Merdi’s eyes widened.
Feeling as though she were being punished for no reason, a defiant spark lit her eyes.
“Why should I obey such an unreasonable order?”
“Because people strive for things they desperately want.”
Merdi drew a sharp, incredulous breath.
“So you weren’t trying to help me relax.
You were looking for something to hold over my head.”
“You have a twisted way of seeing things.”
“Isn’t my brother’s debt enough leverage for you?
As you said, I’ll never be able to repay that amount in my lifetime.”
He met her hostile gaze without flinching.
In fact, he seemed to relish her reaction, his posture growing even more relaxed.
“People are often swayed more by what they love than by what they fear.
In your case, it seems the things you like are a far more potent motivator than debt.”
As he spoke, a faint smile played on his lips.
To Merdi, that pristine smile was the very image of a devil in an angel’s mask.
“So, I suggest you try.
Who knows?
If you come to my bed of your own accord and admit this was all an act, I might just let the sheep loose in your bedroom instead of the hut.”
Rage burned across Merdi’s face.
She bitterly regretted her enthusiastic chatter about the book.
The most terrifying part was knowing that as long as she was with this man, her life would be a constant cycle of turning pale with fear and red with fury.
To survive, she couldn’t react to his every word.
‘But right now, I can’t bear it.’
If she tried to endure this out of sheer stubbornness, she knew she would end up breaking down in tears in front of this cruel man.
Ignoring the heat rising in her head, Merdi shot to her feet.
“If you’ve said all you have to say, I’ll be taking my leave.”
Clifton raised his now-tepid teacup.
“By all means.”
The moment permission was granted, she fled the office.
She left, closing the door with a soft ‘thud’ behind her.
Once in the hallway, Merdi finally exhaled the breath she had been holding.
Her forehead was still burning.
Clifton, who had lifted the teacup as if to drain it, paused.
He stared into the cool liquid before setting it silently back on its saucer.
Merdi’s face, flushed as red as the tea, had flashed in his mind.
He’d already heard about the commotion between her and Vivian Melvitch a few days ago—how a routine excursion had gone awry, causing quite the disturbance.
He knew without asking that Margaret wouldn’t have let the incident slide.
His fiancée, it seemed, had a surprisingly defiant streak hidden beneath her mild, timid exterior.
Clifton found that trait… bothersome.
It was one thing for her to lash out at an enemy, but there was no guarantee that arrow wouldn’t one day be aimed at him.
Clifton wanted to break her spirit, and early.
He needed to ensure she wouldn’t dare turn on him, using her unpayable debt as a reason to stab him in the back.
Using the sheep as leverage was a means to that end.
And ridiculously, the trivial ploy seemed to have worked.
Even so, his expression remained grim.
The image of Merdi’s face as she left—her struggle to contain her roiling anger—lingered in his thoughts.
‘For all I know, she’s running to that young stableman right now, crying on his shoulder about what happened today.’
At that thought, Clifton’s mouth twisted into a cold line.
He would never allow that to happen.
‘You dare scar my life and then attempt to find your own happiness?’
Unforgivable.
He would bind her to him so thoroughly she could think of nothing else.
There was no repeat of the day she’d demanded an annulment.
Perhaps if he could finally see those transparent eyes shatter, this foul mood of his would lift.
But if she behaved, he was prepared to show some consideration.
There was no need to waste energy on such trivial matters.
As his turbulent thoughts settled, Clifton asked a maid to bring him a cup of coffee.
The rich aroma filled the office, and he leaned back, his posture relaxing as he lowered his gaze.
Rooibos tea was not to his taste.
Its flavor was faint compared to the bitter brew he usually preferred; he saw little reason to drink it.
“Shall I clear this cup, sir?” the maid asked, indicating the one Merdi had used.
Clifton didn’t answer immediately, his eyes fixed on the teacup she had left behind.
The cooled Rooibos tea remained inside.
Its taste was softer, fainter than coffee or black tea, but the faintly tart aftertaste was… a bit like Merdi herself.
Shaking off the trivial sentiment, Clifton gave a cool nod.
“Clear it.”
The maid curtsied and disappeared with the cup.
Clifton took a sip of his coffee and opened the day’s newspaper, his eyes landing on the date.
One week.
In one week, articles announcing the postponement of his wedding would plaster the front page of every paper.
Clifton wasn’t one to regret a decision once it was made, but the thought of the stares and questions he’d have to endure already gave him a headache.
He took another sip of coffee, as if to wash the troublesome thoughts away.
The bitter, intense flavor erased the lingering trace of Rooibos from his palate.
Bathed in the warm morning sun, the garden of the Whitby Ducal Estate was as peaceful as ever.
Spring had painted the grounds in shades of green, and the parasol and table set upon the fresh lawn looked like a postcard from a holiday resort.
Beneath the parasol, two women were already seated, enjoying the ripe spring morning.
Vivian Melvitch set down her teacup.
“I heard the party for the fifth anniversary of Whitby Corporation was held a few days ago.
I’m terribly sorry I was unable to attend, Lady Olivia.”
“It’s quite alright.
You had your reasons, Miss Melvitch,” Olivia, the only daughter of the Duke of Whitby, replied, offering a gentle smile.
“As I knew you would, you understand completely,” Vivian said, her expression one of profound relief, as if she’d received the deepest consolation.
She then lowered her eyes, her face falling into a sullen pout.
“As you said, these past few days have been dreadfully difficult.
To be entangled in a ridiculous ghost-painting scandal… my entire family has been forced to waste time and energy refuting those absurd allegations.”
Had a more salacious scoop not appeared to eclipse the ghost-painting scandal, Olivia mused, Vivian would have suffered far greater humiliation.
But she kept the thought to herself, soothing her guest with practiced elegance.
“Do not worry yourself, Miss Melvitch.
People who enjoy gossip are everywhere.
This time, your family was simply the unlucky target.”
Vivian gazed at her as if she were a benevolent saint.
“How can one person be so kind?”
Olivia Whitby merely smiled.
In truth, such excessive praise was nothing new to her.
The Whitby Ducal Estate always had many guests, and dealing with them on behalf of her busy father and brother was one of Olivia’s daily tasks.
It would be a lie to say it wasn’t a bother, but with the Whitby name growing more renowned through their successful business ventures, Olivia wanted to do her part.
That effort included the tedious task of listening to the whinging of guests from connected families.
At first, it had been burdensome and exhausting, but over time, it became a familiar routine.
She had learned to smile quietly, passing no judgment on how pathetic their complaints were.
“This misfortune never would have befallen us if it weren’t for that wench, Merdi Langlen.”
Vivian’s eyes suddenly flashed with anger.
Unlike the previous topic, this one held a flicker of interest for Olivia, who leaned in with a look of concern.
“I heard there was some commotion involving Miss Merdi Langlen…
what exactly happened?”
“She was the one who spread the rumor that I used a ghost-painter!
That girl deserves divine punishment.
So depraved—to tell such a brazen lie right after returning from church!
She completely ruined our tea time!” Vivian huffed, the memory clearly still galling her.
However, Olivia offered little reaction, seemingly lost in thought.
“Is that so?”
“I wonder if Grand Duke Clifton knows what that wench is truly like.
She may have a pretty face, but inside, she’s a devil consumed by envy and jealousy.”
Vivian, who had been spewing venom about Merdi, suddenly relaxed her scowl into a sly smile.
“Then again, perhaps he already knows.
That must be why the Greenfield Grand Ducal Estate suddenly postponed the wedding.”