Ethan Christopher slipped off his coat and draped it over my shoulders. He was surprisingly thoughtful in moments like these.
“Maid, Vincent shouldn’t live like this. He may look the part now, but he is the Master of the Bellunita Count’s House. You might be able to delay the inevitable, but eventually, the rumors will spread. If he remains like this, he will only invite his own ruin. Once the truth comes to light, the nobility will be desperate to drag him from his position.”
“Master is trying.”
“It’s not enough. He must try harder. He needs to stand on his own, because he is a man who must walk alone eventually.”
The lamp cast a glow over Ethan Christopher’s face, softening his features but highlighting the trace of sadness in his expression.
“Vincent knows. He knows he can’t live like this forever, yet he turns a blind eye. That’s a mistake. A life without change is like stagnant water. Time flows, the world shifts—how can he remain frozen in place? Whether he wants to or not, he must accept the change. I don’t want Vincent to die.”
“You are harsh.”
“If my harshness helps him change, so be it. I believe someone like me is necessary for him right now.”
“You are kind, too.”
Ethan Christopher turned his head, and I caught a glimpse of his anguish in his wavering eyes.
“You are willing to play the villain for his sake. That means you care deeply for him. You are kind.”
“To Vincent, I am nothing but a blackmailer.”
“That is true.”
It was a statement of simple fact, and at that, Ethan Christopher laughed softly.
“But you said you were friends.”
“I did.”
“Then he must know why you’ve made these choices. Since you are friends, I believe you know his heart well.”
Ethan Christopher watched over Vincent, pushing him, playing the villain to force a shift. It wasn’t a noble act in the traditional sense, but it was born of pure concern. Watching him, I finally grasped what a friend was: someone with whom you could share a mutual care that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. He had demonstrated that to me.
I suspected Vincent felt the same. That was likely why he let Ethan Christopher’s blackmail slide with nothing more than the occasional swing of his cane, and why he tried so hard to hide his nightly nightmares from everyone else.
“I agree with your sentiment. One cannot live like this forever. As a servant, I, too, hope that Master will change.”
I trailed off. Did I really? I was hired to serve the stagnant Vincent. If he changed, if he overcame his present state… would my usefulness simply disappear?
I chuckled. It was a concern for a distant future, so it didn’t quite hit home yet.
“Maid, do you think he will change?”
“Yes.”
“You’re confident.”
“Because it is something I can be sure of.”
He was changing, little by little, even now.
“And, upon reflection, I don’t think so.”
“About what?”
“That you are a bad person. Truly bad people don’t admit to being bad.”
Truly wicked people believed they were righteous and blind to their own faults. The people I had known before were like that—superior, magnificent, and convinced that exploiting others was their natural right.
Ethan Christopher asked with a blank expression.
“…Why do you think that?”
“The other servants say you are a very good person.”
I crinkled the corners of my eyes.
“Though, truthfully, I think ‘bad person’ is more accurate.”
The side he showed me was no different from a villain’s, was it? As I shrugged, Ethan Christopher’s eyes curved, and I heard a laugh filled with genuine amusement. It sounded different than usual.
“Have you thought about your wish?”
“A wish?”
“I said I would grant you one if you made Vincent take even one step out of his room.”
Ah, the wager. I had nearly forgotten.
“Ask for anything. I’m quite capable, you know.”
Ethan Christopher said it with such ease that, after a moment of consideration, I reached out my hand.
“Then, be my partner.”
“A partner?”
“A relationship where we help one another.”
I had a feeling our paths would continue to cross. He was Vincent’s friend, after all. They said bad ties were the most tenacious—if I couldn’t avoid him, I would rather clash with him or, better yet, keep him on my side. His personality was questionable, but he knew Vincent well, and he did boast of his competence.
Ethan Christopher blinked at my outstretched hand. I pushed it toward him.
“I want to stay here for a long time. Please, help me.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I have nowhere to return to.”
“…”
He pondered for a moment. Then, as if he had made up his mind, he nodded and took my hand.
“A partnership. That’s not bad.”
We shook hands, and I squeezed his fingers firmly. He did the same in return.
