Most mansions typically have reception rooms and banquet halls on the lower floors. In contrast, the upper floors are often reserved as private spaces for the mansion’s owner. Being invited above the third floor usually indicated a close relationship with the mansion’s master.

“How many floors are we going to climb?”

“The Count instructed me to take you to the reception room inside his private quarters.”

Martian frowned. Being invited to the Count’s private quarters signified one of two things: they were either close acquaintances or the mansion’s master was keen to form a tight bond with the invitee. Given that Martian had barely any interaction with the Count, it clearly indicated the latter.

“He mentioned it’s a matter of great importance and closeness, and hoped for your understanding even though it might be inconvenient.”

The butler repeatedly apologized, bowing his head. Although his demeanor was exceedingly polite, it felt like a deliberate summon. Sensing the inevitable, Martian followed behind the butler.

What the hell is this about? Martian quickly skimmed through her memories but couldn’t recall any instance where she might have had dealings with the heir of the ducal house. After all, wasn’t she born and raised in the territory of Doan? The number of times she visited the capital could be counted on her fingers.

‘Could it have something to do with El?’ 

At the Imperial Academy, Huey Sevlord was an alumnus. He was a rare case, being the heir to a duke and having graduated from the academy. It was rumored that one of his projects there involved the renovation of the capital city’s water infrastructure.

It was uncertain how much association El Doan, now barely in his graduating year, could have with Huey Sevlord, who had graduated years ago. However, they did overlap in their time at the Imperial Academy. Of course, her younger brother had never mentioned the duke’s heir throughout his time at the academy.

The butler led her to the innermost room on the top floor. The entrance to the master bedroom was impressive, seemingly showcasing the stature of the mansion’s owner.

The massive door was a piece of art, depicting the creation myth. Hundreds of animals and plants were intricately engraved around its edges, and in the center were twelve priests receiving the voice of God. At first glance, one might have mistaken it for mere wall decoration rather than a door.

Passing through, Martian felt fortunate not to be wearing an old-fashioned suit. The outfit she had chosen did not make her seem inferior to the offspring of a duke.

Upon entering, a spacious reception room revealed itself. Every piece of furniture bore delicate and elegant lines. Even the smallest accessories were perfectly placed and matched their surroundings.

The room, meticulously designed to the point of obsession, symbolized overwhelming wealth. Martian marveled inwardly for a moment.

Then the owner of all this grandeur entered the reception room. Huey Sevlord appeared from the opposite side, suggesting there were multiple entrances. He was still adorned in the flamboyant clothes she’d seen him in earlier at the hall.

“Nice to see you, Viscount Doan.”

He extended his hand. As she shook it, Martian found it surprising that he knew of her. She wondered ‘what the hell he had summoned her for’. The curiousity was merely that, but since the opposite was a high-ranking noble, people like him tended to avoid getting straight to the point. Engaging in formal pleasantries, she briefly rested her gaze on the Count’s hand. It was long, smooth, and unscarred.

“These adornments are a bit cumbersome. May I have a moment?”

He asked as he began to remove the ornaments from his fingers. Martian hesitated and when she looked away from his hand, she met his gaze. His smiling face was so alluring that she found herself blushing and smiling back without realizing it.

Martian wanted a simple life. A modest, trouble-free life. She toiled away at the paperwork to ensure just that. She was reminded once more that the man before her had the power to shatter her dreams in an instant. She deliberately averted her gaze from him and addressed the butler who had guided her.

“Could I have some tea?”

“Do you have a preference?”

“Something to refresh me up would be nice.”

“Understood. I’ll prepare it right away.”

The butler led her to the sofa before retreating. The spot was positioned such that, when she lifted her head, she could see Huey Sevlord. Then again, no matter where she sat, that view would likely be the same. After all, he was in the middle of the reception room, receiving attention as he undressed from his intricate outfit.

Martian couldn’t help but watch for a moment before quickly averting her gaze. She felt all sorts of discomfort. To be precise, the subtle attention the count was giving her felt unbearably intrusive.

“Ron, come here.”

At her call, Ron, who had been standing behind the sofa, approached. “Kneel and show me your hands.” He obediently followed. His outstretched hand was sleek with fine lines, but there were bite marks on his nails. 

This habit of nail-biting usually resurfaced when he was anxious. Realizing she was focusing on that, Ron’s fingertips slightly recoiled.

“Looks like you’ll be crying a lot today.”