I should have told him this morning.
She knew delaying was pointless, but the words would not come.
He was a sharp boy; he would sense that something was wrong, that she was hiding something important.
Tonight, she resolved.
I have to tell him tonight, before his imagination runs wild.
The carriage moved smoothly through the city until it stopped before the main gates of the Weimar Mansion.
The heavy iron gates swung open, and the carriage glided through, coming to a halt before the main building.
Johanna fidgeted anxiously until the coachman opened her door.
“We have arrived, Miss Lucerne.”
She stepped out carefully, squinting against the brilliant morning sun.
As she raised a hand to shield her eyes, an elegantly dressed elderly woman approached her side.
“Welcome, Miss Lucerne.
We have been expecting you.
I am Annette, the housekeeper of Weimar Mansion.
These are Nella, Lena, and Michelle, the lady’s maids who will be attending you today.”
Three young women in tasteful, high-quality dresses curtsied.
They all appeared to be in their early twenties.
“If you will please follow me.”
How many of them know the truth?
Johanna wondered as she followed Annette.
Victoria said only the Marquis’s closest confidants were aware of the contract.
Does Annette know?
But the housekeeper’s demeanor remained impeccably polite, revealing nothing.
She was led to a large bathroom, where a white marble tub steamed with warm water.
“First, we will assist you with your bath,” Annette announced.
“Afterward, we will tend to your hair and skin.”
It was then that Johanna understood.
She was being made presentable, polished and perfected so she would not tarnish the Marquis’s side.
The logic was sound, but it left a bitter taste in her mouth.
She was bathed, her hair was brushed with a perfumed comb, and her skin was softened with rosewater and oil.
Then, she was dressed in a white blouse with an abundance of lace and a matching white skirt that flared out like a mermaid’s tail, its hem delicately traced with the same.
Over the blouse, they placed a light, sky-blue silk bolero fastened with a sapphire brooch.
Her hair was swept into a neat updo, and a pearl-adorned hat was placed carefully upon her head.
The satin pumps were adorned with a constellation of tiny crystals.
When her makeup was finally complete, she stood before the mirror and stared at the stranger looking back at her.
Is this how Cinderella felt, she wondered, in the first moments of her fairy godmother’s magic?
From that room to her unknown destination, Johanna’s heart refused to quiet its frantic rhythm.
She was led to the first-floor drawing room, where a man sat in an armchair by the window, skimming a newspaper with an air of profound boredom.
His gaze lifted, pinning her in place.
He set the paper aside, interlaced his fingers, and let his eyes sweep over her in a slow, deliberate appraisal.
They lingered on her face for several long seconds before a detached voice, utterly devoid of emotion, broke the silence.
“You are passable, I suppose,” Leonid remarked.
A phantom of a smile brushed his lips before vanishing like a mirage.
He rose from his seat, the luxurious fabric of his coat draping elegantly over his frame.
He was, she had to concede, devastatingly handsome.
“Shall we go, then?” he prompted, extending a gloved hand.
Johanna hesitated for a breath before placing her own hand in his.
He guided her from the room with a practiced ease as smooth as flowing water.
Just before the door swung open, she drew a long, steadying breath and repeated the mantra in her mind.
The only bridge between us is this contract.
I will not be moved.
I will not allow myself to feel a thing.
*
The city’s thoroughfares were teeming with life, a river of nobles with far too much time and money on their hands, all out for a day of leisure.
The carriage, emblazoned with the Neuwitz family crest, drew to a halt before the grand opera house.
They were attending a performance today, not an exhibition, and as it was Johanna’s first opera, a nervous excitement sent a flush across her cheeks.
“Head up.
Back straight,” Leonid commanded quietly.
“And stop being so nervous.”
“Yes,” she managed to reply.
Her body was rigid, her posture and gait as stiff as a marionette’s.
She could not stop her eyes from darting to the ground, unnerved by the countless stares that had followed her from the moment she stepped out of the carriage.
“They take far too much interest in other people’s affairs,” he muttered, his voice laced with irritation.
Johanna stole a furtive glance at him.
He seemed merely displeased, utterly unaffected by the attention.
She forced her gaze upward, fighting the urge to hide.
