Adrian staggered back before steadying himself, his hand coming up to cradle his bruised cheek.
Irene's chest heaved. Her fists trembled at her side; her gaze burned him with hatred.
Slowly, he turned back to her. A smug smirk tugged at his lips as he licked the blood on the corner of his mouth. "I didn't realize my lady was quite so eager to touch me."
Irene's eye twitched. "Touch you?"
She scoffed; the sheer audacity of his words snapped the last thread of her sanity. She yanked off her shoe and darted at him.
"I'll gladly give you another touch!"
She swung, but Adrian deftly caught her wrist mid-air and jerked her forward, pulling her straight into the wall of his chest.
Irene's breath hitched as his other hand settled firmly at her waist, pinning her against him. He tilted his head, his gaze dropping to her with a flicker of amusement.
"My," he murmured, "how passionate."
Irene twisted her wrist, trying to wrench free. "Let go of me!"
Adrian didn't budge. Instead, his smirk only widened, his eyes dancing with a challenge.
"Let me go!" She drove her knee straight up between his legs.
"Ugh!" A strangled, breathless sound left him.
As his grip faltered, Irene wrenched herself free and stumbled back, chest heaving.
Adrian collapsed to his knees and fell to the floor, curling in on himself as he clutched his groin, his face turning pale.
"Oh, now you feel it?!" Irene shrieked.
Seizing her chance, Irene slammed her shoe on his shoulder. "Touch?!"
She swung again, the leather sole cracking against his arm as he tried to shield himself. "Eager?!"
Irene delivered another sharp blow to his bicep. "I'll show you eager—!"
"Wait—" Adrian gasped, raising a trembling hand to ward her off.
A sharp knock reverberated through the compartment, freezing them in place. Irene stood with one shoe still raised, chest heaving. Adrian lay on the floor, breath hitching.
"Your Grace?" a voice called from outside.
"Let's settle this later." Adrian's voice drew her attention.
He exhaled a long, shaky breath and pushed himself to his feet, his movements stiff and deliberate.
"Very well." Irene lowered her shoe and straightened, smoothing her dress before tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
The door creaked open, revealing a man in a black robe at the threshold. His amber eyes flicked between Irene and Adrian—then froze.
"Your Grace—your face…?"
"How is the situation?" Adrian cut in, brushing dust from his sleeve.
The man stiffened, then hastily bowed. "We've secured the rear carriages and prepared a cabin for you."
Adrian gave a small nod. "Good."
He glanced back at Irene. A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"My lady," he said lightly, "let's meet again. I'm quite curious how far your enthusiasm goes."
Irene's eye twitched. Her fists tightened in her skirt before she dipped into a curtsey, forcing a strained smile. "I won't disappoint you, Your Grace."
A chuckle slipped from him. "I look forward to it."
With that, Adrian turned and stepped out into the corridor. The door shut behind him with a soft click.
Irene hurled her shoe straight at it. "INSUFFERABLE BASTARD!"
Silence swallowed the compartment. Her chest rose and fell sharply as the echoes of her shout faded.
She pressed a hand to her temple as her head throbbed, her stomach churning. What am I supposed to do?
Selena saw me…
***
"It's done, Your Grace." The chestnut-haired knight stepped back after finishing the ointment and bandages.
Adrian nodded, pulling his shirt back on. "Thank you, Roland."
A sharp guffaw rang through the drawing room, grating against Adrian's ears.
His head whipped toward the long, black-haired man sprawled across from him. "Julius Aldrich, will you shut up?" Adrian snapped, pressing a chilled cloth to his cheek.
His brother's annoying cackle made the bruises across his body throb even harder.
Julius wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "So, Lady Irene punched and beat you with her shoe? Pfft—" His shoulders shook as he fought for composure.
Adrian rolled his eyes. "I was out of options. They were right on my heels."
"But, Ian…" Julius sat upright, features turning serious. "Count Archellio won't let it slide if he finds out you touched his precious daughter."
He leaned back into the cushions, gaze sharpening. "The Archellios have been loyal to us for generations. I won't have that alliance fractured over a reckless impulse."
Adrian let out a heavy sigh. "I'm aware. That's why I intend to visit the Count tomorrow to settle the matter."
Julius gave a small nod. "Very well, I'll trust you to handle it." He lifted his teacup, taking a slow sip. "How was the reconnaissance?"
Adrian shook his head. "They're far more cunning than I imagined."
He tossed the cloth back into the ice bowl. "I thought my informant at the port was a clean lead, but the syndicate had already caught wind of my team's movements. They fed me false information—I was lucky to escape."
Leaning back against the sofa, his expression darkened. "This is no ordinary opium syndicate."
Julius tapped his fingers against the armrest, weighing his words. "For now, pull your team back and halt the investigation. It's too risky to proceed now that they're aware of us."
Adrian inclined his head. "Understood."
