Lady Class - Chapter 38 (M)

She needed to step out, but her body wouldn’t move. If Irina hadn’t been holding onto her arm, she would have collapsed.

“Rackley, you need to secure a marriage partner. You don’t have a definite match yet. Now that things have come to this, just marry my brother.”

Rackley could only stand there, pale-faced, barely breathing as she looked toward the hall.

“This kind of scandal will disappear once you’re married. People will simply see it as an engaged couple unable to resist their passion before the official betrothal. I don’t want the Solomon family to be tainted with disgraceful rumors either.”

Irina struck at Rackley’s guilt.

“Don’t you see, Rackley? My brother is helping you right now.”

“But I…”

Irina clicked her tongue inwardly. Rackley was stubborn and overly upright, but what other options did she have now?

She delivered the final blow, making sure there was no escape.

“Rackley, if you refuse, you’ll have to provide an alibi. Are you really going to reveal what happened at the southern villa? Can you even say who you were with there?”

Rackley’s eyes, already clouded with confusion and shock, darkened with helplessness. Defeat seeped into them.

Helplessness was terrifying. It stripped away the will to run.

Seeing the light fade from Rackley’s eyes, Irina smiled. She linked her arm with Rackley’s and stepped forward with her.

All eyes in the banquet hall turned toward them. Irina’s grip on Rackley was firm—supporting her but also making sure she couldn’t break away.

“Rackley, I’ve always wanted you to become part of our family.”

“…Ah.”

They arrived beside Bowil Solomon. The Count of Winner glared at Rackley, while Rowinda, standing beside him, held onto the Count’s arm, gently soothing him while watching Rackley with unconcealed amusement.

“Rackley Winner, speak for yourself! What is going on here?!”

Rackley only stood there, unfocused, staring at the floor. Seeing her like that, Irina took over.

“Count, Rackley is terribly shaken. Please let her rest for now.”

“Rackley Winner! Are you truly in such a relationship with Bowil Solomon? Are the rumors true?”

Shouts, demands, accusations. The relentless stares.

Everything backed Rackley further into a corner.

“Rackley Winner!”

Rackley didn’t want to lie.

This was something she had brought upon herself. She didn’t want to deceive anyone into a marriage built on falsehoods.

She parted her lips to speak—but at that moment, the ground beneath her gave way, the world twisted, and her vision went black.

Darkness.

Rackley collapsed.

“Oh no, Rackley!”

“Kyaa!”

Instinctively, Bowil caught her, pulling her limp body into his arms. Her carefully pinned-up hair fell loose, cascading over her shoulders. Unlike the overwhelming perfumes of other noble ladies, a faintly sweet scent filled Bowil’s chest.

Without hesitation, he carried Rackley upstairs as the butler led the way.

The people in the hall watched as the strong nobleman carried the fainted young lady up to the second floor.

That scene became undeniable proof of the rumors.

“Oh my, how romantic.”

“I suppose they really were involved.”

“You know what they say about quiet cats being the first to climb the roof. Who would have thought that that demure young lady would be alone with a man? My goodness.”

The ballroom buzzed with heated murmurs.

Standing aside, Irina watched the noblewomen whisper amongst themselves. She lifted her fan to hide her mouth, unable to suppress her growing smirk.

Above the fan, her eyes gleamed with ruthless delight.

‘You’ve been pampered your whole life, Rackley. It’s about time you learned what it’s like to crawl through the filth.’

For Irina, it was the best day ever.

***

Muffled conversations reached her ears from a distance. Rackley exhaled and opened her eyes.

Her room.

“If it’s the Solomon family, that’s not a bad match. You’re close with the Count, aren’t you?”

It was Will Winner’s wife’s voice. The Count of Winner replied.

“Sir Solomon is intelligent, and our interests align well. I’ve lent him a lot of money and invested in his trading ships, but there were some risks. Now that I think about it, binding us through an engagement would stabilize things. But… gentry, huh…”

“If it benefits the family, what difference does it make whether they’re gentry or nobility? Rather than marrying her off to some noble family where she’ll be overshadowed, it’s better to send her to the Solomon family. That way, you’ll still have influence. Plus, they’re wealthy, so Rackley won’t suffer.”

Will Winner was trying to convince the Count to send Rackley to the Solomon family at all costs.

Through the open door, the conversation between her relatives and the Count’s wife continued.

“Brother, so you’re really going to betroth Rackley to Bowil Solomon?”

“I have to. With rumors like this spreading, what else can I do?”

“But will Rackley agree to it?”

“What does it matter if she likes it or not? If she had behaved properly in the first place, these rumors wouldn’t have started. She brought this on herself, so she has to take responsibility.”

“Still… I’ve heard the Solomon heir has quite the reputation with women…”

“That’s only natural for a man.”

“Once she bears him a son, he’ll settle down with her. That’s how men are. Rackley will just have to handle it.”

“Well, that’s true.”

“I’ll arrange a meeting with Lady Solomon to proceed with the engagement.”

“Rowinda, I’m so grateful for you. Having a lady of the house makes all the difference.”

With their business concluded, the relatives announced their departure, leaving only the Count and his wife.