The reality of the situation was surreal: she was walking arm-in-arm with her first love, a man who barely tolerated her existence.
Leonid’s personal secretary had reserved a private balcony box with a perfect, unobstructed view of the stage.
It offered the best vantage point in the house, along with the priceless benefit of privacy.
Johanna sank gingerly into a sofa so plush she feared she might drift off to sleep.
A thick velvet curtain hung behind them, and walls flanked either side, leaving their view open only to the stage below.
Even after they had taken their seats, a few people—brazen in their curiosity—kept glancing their way, whispering behind their hands.
It was painfully obvious what they were discussing.
A moment later, the entire theater plunged into darkness, leaving only a single beam of light illuminating the stage.
The overture swelled, beginning with a gentle violin melody that gradually grew in grandeur as other instruments joined in harmony.
An actor stepped forward, his mouth opening to sing.
Johanna lifted the opera glasses to her eyes and lost herself in the performance.
*
Much to her embarrassment, she had cried.
Long after the final curtain fell, Johanna was still dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, worried she had ruined her makeup.
She pulled a small mirror from her handbag and was relieved to find her reflection still intact.
“What on earth was so sad that you felt the need to cry?” Leonid asked.
He sat beside her, legs crossed, regarding her as if she were some bizarre spectacle.
Johanna met his gaze with an equally baffled expression.
What was so sad?
The protagonist had suffered his entire life only to die in the end.
How could one not feel sad?
“It is a tragedy,” she stated simply.
“It is a stale story that was popular a hundred and fifty years ago.”
“That is what people call a classic,” she retorted before she could stop herself.
One of Leonid’s eyebrows arched.
Realizing her slip, Johanna quickly looked away and smoothed down her dress.
“I thought you were a coward, but it seems you know how to talk back.”
“I am not… a coward.”
“Then why do you shrink away from me?
You always cower in my presence.”
Johanna could not answer, her lips parting with no sound.
She was weak before him because she loved him.
As long as she harbored these feelings, she would always be at a disadvantage.
But she knew that revealing even a fraction of that truth would lead to utter ruin, so she offered a plausible lie instead.
“…I am the subordinate party in this contract,” she said, her voice steady.
“It is only natural that I am mindful of my employer.”
Leonid nodded, his expression unreadable.
He accepted her explanation with an ease that suggested he had never given her a moment of deep thought in the first place.
“If you are finished, get up.
I have no desire to waste another ten minutes in here.” He rose first, his gaze falling upon her, as cold and empty as a winter sky.
They had just stepped out of the box when they saw him—a handsome man with a flamboyant air, leaning against the corridor wall.
When he spotted them, his face broke into a smile as radiant as a blossoming flower, and he approached with light, quick steps.
“Marquis Neuwitz!”
A dizzyingly potent pheromone washed over them.
The man was an Omega—and from the sheer strength of his scent, a Dominant one.
“It has been far too long!
I thought you had lost interest in the opera… And to think, you are not even here alone today…”
“Contain your pheromones,” Leonid’s icy voice snapped, cutting the man off as his eyes flickered toward Johanna.
“What is this vulgar display?”
Despite being hit with the full force of a Dominant Omega’s scent, Leonid’s face was a mask of pure disgust, not arousal.
“Ah, my apologies.
My heat is due soon… It has been difficult to control lately.”
“If you cannot control it, you should not be out in public.”
“J-Just now, it was only because of you… That is the only reason…”
The words were a thinly veiled confession.
Even Johanna, a complete stranger to the man, understood his meaning.
There was no doubt Leonid did as well.
Yet his response to the open admiration was nothing short of brutal.
“Young Duke Vantwood, do you take me for a fool?”
“What?
No, I…”
“I believe I have made myself clear.
Do not approach me with such filthy intentions.”
“That is not it!
Filthy intentions…”
“Even if I were desperate for a rut partner, I would not sleep with you,” Leonid spat, his voice laced with an intimidating pressure.
“When someone has told you the same thing more than ten times, you should learn to take the hint.”
The Young Duke flinched, stumbling back a step.
The color drained from his face, and his eyes swam with unshed tears.
The Omega’s eyes, red-rimmed and raw, stared at the Alpha who had just so mercilessly crushed his heart.