What Remains in the Damaged Place - Chapter 34

The only thing the maids seemed to have gotten right was that Lirette stayed in a room attached to the main house rather than in the servants’ quarters. That much they could easily guess since she didn’t live alongside them.

But everything else they said was completely off the mark.

Still, Lirette was relieved that nothing related to her Name had been exposed. If that had been discovered, enduring Hayley’s claws would have been for nothing, and she might have been dragged to the annex for good. Just the thought of it made her shudder.

“But we should probably keep this quiet, right?” one of the maids asked.

“Definitely. Imagine if the young lady found out,” another added.

Lirette’s attention was pulled back into the conversation at the mention of a “young lady.”

“Young lady?” Lirette asked, swallowing a bite of food.

“The Lady of the Floyden family,” one of the maids replied.

Floyden.

The name sounded familiar, and Lirette quickly understood why. It was likely a noble family her own household had dealings with before everything collapsed.

Talk of the duke had transitioned seamlessly into a discussion about this noblewoman. Lirette’s memory of a previous day surfaced—standing in her room in the annex, shackled at the ankles, looking longingly out the large windows at a couple strolling freely in the garden below.

‘Ah, that must have been the fiancée,’ Lirette realized. She vaguely remembered the woman’s face as she gazed at Valderion, her expression shining with adoration, like a sunflower basking in the sunlight. The woman’s face had radiated devotion and passion as intense as the sunlight streaming down on them.

“I don’t like her at all. She’s completely different when the duke is around,” one of the maids said.

“Oh, I’ve heard. Didn’t Becky complain about how much she was bossed around by her?”

“She treats even the head maid like a servant. You think she’d let us off easy?”

“We only have to deal with her briefly, but I can’t imagine how much the maids who serve her daily must suffer.”

The complaints that followed were harsh and blunt.

Lirette struggled to reconcile this image with the woman she had briefly glimpsed walking beside Valderion. She had seemed so gentle and tender, but now it seemed that was only when the duke was present. The woman’s true nature, apparently, was far from the docile image Lirette had witnessed.

The conversation quickly bounced from topic to topic, with Lirette occasionally chiming in but mostly retreating into her thoughts.

Fiancée.
The duke’s position.
How Valderion interacted with Lady Floyden.

When she pieced it all together, only one conclusion emerged.

***

“Everyone seems to think I’m the duke’s mistress,” Lirette finally said later that night.

It had taken her a while to bring it up, hesitating as she mulled over whether to even mention it. The flame on the long candle flickered in response to her voice, casting shifting shadows in the room.

“What?”

The low, deep voice of the man seated nearby caused the flame to waver once again.

“They found out I’ve been entering your bedroom at night,” Lirette continued. “They believe I’m here to serve you during the nights.”

Valderion watched her in silence for a moment, then gestured for her to come closer. Slowly, Lirette stepped toward him as he sat on the bed, and as she did, he put out his cigar in the ashtray beside him, snuffing out the last bit of smoldering heat with a soft laugh.

“Well, it’s better than them thinking you’re here because of your Name. At least they haven’t guessed that.”

He smiled and placed his free hand under her chin, gently lifting it.

“Don’t bother denying their assumptions. This face of yours is enough evidence for them.”

“Evidence?” Lirette asked, confused.

“They’ll assume I’m simply captivated by your beauty.”

His finger tilted her chin slightly higher, as if he were inspecting a prized object. Lirette felt uncomfortable with the gesture and instinctively turned her head away, slipping free of his grip.

But more than the physical discomfort, she was struck by Valderion’s relaxed response to the situation.

“Are you sure you’re fine with this?” she asked.

“With what?”

“Rumors spreading about you having a mistress.”

“And why would that be a problem?” he replied nonchalantly.

“Isn’t there a lady you’ve been engaged to?” Lirette asked, her voice steady yet inquisitive.

Valderion raised his eyebrows slightly, as if surprised to hear the question from her lips. He shifted his posture, trapping her between his legs while leaning back on one arm. His face, bathed in the soft glow of the light, remained emotionless, as if this was something completely irrelevant and not worth much attention.

“Well… You’re not exactly a commoner, but how can you be so naïve?” he said, his voice tinged with mild amusement.

“…”

“How many noble marriages in this world do you think are made for love?” His tone was indifferent, revealing how little importance he placed on the concept of marriage.

