Chapter 97

He opened the pencil case and took out the fountain pen. The moment he unscrewed the cap, a familiar voice asked him,

"Are you just going to stand by and watch?"

As the turquoise eyes, which had been gloomy, began to waver before him, Leon clenched his teeth.

'Do you think I'm a rookie?'

Thud. The cap of the fountain pen was closed. He got up again. The confession letter left behind still had an empty space where the head of domestic intelligence's signature should be.

* * *

Grace, leaning against the desk drawer, looked up at the man sitting in the chair.

Leon Winston. The cruel, cold, and despicable Leon Winston had finally returned to his usual self.

I don't know how anxious the past week has been. I don't know why I was uneasy because that man was different from usual.

Worried?

I must be crazy.

No, I was just physically and mentally unwell.

Winston spent the entire week almost living in the torture chamber.

He even slept in the torture chamber. The single bed was cramped even for his large frame, let alone for two people. The idea of having to lie on top of each other and cuddle was repulsive.

So, after the man fell asleep, she secretly slipped out to find a place to sleep and ended up in the bathtub. Lying in the hard, cold bathtub, wrapped in a blanket, she felt pitiful. She finally fell asleep after lamenting her situation.

Splat.

Cold water splashed on her face. After the water stopped, she opened her eyes to see Winston holding the faucet.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were here."

It was a shamelessly obvious lie.

Anyway, the past week was exhausting. It felt like a new torture technique called 'A Week with Leon Winston.'

When she asked if he wasn't working, he said he was on leave. During the year she worked as a maid here, she had never seen him take personal leave except for summer vacations or important family events, so she thought she might have heard wrong.

Winston did only two things when he locked himself in the torture chamber.

Drinking and sex.

It seemed suspicious, so she asked what was going on, but ended up lying under him for three hours, gasping. Then her intuition told her it was because of the Sinclair case.

'Does that man even have a conscience?'

Grace suddenly remembered a question he had asked while drunk.

"Grace Riddle, have you ever imagined a life without you?"

She was thinking about the uncharacteristic words that followed when a large hand suddenly appeared under the desk. On the palm was a dark red cherry with white cream on top.

What kind of treatment is this?

Grace narrowed her eyes and glared at the cherry.

If he wanted to treat her like a dog, he should have put it in a dog bowl. This man fed her by hand every time he took her for a 'walk' in the office.

When the man extended his hand again, Grace reluctantly bowed her head. She bit the cherry, but his hand didn't retract. Instead, he reached out and smeared the cream from his palm onto Grace's lips.

It meant she should lick his palm clean. Ugh. She clenched her teeth, and the cherry burst between her molars, spilling sour juice.

Grace glared at him and licked his palm, which had clear lines from the creases. The cherry juice left a dark red trail, like a bloodstain. She felt a sense of satisfaction as if she had bitten him and made him bleed, even though it was all an illusion.

Spit.

Leon frowned. The woman spat the cherry pit into his hand. She seemed to be obedient, but then she tried to assert herself.

"Shh. I like sweet cherries."

Yeah, it's always like this. If only he were as easy as his father.

"Eat what I give you."

The cherry pit hit the plate with a dull thud.

"Being a dog, you're picky."

She knew that the cherries on the table tomorrow would be sweet, no matter how gruffly he spoke.

Leon, pretending to be sad, pressed his palm against the woman's cheek, who was playing the part of a fox.

"Ugh... so dirty..."

The woman wiped her face with her sleeve. As her sad expression turned into an annoyed one, he laughed.

Since lunchtime had passed, the time for chatting with the woman was over. Leon pushed the empty plate aside and picked up a thick stack of documents.

It contained all the documents related to the Jeffrey Sinclair case, including evidence that the case was fabricated.

On top of it, he placed the morning newspaper.