“Go and rest now. Since I’m the mother of the house now, I’ll stay and check on Rackley when she wakes up.”

“Rowinda, I’m sorry for how things turned out. Tonight was supposed to be about introducing you and Edward.”

“It’s fine. Rackley has found a fiancé, and now that she’ll be attending social events with you, everyone will know that I’m the Winner Countess.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thanks to you, I even got to meet Madame Bui. I’m overjoyed. Now, I finally feel like the Countess.”

“There’s no other Countess of Winner but you.”

“I’m truly happy.”

The Count and Rowinda’s voices grew distant as they walked away. Rowinda, who had insisted on waiting to see Rackley wake up, had also left.

Their conversation felt as distant as reading a newspaper article. No—if it had been about someone else, she would have sympathized, feeling angry at how cruel a family could be. But now, Rackley felt nothing. Just calm.

She sat up.

A letter that had arrived today lay on the nightstand. It was too dark to read, so she walked to the window.

Irina had likely left as well. The estate’s courtyard, once crowded with carriages, was now quiet. The last to depart were the carriages carrying Will Winner and Viscountess Harvey.

“…Bowil Solomon.”

The Winner family was financially entangled with the Solomon family. Through years of interaction, Rackley had grown close to Irina, but as for Bowil Solomon, he was merely an occasional dinner guest. Among the noblemen she encountered, he was the one she had seen the most, but they were never truly close.

He had a charming appearance with his golden hair and a knack for lighthearted conversation, but Rackley had never found him attractive.

His demeanor toward her was often flippant, sometimes even outright rude. Naturally, she had never considered him as a potential husband, nor had she ever thought of him romantically.

In fact, when Irina wasn’t around, other young ladies often gossiped about him being quite the philanderer. Even Irina herself rarely spoke about Bowil.

“…Engaged to Bowil Solomon.”

An engagement was just a formality—breaking one was nearly unheard of, so it was practically a sealed marriage.

Of course, she would have had to marry someone eventually, but now that the reality of marriage loomed so close, she found it suffocating.

Rackley bit her lip and gripped the window frame tightly.

It was bleak.

She didn’t understand how things had come to this.

And yet, even in this moment, her mind drifted back to what had happened at the villa.

‘Young Lady.’

Kahn’s whisper, spoken into her ear as he pressed her against the window.

He had slid one arm beneath the back of her knee, leaving her balancing precariously on one leg, her body tilted against the window frame.

Kahn’s lips were close enough to touch, and his penis brushed against her parted labia.

The hard, bulging glans rubbed over the sensitive red flesh.

A searing heat spread like a match rubbed together.

“Where do you want me to suck you?

She parted her lips, but not where he wanted, so he traveled up her neckline to her chest. Her stomach tingled as his fingertips traced the indentation behind her waist.

‘Lady.’

The way he called her name was as sweet as if he were whispering words of love.

Rackley squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them, pulling herself out of the past.

She looked at the letter in her hand. Even before opening it, she knew—the crumpled envelope was from Maggie.

No matter how many times she checked the address, the house number was different from the one Irina had given her.

The place she had gone to was not the Solomon family’s villa, as Irina had claimed.

“…Kahn, why…”

What had happened?

She had mentioned the Lady Class and mistaken him for a gigolo. Kahn had never said he wasn’t one.

Or… had another noblewoman been the one originally meant to go there?

Had it all been a series of coincidences piling on top of each other?

Or had Kahn known he was at the wrong villa but chosen not to tell her the truth?

Rackley sank to the floor, tears spilling down her face.

Irina’s words echoed in her mind.

“Rackley, if you refuse, you’ll have to provide an alibi. Are you really going to reveal what happened at the southern villa? Can you even say who you were with?”

She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t reveal what had happened at that villa. Who she had been with.

She didn’t even know who Kahn really was.

She had tried to take control of her own life, but instead, she had been dragged into the depths, her ankles caught in the quicksand. There was no escape.

A muffled sob escaped her lips, and she hurriedly covered her mouth.

When Rackley came down for breakfast, the Count of Winner frowned and immediately scolded her.

“What are you standing there for? Apologize to Rowinda at once! Because of you, an important banquet was ruined!”

“It’s fine. Rackley had a difficult time yesterday,” Rowinda said with feigned concern.

“There’s a time and place for sympathy! You have to discipline a child when it’s needed! Her mother was too sick to properly raise her, so she never learned how to behave! What kind of conduct led to such an embarrassing scandal—”

“…I’ll do it.”

Rackley lifted her head and looked straight at the Count.

She had spent most of her time managing the estate, rarely attending banquets, only occasionally meeting Irina. If he thought about it for even a moment, he would realize that a scandal between her and Bowil Solomon made no sense.

But the Count of Winner had never even considered that it wasn’t true.

He had never believed, even once, that Rackley wouldn’t act this way.

“I’ll get engaged to Bowil Solomon.”

At last, the furrowed lines on the Count’s forehead smoothed.

“Of course! What else could you possibly do in this situation?!”

“That’s right, you made the right decision.”

“You’re finally acting like you should.”

Rackley finally heard the praise she had always longed for from the Count of Winner.