A benign smile returned to Julius's lips. "Anything else?"
Silence settled over the room, broken only by the distant chirping of birds.
"Lady Selena," Adrian said at last.
Julius's brow furrowed. "What about Lady Selena?"
"She saw Lady Irene and me in the cabin."
Julius's smile vanished. The room seemed to tighten around them.
One thing was certain—
Julius did not like this at all.
***
The melodious chirping of birds filled the air as the sun crept higher in the sky. Golden light slipped through the silk curtains, bathing the chamber in a warm glow.
"...rene!"
A muffled, familiar shout reached her ears, stirring Irene from her sleep.
"Ugh, Franz, stop it…" she grumbled.
Too unbothered to open her eyes, her hand fumbled across the mattress until it found something soft. She yanked the pillow toward her and dragged it over her head, trying to drown out her eldest brother's incessant hollering.
"Irene!"
Her bedroom door slammed against the wall with a bang. Thunderous footsteps stormed toward her bed.
"Wake up, you little imp!"
Her blanket was yanked away; the chill bit at her skin.
Annoyed, Irene jerked upright and glared at the red-headed man before her. "What is wrong with you?!"
She immediately winced, clutching her head—instantly regretting the movement.
"What's wrong with me?" Franz shot back, his voice sharp. His crimson eyes bored into hers. "No—what is wrong with you!"
Franz hurled a newspaper onto the mattress. Irene's gaze dropped, and a headline in the gossip column stared back at her:
[ THE UNATTAINABLE LADY NO MORE? LADY IRENE SEEN IN INTIMATE COMPANY WITH DUKE DIETRICH! ]
Irene's jaw locked. Hands clenched into fists.
She snatched the paper and flung it aside, the pages scattering across the floor like autumn leaves. Her breath came in ragged gasps as fury flared in her chest.
Turning her back on him, she curled into a ball and jammed the pillow over her ears once more.
Franz let out a long, weary sigh, his voice softening. "So… are you going to tell me what actually happened?"
"I don't know," Irene replied sharply. "I don't want to talk about it."
Every time his name surfaced, her chest tightened, the pressure suffocating.
Silence followed. Only the distant birdsong drifted in from outside.
"Are you… alright?" he asked cautiously.
Irene bit down on her lower lip, struggling to hold back the sobs clawing their way up her throat. Her fingers dug into the pillow as her eyes burned.
Was she alright?
…Irene didn't know.
All she knew was that she never wanted to remember anything associated with that name again.
She wanted to forget.
Irene took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to quiet the storm in her head.
"Do… Mother and Father know about this?" she finally whispered.
"It seems not," Franz replied shortly. "Father left before the paper arrived, and Mother went to the salon this morning."
Then—
The frantic thunder of hooves and the screech of wheels split the air as a carriage rushed into the courtyard. Soon, a shrill shriek shattered the mansion's silence.
"Irene!"
The sharp clack of heels striking marble echoed through the halls.
Irene's heart hammered against her ribs. She buried her face deeper into the pillow as the footsteps drew closer.
"Irene!" Emma's voice—her mother's—crashed into the room.
"Mother, Irie is feeling unwell—"
A sharp slap cut him off.
Irene flinched. A sob tore from her throat as hot tears spilled down her cheeks.
"Get out of my way!"
The sharp click of heels resumed, mingled with Emma's ragged breathing, before stopping beside the bed.
Irene bit down on her lower lip until it stung, her knuckles whitening as she clutched the pillow. Her body trembled so violently it began to feel numb.
She was terrified.
"Just what was going through your mind?" Emma asked, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous hiss. "Do you have any idea how they humiliated me at the salon today? Hmm?"
Irene didn't dare answer. Tears spilled freely now, impossible to stop. Her mother was often angry—but she had never seen her like this.
"ANSWER ME, IRENE!" Emma wrenched the pillow away, jerking Irene upright and exposing her tear-streaked face. The older woman froze.
Through blurred, tear-filled eyes, Irene stared into Emma's unreadable expression.
"I'm… so sorry…" Irene managed through choking sobs.
Emma's mouth trembled before she turned away, her composure crumbling. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking as a ragged wail escaped her.
"Just… what were you thinking, Irene?" Emma whispered.
Weeping filled the heavy silence of the room.
Franz approached his mother and wrapped his arms around her.
"Mother," he said softly, patting her back, "Irie is unwell. Let's discuss this with Father once everyone has calmed down, alright?"
Emma gave a small, weak nod through her grieving sobs.
A knock drew Franz's attention to the door. A maid stood at the threshold, her face pale.
"What is it?" he asked.
The maid immediately bowed. "Forgive me, Young Master… Duke Dietrich's carriage has just arrived at the front gates. His Grace requests entry."
All heads whipped toward the door.
Silence fell; the weeping stopped instantly.
Everyone turned rigid.