Lady Class - Chapter 46

“Hngh… Sir Black…”

“Hold her back, hold her back.”

Women moaned as they caught sight of Kahn’s black mask, whispering his name with lust.

“This is chaos. The young ladies are desperate to find the Duke—they’re throwing themselves at every black-haired man they see,” said Baron Harverden, exhaling a thick puff of smoke as he observed the ballroom from the second-floor terrace.

Though the Duke’s guards kept them at bay, a group of women lingered at the terrace entrance, fluttering their fans seductively, casting longing glances at him. Some, lost in their own arousal, shamelessly touched themselves while moaning.

“What do you think?” Harverden grinned mischievously, gesturing toward them.

Kahn didn’t spare them a glance. Even the cigarette in his hand tasted bitter tonight; after a single drag, he discarded it.

“You were supposed to keep my attendance here a secret.”

“I only told one person. But thanks to you, this place is burning with excitement—shouldn’t you be thanking me?”

Kahn’s gaze sharpened as he looked down at the ballroom.

A flash of red hair, a woman in a black dress being led by a blonde—Rackley stood out even with her mask on.

Bowil Solomon had casually mentioned this masquerade ball while discussing business, dropping hints that even a so-called modest lady like Rackley would be attending.

Kahn hadn’t believed it.

And yet, there she was.

“You were no different from the rest after all.”

A twisted, burning sensation gripped his chest, as if he had been betrayed.

Rackley disappeared behind a wall as she moved further inside.

Kahn’s shoulders rose and fell slightly.

“So, what’s the occasion? I heard you made a new friend—the heir of the Solomon family, no less.”

Baron Harverden had been Kahn’s friend since their academy days, before Kahn had inherited his title. His habit of referring to Harverden simply by his surname had remained. Wallidon Harverden was one of the few people who could speak to Kahn so informally.

“We only discussed business.”

“The mighty Duke taking an interest in something as petty as the Solomon family’s little ventures? Or… is it that you covet something of his? What was his name again—something starting with ‘Ra’?”

“Go on,” Kahn said coolly.

“Oh, now, no need for that,” Harverden chuckled, raising both hands in mock surrender, recognizing the sharp edge in Kahn’s gaze.

“I just worry, you see. You swore you’d never marry, yet now you’re showing an unusual interest in a lady who’s already engaged. Even Melinda was devastated when she heard that a pure young noblewoman had cried because of you.”

“So, Melinda was the source of this nonsense.”

Harverden should have stopped after surrendering. But he didn’t.

Kahn lifted his foot slightly, preparing to kick Harverden, who was still leaning against the terrace railing.

“Kahn.”

For once, Harverden’s smirk disappeared as he spoke seriously.

His next words stopped Kahn from striking him.

“Bowil Solomon may be a disgrace, but at least he’s willing to marry and take responsibility. Between a man who wants to give her stability and a man who detests marriage, who do you think she would choose?”

Kahn had heard Rackley’s fears, her pain—he understood her circumstances.

What she wanted was a marriage that offered stability, a warm family.

He couldn’t give her that, yet he also couldn’t ignore her.

He knew he was contradicting himself. But he couldn’t resist being drawn to her.

He had already broken his vow to stay out of her life until her marriage. And it just so happened that her fiancé was the very kind of man he despised, making it impossible to ignore.

It was simply Bowil Solomon’s attitude that irritated him.

That was all.

Kahn wanted to believe that.

At the edge of his vision, a man with a red insignia on his chest crossed the ballroom. Their gazes locked. The man was watching him, just as he was watching back.

Kahn flicked his gaze toward Baron Harverden.

Harverden immediately stood up.

“Going to take a piss,” he announced.

“Take your time,” Kahn replied.

Baron Harverden let out a low, vulgar laugh as he wrapped his arms around the shoulders of the women blocked by the guards.

“That Black-nim over there is useless when it comes to pleasing women. Why don’t you come with me instead?”

“Oh my, but he looks so… capable,” one of the women teased.

“Size isn’t everything,” Harverden whispered suggestively.

“Kyaa~!”

The women squealed in delight, pressing themselves against him as he murmured in their ears.

Kahn clenched his jaw.

“So that bastard was the one who spread the rumor.”

He exhaled sharply, pushing open the nearest terrace door and leaning against the frame.

“Your Grace.”

The voice came from close by.

It was the man whose gaze had locked with his earlier. Now, he had approached, standing just within reach. His mask concealed his identity, but his sharp jawline suggested he was quite the handsome man.

“I’ve heard the rumors, but I never imagined one of the king’s knights would grace a place like this. I thought your loyalty was unshakable.”

“Loyal or not, one cannot forgo all of life’s pleasures,” the man replied smoothly.

“True enough.”

Kahn’s gaze drifted toward the darkness beyond the terrace.

“The battlefield eats away at a man’s mind. It’s an exhausting thing.”

There was an unmistakable note of regret in the man’s low voice. He watched Kahn carefully as he spoke, but Kahn merely extended a hand toward him.

“You approached me like this—you must have something for me.”

The man reached into his coat and produced a small tin case.

Kahn took it leisurely, flipping open the lid. Under the man’s watchful gaze, he plucked out a single Dallant and placed it in his mouth, closing his eyes briefly.

“I heard you haven’t used it in a while,” the man remarked.

“It’s only for emergencies.”

“Aren’t you curious about the supplier?”

“If they want to meet me, they’ll reach out first. For now, I don’t need anything else.”

