Chapter 2: The Angel of Bonchons

A year ago.

The spring in Bonchons, the capital of the Kingdom of Verlena, was as beautiful as ever, though fickle as always.

Raindrops began to patter against the glass panes of the arched windows, and Gabriella Ophilenz let out a small sigh.

“Rain again. I thought it would be sunny, so I prepared my pale green chiffon dress. Now I’ll have to change everything from top to bottom.”

Gabriella had been particularly excited about her choice of the elegant pale green dress, claiming it suited her perfectly.

But in truth, her fair, almost translucent skin was so radiant that even coarse muslin would have looked exquisite draped over her.

Her lustrous golden hair, cascading freely without adornments, gave her an air of divine beauty and mystery.

Yet, with a slight furrow of annoyance in her brows, she meticulously inspected her dresses, scrutinizing them one by one.

“If my brother gets all the attention again today, I swear I’ll just die.”

“Oh dear, Gabriella. I’m disappointed to hear you’re so competitively wary of me.”

Her twin brother, Mikhail Ophilenz, stepped into the room, and Gabriella pouted, sticking out her lips.

“Hmph. I never want to hear I’m second to you again, no matter what. Just watch—today, I’ll be the talk of the town in the gossip columns.”

“Suit yourself. Just remember, time is running short. You know as well as I do that Princess Isabella’s whims are anything but trivial.”

Though she kept pouting, Gabriella busied herself examining Mikhail’s flawless skin, as smooth and firm as fine marble, and criticizing the color of his suit.

“A brown checkered pattern on a rainy day? Really? How many times do I have to tell you navy blue looks best on you? It highlights your intellectual charm.”

Mikhail gestured toward his subtly gleaming oak-brown shoes with a slight tilt of his chin.

“I liked these shoes. I simply chose a suit to match them.”

“But it’s so plain,” she countered, unimpressed.

Gabriella’s remark about Mikhail’s appearance being “plain” was, to be fair, a significant misjudgment. In truth, Mikhail was nothing short of perfection.

Although Gabriella and Mikhail were twins, she couldn’t help but throw an envious glance at her brother, who had been blessed with traits even she, in her beauty, could not rival.

Objectively speaking, Gabriella’s beauty was unparalleled in Bonchons. If anything, she was celebrated as the city’s muse.

But Mikhail’s allure was so undeniable that even Gabriella grudgingly acknowledged it.

For instance, while Gabriella’s eyes were a warm almond brown with hints of chestnut, Mikhail’s were an otherworldly golden hue tinged with honey.

Their hair followed a similar pattern. Gabriella’s hair resembled a rich, golden field of wheat, vibrant and full, while Mikhail’s was like distilled sunlight, a silvery platinum gold that radiated an almost mystical brilliance.

The twins’ most striking similarity was their sharp, symmetrical features.

However, the distinctly bold and angular Ophilenz family features, which made Mikhail appear both boyish and powerfully masculine, were slightly less favorable for Gabriella, softening her femininity.

Mikhail, with a bored expression, eventually picked out a delphinium-blue dress and tossed it toward one of the maids nervously standing in the corner.

“Dress your fussy mistress in this quickly. And let her know we’re short on time.”

“Brother!”

“Use pearls for accessories. They’re perfect for rainy days.”

“You’ve got to be joking! Pearls? I’m wearing the blue diamond necklace we had flown in.”

“Gabriella.”

Mikhail, placing a cigar between his lips, frowned slightly, though even that crease added to his charm.

“Don’t outshine Isabella tonight. There’s an important deal at stake.”

Gabriella shot back elegantly, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“You’re so cruel, Duke Ophilenz. Do you really have to exploit Isabella’s innocent affection for you like that?”

Her pointed remark drew only an elegant smile from her brother.

“I think I’ve earned my due for enduring the whims of that naïve princess all this time.”

Isabella was the king’s third daughter.

Not a legitimate princess, but the daughter of a favored royal consort. She had been obsessively infatuated with Mikhail for years, much to his annoyance.

And tonight, Mikhail planned to secure ownership of the royal art gallery that had been granted to Isabella.

The Ophilenz family had long been a highly esteemed house, trusted by the king himself. Their foresight in entering the lucrative trade routes of the New World had brought them immense wealth, surpassing what they had ever accumulated before.

The twin heirs of the Ophilenz family were already widely recognized for their lineage alone.

On top of that, their angelic beauty and noble presence made them celebrities throughout Verlena.

It was said that they were more popular than the king himself.

Such circumstances, however, left Mikhail increasingly burdened as of late.

And now, with Princess Isabella clinging to him, Mikhail found himself in a delicate predicament—too troublesome to reject her outright, yet equally inconvenient to fully entertain her affections.

The root of the issue, however, lay in his business instincts.

As the head of the long-standing and prosperous Ophilenz family, Mikhail had no patience for investing his time without profit or advantage. Mercy or selfless goodwill were not virtues he had the luxury of indulging.

Ultimately, Mikhail was satisfied when Gabriella, reluctantly wearing the pearl necklace he had suggested, stood before him. His lips curved into a faint smile as he extended a hand toward his sister.

“Let’s go.”

