Chapter 18. The Shadow of the Double-Flowered Cherry Blossom

Mikhail and Emma were just about to board the carriage when a voice called out from the distance.

“Your Grace! Hah… Your Grace!”

Louis was sprinting toward them, clutching a thick bundle of documents, waving them wildly in the air.

“What is it now?” Mikhail asked curtly.

“The paperwork! The legislative revisions for next week’s auction were approved early! We need your immediate sign-off to finalize the purchase process for the investment pieces on the list.”

Alain turned to Mikhail cautiously.

“Shall we adjust the schedule, Your Grace?”

“No.”

Louis, startled by the firm response, pressed further.

“Surely this outing isn’t more important than the critical investments you’ve been planning for months?”

“Of course not.”

Mikhail gestured toward the carriage with his chin.

“Get in.”

“Pardon?”

“We’ll have plenty of time during the ride. Handle it on the way.”

Louis sighed, exasperation plain on his face. He had clearly been through this sort of situation before.

“Well, if I must. Excuse me, Young Master Charles.”

Emma, caught off guard, began to respond instinctively,
“Oh, I don’t mind—”

But then, remembering her role as a member of House Ophilenz, she quickly corrected herself, fumbling her words.

“Er, that is to say, of course. The family’s business must always come first.”

“Impressive,” Mikhail murmured, his voice brushing against her ear.

The faint compliment sent a shiver down Emma’s neck, her unease impossible to suppress.

* * *

The carriage rolled out of the gates of Violet Castle and traveled for some time.

Inside, Mikhail and Louis were deep in conversation, pouring over the documents. Mikhail alternated between frowning at the paperwork and puffing leisurely on his cigar.

“From here to here,” he said, pointing decisively at a section on the papers.

“Make sure it’s mine, no matter the cost. Understood?”

“But there’s always the chance something could go wrong…”

“Then your job is to foresee those ‘chances’ and prevent them, isn’t it?”

Mikhail’s tone was sharp and cold, a blade slicing through Louis’ hesitation.

Louis, his expression taut, merely nodded and resumed scrutinizing the paperwork with even greater focus.

The atmosphere in the carriage grew heavy, the tension palpable.

Emma found it difficult to even breathe.

Her bright blue eyes, initially filled with curiosity, slowly grew clouded with unease.

‘Perhaps this was the true Mikhail.’

The man who now sat before her seemed worlds apart from the one who had slung an arm around her shoulders and grinned boyishly.

The heated intensity in his gaze, sharper than any polished blade, made her chest tighten with an unfamiliar fear.

‘Get a hold of yourself, Emma. Just because the Duke dropped his guard for a moment doesn’t mean you should. He’s still a noble.’

Emma reminded herself sternly of her place.

Mikhail de Ophilenz wasn’t just any noble.

He was a man of towering influence, a figure who could stir all of Bonchons with his mere presence.

She wasn’t lucky to share the same space with him—far from it.

Her time as Oliver had taught her that nothing good came from being too close to the powerful.

Back when Emma worked at Madame Charlotte’s shop, her sharp eye and delicate features had often earned her the task of arranging the displays.

She had no formal training, but there was something natural about her composure, an innate elegance that caught others’ attention.

This quiet refinement didn’t come from her harsh upbringing in Bonchons. It was a gift from her mother, Rosalyn.

* * *

“Emma,” Rosalyn would say, setting down a small pink teacup alongside freshly baked cookies, “In a noble household, even the type of teacup matters. There’s a separate set for daily use, for guests, and even for different classes of visitors.”

“Mother, how do you know all of this?” Emma had once asked, her blue eyes wide with curiosity.

“…My mother was a senior maid in a noble family. And so was I, once.”

It wasn’t until much later that Rosalyn revealed this part of her past.

Emma often wondered if the deep sorrow in her mother’s eyes during that confession was just her imagination.

Rosalyn’s repeated advice to young Emma extended beyond mere lessons on the subtle etiquette of nobles.

