sent word that she would dine in private once more. As the master of the house, Elwin possessed no such excuse.

Seated across from him, Dwight wore a smile meant to project benevolence, though the rigid set of his jaw betrayed a simmering fury. Swallowing his trepidation, Elwin forced a polite explanation.

“A backlog of urgent estate matters kept me occupied today, preventing me from attending to our guests. I trust you were not inconvenienced.”

Before Dwight could speak, Leon chimed in, perfectly feigning ignorance. “How could we possibly be inconvenienced? Your staff’s exquisite hospitality has made my stay thoroughly comfortable.”

Dwight’s expression froze, hardening into ice. The fragile veneer of tolerance he had previously extended to Leon shattered; it was one thing to tolerate Elwin’s silence, but the audacity of a lowborn guest speaking out of turn was intolerable. Ignoring Leon entirely, Dwight turned his gaze back to Elwin, his features instantly morphing back into a warm, paternal mask.

“Sir Elwin,” Dwight said, his tone dripping with patronizing concern. “I understand you were overwhelmed with administrative duties today. I actually visited the library to offer my assistance, though it seems I just missed you. Please, do not hesitate to lean on me in the future. After all, will we not be managing these affairs together soon?”

The word ‘together’ fell like a lead weight, striking an incredibly jarring chord. Would it have felt any less offensive if Dwight had simply claimed the estate outright as his own future duty? No. The moment the implication settled, a fierce, protective rebellion flared in Elwin’s chest. This is my work. My birthright… even if fate dictates otherwise.

Yet, the bitter taste of resentment felt foreign and dangerous. Having spent his entire life hitting the rigid boundaries imposed on Omegas, Elwin had learned to draw a sharp line between his desires and his reality. Following his father’s passing, sole control of the estate was a luxury denied to him; his only viable path was co-existence—and eventual submission—to Dwight. Why then, when he had long since resigned himself to this fate, did his heart thrash against its cage?

Then, Leon’s provocative whisper echoed in his mind.

— “What do you truly wish to become, Sir Elwin? A countess… or the count?”

Elwin realized with a shudder that the damnable question had fractured his resolve.

That uninvited guest was a dangerous, reckless man.