Kahn knew the man was observing him, but he ignored it, stepping away from the terrace.

That was when a voice from below stopped him in his tracks.

A door slammed shut, followed by a woman’s voice.

“Alright. I’ll give Rackley the stimulant this time, so please, brother—don’t mess it up like last time.”

Rackley.

His eyes narrowed.

Without breaking his composure, Kahn glanced to the side.

The masked man was gone.

Feigning a casual gesture, Kahn touched his chin and discreetly spit out the half-dissolved pill. The sweetness lingered on his tongue, but he ignored it, sharpening his focus on the conversation below.

“How is this my fault?” a man’s voice grumbled.

“Who was late? No matter how much Rackley ended up at the wrong villa, if you had arrived on time, none of this would have been an issue.”

Kahn recognized the voices.

Bowil Solomon. Irina Solomon. The Solomon siblings.

“The plan was foolproof. We even prepared the drugs—told her it was just a sleeping aid, but it was a stimulant. We sent her straight to the villa. All you had to do was take her when she was burning up with need, but no, you ruined everything. At the very least, you could pretend to look remorseful. This was all for your sake.”

“Well, in the end, the engagement happened anyway.”

“You didn’t even take Rackley, so what are you talking about? Right now, she’s only staying quiet because you’re threatening to spread what happened at the villa, but if she completely gives up and calls off the engagement, it’s all over.”

Irina Solomon snapped impatiently and issued a command to Bowil.

“Make sure you claim her properly tonight. Do you understand?”

“Irina, you’re my sister, but you’re truly terrifying. You call her a friend, yet you stab her in the back so thoroughly.”

“Friend? Please. Thanks to me, you have Rackley now. You haven’t forgotten our deal, have you? You will convince Father to let me marry the man I choose.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll keep my promise.”

“You always say that.”

Their conversation was disturbingly ruthless.

Kahn stood silently on the terrace, his gaze dark as he stared down at the garden below, listening intently. He even forgot to breathe.

He couldn’t afford to miss a single word.

“Just get everything ready. I can take her whenever I want.”

“You’re disgusting. If I ever had to marry a man like you, I’d kill myself.”

“That’s actually a relief. I wouldn’t marry a vile woman like you even if I were dying. That’s why I picked the naive little Winner heiress instead.”

“Bowil!”

Bowil growled lowly, his tone threatening.

“Enough chatter. Go bring her now. And don’t forget to give her the stimulant.”

“Ugh, this is such a hassle!”

That was the last of the Solomon siblings’ conversation. The sound of rustling fabric grew faint as they walked away, leaving the area in eerie silence.

The distant hum of insects gradually returned, but Kahn could no longer hear them.

“A stimulant?”

He muttered the words, though he already knew the answer. He just couldn’t believe it.

The conversation replayed in his mind, each sentence twisting like a knife in his thoughts. No matter how he pieced it together, the meaning was the same.

He suddenly remembered the bottle of pills that Butler Brandt had handed him at Harverden’s villa.

Rackley Winner had been toyed with by the Solomon siblings.

“Damn it!”

Kahn removed his mask and ran a hand over his face, dry-washing it.

He had misunderstood innocent Rackley—violated and deceived her. Without a second thought, he had assumed that his own judgment was the only truth, acting recklessly.

He had condemned her as shameless, never realizing she had been under the influence of a stimulant.

His arrogance—how was it any different from the father and grandfather he despised?

A deep, suffocating wave of self-loathing crashed over him.

***

Irina kept Rackley close, dragging her along wherever she went.

‘What is she planning?’

Rackley didn’t let her guard down.

Lustful men’s eyes roamed over her body, some even pretending to be drunk as they reached out their hands. Each time, Irina played the role of a friend, pulling Rackley away—so much so that for a fleeting moment, Rackley wondered if the threats had all been a bad dream.

Still, she remained tense, carefully observing her surroundings.

Then, her body began to heat up.

At first, it was just a mild fever, a slight dizziness. But then the warmth deepened, originating from her lower abdomen, dampening her undergarments.

Rackley gasped, her breath coming in short, hot pants.

Sensing something was wrong, Irina led her into a private room. From somewhere beyond the walls, muffled moans and the rough grunts of men echoed.

She couldn’t not know what those sounds were.

The dull thuds of bodies colliding filled the air—obscene noises that only made Rackley’s heart pound harder.

She knew this fever.

‘Why… here?’

Even as her body burned, goosebumps prickled her skin.

“Rackley, just rest here for a bit.”

“Hnn… Irina, I… I just want to go home.”

“Alright, I’ll have the carriage prepared. Just stay here for now.”

As soon as Irina left, Rackley’s weakened body collapsed onto the sofa.

A maddening itch spread through her. Deep inside, a hunger clawed at her, impossible to satisfy. No matter how she shifted, no matter how she clenched her legs, the need wouldn’t go away.

The same unbearable heat that had tormented her that night in the southern villa had returned.

A desire so overpowering, so uncontrollable—like a beast in heat.

“Hnn… No… no…”

Suddenly, a rush of wetness spilled from within, soaking her undergarments.

Irina said she would come back soon.

She just had to hold on a little longer. Clinging desperately to that thought, Rackley forced herself to grasp onto the last threads of her fading reason.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

Before the voice even reached her ears, the scent of musk—a fragrance often worn by noblemen—filled her nose, thick and overwhelming.

Rackley couldn’t even open her eyes. Unconsciously, she swallowed dryly.