“Emma, no matter how refined and beautiful a noble may seem, their true faces can be unspeakably ugly. Never forget that when they smile and show you kindness, it might be because they intend to take everything from you. Do you understand?”

If not for Rosalyn’s teachings, Emma’s spirit might have crumbled into dust long ago.

…Such was the extent of her encounters with the worst humanity had to offer among the nobility.

Nobles who demanded Emma to hold out her palm as a makeshift ashtray because they didn’t have one for their cigars were, by comparison, among the more mundane offenders.

Being treated as a mere object was a mercy in some instances.

Sometimes, even the lapdogs they cradled seemed to hold more value than Emma in their eyes.

…So don’t fall for it, Emma.

Emma once again turned her gaze toward the man sitting before her, one leg crossed, biting into a cigar, calculating business profits with cool precision—Mikhail.

If, at any point, he decided she was no longer of use.

If, by some chance, he uncovered her deception.

Perhaps then.

She would witness the devil lurking behind his angelic face.

The carriage, polished to perfection, began leaving the paved streets, gradually making its way into the outskirts and narrower alleys.

Mikhail tilted his head slightly, glancing out the window at the composed Charles.

“…”

Under the dim moonlight spilling into the carriage, the swaying curtains casting fragmented shadows over Charles’ profile made Mikhail chuckle softly.

Perfection.

It wasn’t a word he often used, but it came to mind effortlessly when he saw that face.

He could hardly wait to present this remarkable boy to Isabella. The thought alone made his body itch with anticipation.

How a gem like that had been wasting away in the back alleys of Beaucen, he would never understand.

Still, Isabella favored a more worldly, seasoned demeanor. That gentle, innocent gaze of his would need refinement—urgently.

That was the reason Mikhail had insisted on bringing Charles along tonight, despite his busy schedule.

…A man’s poise stems from the size of his wealth and the number of women he’s known.

Watching Mikhail’s gaze linger on Charles, Louis leaned closer and whispered, his tone uneasy.

“Your Grace, are you really planning to take young Lord Charles… there?”

“We’re already on our way, aren’t we?”

“Do you think it’s wise?”

Mikhail’s golden eyes gleamed mischievously, curling into a half-moon shape.

“And why wouldn’t it be?”

Louis, clearly less than enthusiastic, rested his chin on his hand and muttered.

“I just find Lord Charles’ innocent blue eyes very… endearing.”

“Don’t forget,” Mikhail replied, voice tinged with amusement. “We need to shape that innocence into something Isabella finds irresistible.”

At that, Louis shrugged his shoulders and tapped on the inner panel of the carriage as the pace slowed.

“I’ll take my leave here!”

Hopping nimbly out of the moving carriage, Louis turned back with a playful wink at Emma.

“Have a good time, my Lord. And be careful.”

Louis’ cryptic farewell left Emma stiff with apprehension.

“Don’t waste your breath.”

Mikhail smirked at Louis’ retreating figure before turning back, his face lighting up with a youthful sparkle, as though none of the tension from moments before had existed.

“Don’t be scared, Charles.”

The devil behind angelic eyes whispered.

“This will be an experience that strengthens both your mind and spirit.”

Was it just her imagination, or did the gleam in his eyes seem unusually wicked, despite the anticipation glimmering within them?

The carriage rumbled on for another twenty minutes before finally coming to a halt. Through the slightly open window, Emma caught sight of the soft shadows of double-layered cherry blossoms glowing under gaslight.

The crisp spring evening air, infused with the floral fragrance of the blossoms, seeped into the carriage, filling it with a heady sweetness.

Breaking the silence that had hung between them, Emma cautiously spoke.

“…It seems we’ve arrived. Shall we step out now?”

“Not just yet.”

Mikhail suddenly loosened the tight tie around his neck.

The crimson ruby ring on his finger sparkled as it caught the gaslight’s yellow glow.

Before Emma’s startled blue eyes could reflect the jewel’s fleeting shimmer, Mikhail’s elegant hand—adorned with that same brilliant ruby—reached out and touched the collar of her shirt without hesitation.

“Come closer, Charles.”