“Maid, you have gained an excellent collaborator. People like me—capable, from a solid family, and with a decent personality—are rare.”
“…That is truly an honor.”
“You have no sincerity in your words.”
“How could that be?”
As I feigned innocence, he laughed again. I let go of his hand and looked out the window. The moon, casting its noble light into the darkness, was beautiful again tonight.
The next day, I saw Ethan Christopher off as he left the Count’s House with Isabella. Vincent, naturally, did not emerge. Ethan Christopher, wearing his top hat just as he had on our first meeting, shared a brief farewell with Isabella and approached me.
“I’m sorry for being difficult.”
“It is fine.”
I wanted to scold him, but I refrained in front of the others. As if reading my heart, Ethan Christopher smiled mischievously.
“Since you treated me so well, Maid, I suppose I shall have to visit often.”
He was hateful to the very end. I waved my hand behind Isabella’s back, signaling him to leave. He laughed briefly and headed for his carriage.
Just as he was about to board, a sudden question struck me. Risking the breach of decorum, I hurried after him.
“Excuse me, Ethan Christopher.”
He turned back.
“Did you send letters to Master often?”
“Letters?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose I have sent quite a few recently.”
“Ah, then…”
I hesitated before continuing.
“Did you, by any chance, write them with gold ink?”
“…”
He blinked. I gulped, waiting in the silence. Could it really be him? The person I had been corresponding with?
‘I see buds have sprouted on the branch.’
The words he’d said previously came back to me. It had been a passing remark, but it lingered because it had been the content of a reply I’d written. The gold-inked letters had stopped arriving the moment he arrived at the mansion.
But he shook his head.
“No. I wrote with black ink.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
It was a firm reply. My shoulders slumped.
“I see.”
“Is something the matter?”
“No. It is nothing.”
I composed myself and shook my head. He shot me a curious look, but I turned the conversation away. He laughed it off and finally boarded his carriage.
As I watched them depart, I caught a glimpse of Vincent standing in the window of the top floor. But just as quickly, the curtains were drawn. I stared at the window for a long moment before turning away.
Not long after, Ethan Christopher returned, bringing yet another guest with him.
* * *
The gold-inked letters, which had ceased for a time, arrived again. This time, they came with a small container of tea leaves.
[The scent is good.]
It was a subtle, sweet fragrance. It would be even better brewed. With that in mind, I got permission from Isabella to prepare the tea and brought it to Vincent Bellunita.
“It’s black tea from Nobelle.”
“How did you know?”
The name was on the canister, but his immediate recognition was fascinating. Vincent Bellunita sipped the tea.
“It’s one I used to enjoy. Where did you get it?”
“I received it as a gift.”
“I see.”
Watching him sip it again and again, it was clear he liked it. What a wonderful gift. As I poured more into his empty cup, I decided I would bring this out every time he threw a tantrum. I definitely owed the sender a thank-you note.
“From now on, just use your fists instead. It’s a waste.”
I said, gesturing toward the gaping, broken window beyond the door. I didn’t understand the compulsion to shatter things, but he didn’t seem to care, calmly continuing his tea.
“Don’t worry about useless things. More importantly, from now on, if Ethan Christopher comes, don’t let him in. Kick him out. Have the servants throw him out if you have to.”
“Yes?”
It was a sudden, sharp command. His tone was so nonchalant I wondered if I’d heard him correctly.
“Why? Do you dislike it when Christopher comes, Master?”
“I do.”
I had asked lightly, but the answer came back cold and immediate. It made their interaction yesterday—the bickering, the letter-writing—seem meaningless. They claimed to be friends. Why did he dislike him so much?
It felt like there was a specific reason. Sensing my suspicion, he added:
“It’s not that I dislike Ethan Christopher.”
“Then what is it?”
“I dislike that family.”
“The Christopher family? Is there a reason?”
He set the teacup down with a sharp clatter and handed it to me. I took it, bewildered. He pulled the sheets up and flopped onto the bed, his eyes, framed by messy golden hair, sinking into a dark shadow.
“Master?”
“It’s nothing.”
“…….”
“That family is the one who made me like this.”
The confession was delivered with a composure that was, in its own way, terrifying.