1.
Only then did Irene slowly raise her head. She saw Diego entering the drawing room, his shadow, Javier, trailing close behind him.
Irene opened and closed her eyes, a flicker of confusion clouding her expression as if she couldn’t fathom why he was here.
Their gazes collided.
“…….”
He was still a perfectly peeled potato. A potato shorn of every curve by a meticulous hand, devoid of a single flaw.
Unfortunately, Irene had no interest in perfection. Her eyes were only ever drawn to the broken and the wounded.
Like herself.
Diego’s gaze shifted effortlessly to the side.
“Thank you for the invitation, Baron Rios.”
The Baron offered an awkward, tight-lipped smile.
Could it truly be called an invitation? Who would dare refuse an offer from Grand Duke Cassis?
“It is an honor to host you, Your Grace.”
After a polite bow, the Baron gestured toward his son. “This is Lucas. He was unfortunately occupied with business during your banquet.”
“I am Lucas Rios, Your Grace.”
“A pleasure to meet you.”
As Lucas finished, Leticia stepped in as if she had been waiting for the cue. She caught the hem of her dress and curtsied with practiced grace.
“I am glad to see you again, Grand Duke Cassis.”
“And I, you, Miss Rios.”
Diego nodded, then his eyes flickered toward Irene. She had been tentatively lifting herself from her chair, and as their eyes met again, she froze mid-rise.
Diego’s smile softened, turning more tender than it had ever been.
“Two Miss Rioses. I shall refer to Miss Irene Rios simply as ‘Miss Irene.’”
Leticia’s eyes sharpened. It was a silent, piercing question: why the distinction in address?
But Diego’s focus remained locked on Irene. He reached out a hand, then paused, pulling it back with a faint, amused “Ah.”
Instead, his smile widened.
“It is a pleasure to meet you again, Miss Irene.”
“……Yes.”
Irene, having severed the thread of her spiraling thoughts, nodded a beat too late. Had she hesitated a moment longer, she would have lost the rhythm of the conversation entirely while lost in the definition of *pleasure*.
She felt not a shred of pleasure at his presence.
Fortunately, it seemed to be the expected response. No one challenged her, and Diego turned his attention back to the Baron.
Irene clenched her fist tightly beneath the table, a secret victory. It felt like one small, solid step toward becoming a normal person.
“Sit, Baron Rios.”
Even in his own home, the Baron deferred to Diego, who took the seat of honor. Javier stood behind the chair like a statue, while the others took their places.
“How long do you intend to stay in Therapia?” Leticia asked, her tone honeyed.
Diego replied with a picture-perfect smile.
“I have no fixed deadline. Now that I am here, I find the place more charming than I imagined. The scenery is tranquil, and it brings a certain peace to the heart.”
“It is true,” Leticia chimed in. “There is no place as peaceful as Therapia.”
As far as Irene knew, Leticia had never left the region, save for one brief visit to the capital two years ago.
How could she possibly know it was the most peaceful place on earth?
As Irene’s doubts deepened, Lucas jumped into the conversation.
“Do you enjoy fishing, Your Grace?”
“I enjoy it as much as anyone.”
“There is a river here famous for its mullet. If it pleases you, I would be honored to show you.”
“I shall consider it.”
Diego possessed an uncanny ability to read the atmosphere. He was quick-witted, his eyes instantly noting the strange, rigid distance between the family and Irene. They were like oil and water; Irene drifted in the periphery, unable to blend.
Suddenly, a memory from the banquet surfaced. Diego had called out to Baron Rios, his smile charming yet sharp:
—*Would you invite me to the Rios estate?*
The Baron had looked stunned, as did everyone else. The other viscounts, who had failed to secure an invitation, watched with open envy and malice. The Baron had spoken with extreme caution.
—*It is not a place worthy of being called an estate. It is too humble for Your Grace.*
—*What does that matter? As long as the company is good, that is enough. I find comfort even in a tent on a battlefield, so please, do not be concerned.*
With such a declaration, there was no room for refusal. And in truth, the Baron had no desire to refuse. Even the most naive person knew that a connection to Grand Duke Cassis was a lifeline beyond measure.
Ignoring the bitter gazes of his peers, the Baron had bowed.
—*Yes, Your Grace. I am honored to serve—*
—*Can Miss Rios attend as well?*
The Baron had paused, confused, before glancing at his daughter. He saw the fire of ambition in Leticia’s eyes, and she nodded frantically.
The Baron returned his gaze to Diego, a realization dawning on him. The rumors of the Grand Duke being a playboy—he had clearly fallen for his daughter at first sight.
—*Why, of course…*
—*It would be best to schedule it on the Lord’s Day to avoid interfering with her studies. Would you not agree?*
—*……Yes? Studies, you say?*
The Baron’s face stiffened. The realization finally hit him: he had misidentified which ‘Miss Rios’ the Duke was interested in.
—*If you are referring to Irene, that child does not return during the semester.*
Diego raised an eyebrow, knowing exactly when to pull and when to push.
—*Is that so? Then, I am afraid I shall have to call off the invitation.*
He turned his head toward a waiting baronet, showing not a shred of regret.
Leticia, biting her lips, spoke up urgently.
—*I will call Irene, Your Grace.*
He had anticipated as much. The surprise was that it was the daughter, not the father, who bit the bait. He understood the motivation, of course.
—*Leti.*
The Baron had tried to restrain her, but Leticia ignored him, staring only at Diego.
—*One letter will be enough to have her come running.*
—*Very well.*
Diego nodded, the matter settled, and returned his attention to the baronet.
Count Rodri, who had watched the entire exchange, leaned in close, whispering into Diego’s ear.
—*There is a rumor regarding Miss Irene Rios.*
Diego moved only his eyes, signaling his permission.
—*The rumor is that she is a daughter the Baron sired outside of his marriage.*
Diego remained silent. He had no interest in gossip. But the Count, desperate to stay in his favor, prattled on.
—*The Baron is a local. I know everything about him. But one day, he suddenly had an eight-year-old daughter. Lucas was ten, and Leticia was five. He never brought Irene to worship or banquets. People whispered—was she a bastard? Was he wary of the Baroness?*
An illegitimate child.
As Diego showed a flicker of interest, the Count spilled the rest.
—*The strange thing is, immediately after bringing Irene here, the Baron bought a ranch. Despite his only assets being the house we stand in and a shack on the outskirts. They claimed a distant relative left him property, but one has to wonder.*
The Count shook his head, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss.
—*For years, rumors swirled. Some said her mother died leaving a fortune, or that she gave the child away to reclaim her freedom. By now, even the name ‘Irene’ has been forgotten by the town.*
Waking from the memory, Diego stared at the emotionless Irene. Amidst a family dressed in their finest, she sat in a faded, worn-out dress.
*My, this is something,* he thought. *It’s not even a clever deception.*
In the capital, even a child knew how to cloak their baseness in elegance. But the Rios family didn’t even bother. Or perhaps, the cruelty had become so chronic they had forgotten it was a thing that needed hiding.
“…….”
Diego’s gaze traveled slowly—past the frayed fabric of her dress, to her gloved hands, her rounded shoulders, the slender line of her neck, and finally, to her small, silent face.