[Jeffrey Sinclair Imprisoned in Geven Prison]

The front page featured a large photo of Jeffrey Sinclair in a prisoner's uniform and handcuffs, designed to tarnish the Sinclair family's reputation.

He no longer looked like a sophisticated gentleman. To anyone, he looked like a rough and haggard criminal.

If this went wrong, Leon could end up like that too.

As he stared at the tired eyes in the black-and-white photo, he suddenly remembered the colonel's desperate gaze when he tried to stop him from taking his son away.

Leon sighed.

In the end, he didn't sign and took a week off. During that time, Lieutenant Collins, acting head of domestic intelligence, signed the false confession.

Leon Winston's signature was never on the confession, defying the demands of the grand duke and the king.

It was the best and worst choice Leon Winston could make, who judged everything except the woman under the desk by cost-benefit.

The best because it might protect his future self, but the worst because his current self would face repression. The pressure would not stop until the monarchy fell.

Leon laughed bitterly.

A royalist hoping for the fall of the monarchy. What has happened to me?

"I can't understand the captain's recent behavior."

Leon remembered what the colonel said when he returned to work after a week.

"It's like you've become a different person."

Indeed. How did I change?

He glanced down at the desk. The woman, leaning against the drawer, looked at him with a puzzled expression as she casually flipped through the confidential documents he had given her to read.

No matter how much he thought about it, the reason could only be this woman.

That said, he couldn't kill her and return to his old self. If killing her was the only way to go back, he didn't want to.

He still didn't think he had a conscience. Ambiguously standing between hero and villain in this matter, he was just a selfish human.

As a person who only considered his own interests, Leon was busy calculating in his head, even with the dangerous secret that could bring down the kingdom in his hands.

His gaze kept returning to the woman as he considered countless paths and their endpoints. Among the many paths, the most irrational, perilous, and uncharacteristic of 'Leon Winston' kept appearing before his eyes. At the end of that perilous path, which involved revenge and all his duties, stood only this woman.

That alone was enough to be tempting.

Whether it was fortunate or unfortunate. It was impossible before breaking her brainwashing.

He neatly organized the documents and put them in a large brown envelope. Just as he was about to lock them in the last drawer of the desk, someone knocked on the door. The woman instinctively hid deep under the desk.

"Come in."

He thought it was a maid coming to clear the lunch, but it wasn't.

"Leon."

What is Elizabeth Winston, who detests the annex with its ugly iron bars, doing here?

"I'm on duty."

As he took out one of the files on the desk and opened it, his mother sat in the chair opposite and started scolding him.

"You could at least have meals together if you were at the mansion. What are you always so busy with? It's as if you're doing everything in the world by yourself."

"Almost everything in the family is done by me."

Grace, hugging a cushion and crouching, held her breath.

'Mrs. Winston, it's been a while.'

After repeated failures, she no longer saw anyone coming to the office as an escape opportunity. She lacked the courage to run unless someone opened the annex door and pushed her out.

She almost died when the inspector came.

"I can't kill you, can I? You're right, I can't. In a sound mind. But what about the moment I lose you? A person who has lost their mind can do anything. Be careful."

Not to mention, the harsh treatment she endured all night added to her fear. It had been a while since she was tied to the wall, and the marks from the ropes and chains on her body took days to fade.

It was the moment when the fragile peace maintained under their tacit agreement with that man was shattered.

Grace had already adapted to this false peace. She no longer resisted. She let him use her body as he pleased, sacrificing her freedom, and he was satisfied. On good days, he even granted her requests.

But what if she was discovered and sent to the command or the prison?

She would have to endure the same treatment from other men that she endured from Winston. Even if she survived, she might never regain the same peace.

She had given up on the hope that someone would save her during the transfer. All she had learned was resignation.

"Leon, I mean, show some sincerity in preparing for your engagement ceremony."

Engagement ceremony? Are they finally getting engaged?

Grace's thoughts were interrupted by the words from Mrs. Winston, which she had never heard from Leon himself.