“That family only cares about me walking down the aisle as a Justitia. As long as I show up and fulfill the formality, nothing else matters to them.”

Was that really true?

Lirette doubted it. The expression she had seen on Lady Floyden’s face was vivid in her mind—overflowing with excitement and pure love. The woman had looked at Valderion like a sunflower gazing at the sun, her heart alight with passion.

Could Valderion really be oblivious to that?

No. Knowing how perceptive he was, Lirette believed he had noticed it long ago. He likely pretended not to see it to avoid complications, masking his indifference with the same poise and elegance that allowed him to brush off such matters.

His current attitude, dismissing the relationship as if it were nothing, was shameless enough to suggest that he had mastered the art of detachment. It was no wonder he could speak so lightly of deceiving someone.

“Still, there’s a thing called decency between people,” Lirette responded, trying to anchor the conversation back to moral ground.

The moment her words left her mouth, Valderion’s hand, which had been resting idly, suddenly lifted her skirt.

His fingers, firm and unfamiliar, traced her exposed knee.

“Decency?” he echoed, as if mocking the very concept.

“…”

“You realize this isn’t exactly the time to talk about decency, don’t you?” His tone was sharp, cutting through the air as his fingers glided further up her thigh. Lirette instinctively tried to move away, but he anticipated her reaction, his other hand firmly supporting her lower back, preventing her escape.

“It’s been less than a week since we made that deal,” he added in a firm, almost reprimanding tone.

Lirette bit down on her lower lip, forcing her body to stay still. Her instincts screamed at her to pull away, but she had to hold her ground.

A deal.

Yes, that had been their arrangement. It was a fragile truce, reached after days of heated arguments about how she would carry herself in these moments.

Lirette had loathed the idea of being held like a lover, while Valderion had insisted that he didn’t want her to hide herself behind veils or distance.

The compromise was this.

They would face each other but without clinging too closely.

The result was a delicate balance—close enough for tension to linger in the air, but not so close as to feel suffocated. Oddly enough, the space between them made things even more unbearable at times.

Lirette no longer unbuttoned the back of her dress, not since Valderion had started finding his way inside without hesitation. His hands no longer needed to roam down her spine; they moved elsewhere, exploring. While he could have wrapped his arms around her back, even that would have looked like she was willingly resting in his embrace, so this was the method they had settled on.

Her long skirt, which usually covered her legs modestly, was now haphazardly hitched up, swaying with each movement of his arm.

Valderion’s fingers traced lazily along her thigh where it met her knee, his touch precise and intimate enough to send a shiver down her spine.

“…Hmph.”

His hand slipped past her hip, brushing the curve of her waist before it landed near her lower back.

He was searching for the Name.

Each time his fingers brushed over the spot, a faint warmth spread through Lirette’s body, unbidden and infuriating.

It was a touch she despised—repulsive and invasive—yet she couldn’t deny how her nerves seemed to melt under his hand. It was the curse of the Name.

His touch stirred something deep within her, making her body react in ways that disgusted her. No matter how much she willed herself to remain calm, her face inevitably betrayed her feelings, her expression faltering under his persistent gaze.

It was humiliating.

Even more humiliating was the way Valderion observed her during these moments—his usual dispassionate demeanor giving way to a strange intensity. There was a focus in his eyes, as if her reactions were a source of twisted amusement for him.

Each time, Lirette felt the overwhelming tension of mixed emotions. While these sessions were necessary for her survival, they also felt like a constant assault on her dignity.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Valderion asked, his voice low as his fingers once again grazed the Name, now deeply familiar with its position.

His thumb pressed lightly into her skin, causing her face to contort slightly as she resisted the overwhelming sensations.

Lirette pushed against his shoulder, her face twisted like a crumpled flower petal. But Valderion’s other hand remained firmly against her waist, making it impossible to pull away completely.

Again, it turned into a quiet struggle, their bodies locked in a tense, unspoken battle.

“Let go of me!” Lirette demanded.

“Look at the time,” Valderion replied, his voice cold and unwavering.

“Just a little… just a moment is all I need!” she pleaded.

“If you keep resisting, you’re the one making this harder. You need to get used to it,” he stated, his tone brooking no argument.

His determination was unyielding, and with his hand firmly holding one of her legs, he pulled her closer, pressing her slender thigh against his waist.

In that fleeting moment, Lirette froze, feeling something hard against her knee. It was the undeniable sensation of the truth she had been trying to avoid, and her body locked up in response.