It was time to reap the rewards of his carefully cultivated effort with Isabella.

* * *

The once quiet Royal Art Gallery of Lercier soon became abuzz with hushed whispers and curious glances.

“Is it true? Are the illustrious Angel Twins really here?”

“Apparently, yes. Word is they’ve purchased the entire gallery.”

“Remarkable. They say they can’t resist fine art. Seems the rumors are true.”

Amid the chatter, Oliver silently hauled a marble sculpture, ignoring the murmurs around him.

Though it was a second-rate piece destined for the outer garden, the marble itself was not cheap. Oliver handled it with careful, precise movements.

If misfortune struck and a crack appeared, half a year’s wages could disappear in an instant.

The very thought was horrifying.

His plan was simple: save enough money to smuggle his younger sister, Melanie, out of their dire circumstances.

Madam Charlotte often grumbled that Melanie’s lack of charm would leave her stuck in the kitchen at best, but Oliver refused to believe her.

To him, Melanie was more than pretty enough. Her petite, delicate features, her bright brown hair, and her warm eyes exuded a natural loveliness.

The idea that someone might sell Melanie into a brothel made Oliver’s stomach churn violently.

He obsessed over his savings, counting and recounting the coins in his mind multiple times a day.

125 pennies.

That was the sum Oliver had managed to scrape together over a year of backbreaking labor.

But it was still 75 pennies short of the 200 Madam Charlotte demanded as Melanie’s “price.”

The spring rain continued to drizzle gently.

Although the drops were light, three hours under the rain had left Oliver thoroughly soaked.

“Hey, Oliver! Head to the west storeroom and fetch the tools in the leather sack!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Kid, you gotta learn to work smarter. If you keep pushing yourself like that, you’ll burn out before you know it.”

“Even so, there’s not much time left.”

“Bah, damn it! Of all days to rain! These blasted stones are already heavy enough without being waterlogged.”

Suddenly, the rain intensified. Even by Bonchons’ notorious spring standards, today’s weather was merciless.

Forced to change course, Oliver ran toward the interior of the gallery.

Though the workers’ access to the main gallery was strictly controlled, the guard begrudgingly let him pass, unwilling to stand under the deluge.

“Make sure you don’t catch the eye of any nobles. The likes of you wandering about will ruin their mood.”
“Yes, sir.”

At the term “sir,” the guard puffed up with pride, as though he had been entrusted with a royal secret.

“You know about the Angel Twins, don’t you? They’re having tea with the princess in the greenhouse. Don’t get in their way—do what you need and clear out.”

The guard spoke as if he were a trusted member of their entourage. Oliver, accustomed to such attitudes, merely nodded, his face expressionless, and hurried away.

Even then, he paused frequently to check that his soaked shoes weren’t leaving marks on the marble floors of the gallery.

How far had he gone?

Clang.

The sudden sound echoed sharply through the corridor.

Suddenly, Oliver felt something nudge his foot. Bending down, he picked up a small object.

It was a peculiar piece of brown ivory, too simple and unique to belong to a noblewoman’s jewelry.

Carved into it was an elegant, almost sensual design of two intertwined snakes.

Oliver hesitated before putting the piece back where he found it. Instead, he clenched it in his hand, his gaze darting nervously around.

As he quietly made his way past the massive glass greenhouse, someone’s shadow flickered in the distance, catching his attention.

For a moment, Oliver couldn’t suppress his gasp.

It was his first time seeing the art gallery’s greenhouse in person.

The sight took his breath away—a space so serene, filled with soft green hues, that it seemed as though all the beauty of Bonchons’ spring had been captured and enclosed within its glass walls.

Inside, there was a vibrant display of blues and yellows, calm yet radiant, with flowers blooming in every imaginable color, as if an artist had spilled paint across the scene.

But more than that, something else captured his attention entirely.

Oliver’s steps faltered when his eyes landed on a man within the greenhouse, his golden eyes sparkling like stars as he cast an elegant gaze toward someone nearby.

A smile, fresh yet refined, adorned his face.

For a moment, Oliver stood frozen, staring at the man’s graceful features as though entranced by a living masterpiece from mythology.

“…An angel?”

His fingers tightened around the ivory carving in his hand.

Suddenly—

“KYAAAH!”

A shrill scream broke the silence, followed by the sharp crash of a teacup sailing through the air.

The cup struck Oliver square on the shoulder before bouncing off and shattering on the marble floor with a chilling clatter.

Clang!

Oliver instinctively froze, his gaze locking onto those golden eyes—the very same ones he had been admiring.

The man’s footsteps echoed as he strode toward Oliver, ignoring the boundaries of time and space with his decisive movements.

Oliver’s instincts screamed at him to kneel, and he dropped to the ground, trembling. He didn’t even dare to lift his head.

A pair of polished shoes came into view, standing directly within his lowered line of sight.

“I was quite clear about not letting anyone in,” came a voice, low and deliberate.

A shadow fell over Oliver’s hand, still clenched against the ground.

Then, with unexpected grace, the “angel” knelt down in front of him, forcing Oliver to raise his head and meet those radiant, sacred eyes.

“Hello there, uninvited guest.”