Kwon Hye-yul, her long hair neatly braided into two plaits, was dressed in beige overalls and a loose T-shirt. On her feet—smaller than the palm of my hand—she wore tiny children’s slippers. She was certainly an alpha, but since she hadn’t manifested yet, there was no trace of pheromones from her.

“...Uh... hi.”

I reflexively greeted her with a warm smile. So she was already here. That fact alone caught me off guard. If we hadn’t crossed paths now, I might have spent the whole time in my room without even knowing she was around.

“We’ve met before, do you remember?”

When I stepped onto the second floor, her gaze followed me. She looked a lot like her mother, Kwon Ikyung, and just from her eyes I could see a resemblance to Kwon Yido as well. Yet with that same face, she simply stared at me silently, saying nothing.

“....”

“...What?”

Maybe she was upset because I spoke informally? That thought made me ask again, but Hye-yul didn’t answer. She simply pressed her lips together, turned her back to me, and before I could stop her, hurried up the stairs to the third floor.

***

I already knew from Yido that Hye-yul was shy around strangers. At the engagement ceremony, hadn’t she turned her head away the moment our eyes met? It wasn’t my first time meeting a shy child, so I thought I was prepared.

“....”

“....”

But I hadn’t expected her to keep her head down the entire meal without saying a single word. Even while eating hamburger steak drizzled with sweet sauce, she didn’t so much as glance my way. The way she quietly chewed and swallowed made me think she might be more comfortable if I simply left the table.

“Uh... Hye-yul-ah.”

I set my fork down and cautiously started. She lifted her head slowly, her posture perfectly straight. The resemblance to Kwon Ikyung was clear, and perhaps because of it, she looked sharp and clever for her age.

“Your uncle will be here around five.”

At seven years old, did children have a clear sense of time? Assistant Manager Yoon’s son couldn’t read a clock with hands, but Hye-yul probably understood. Even if she didn’t, it didn’t really matter.

“So what will you do until your uncle gets here?”

She frowned slightly, glancing between me and the table. My attempt at conversation seemed to make her uncomfortable, but she wasn’t about to leave her food unfinished. I felt a little guilty, but my desire to at least make my face known was stronger.

“Your uncle says you like looking at paintings.”

“...Yes. I’m going to look at paintings again.”

Finally, her young voice replied. Thinking of the paintings said to belong to Yido, I deliberately named another artist.

“Paintings... like Van Gogh?”

“No.”

She shook her head and lowered her gaze back to the table, answering softly while spearing the remaining half of her hamburger steak.

“Not Van Gogh. Monet’s.”

The so-called Kwon Yido collection included works by famous painters from all over the world—Gauguin, Chagall, Picasso, and the just-mentioned Monet.

Most were stored in a museum owned by the Seonho Foundation, but three carefully chosen pieces were displayed in his home. Hye-yul had probably come to see those.

“Do you like Monet’s paintings best?”

“Yes, they’re the coolest.”

Once we got onto the topic of her favorite art, her answers came easily. The moment she said it, a particular painting came to mind—a dense oil painting of water lilies floating on a blue-green pond.

“....”

Nothing strange about that. Monet’s most iconic works were the water lilies. But why was it that, out of so many in the series, only one specific painting appeared in my mind as if I’d seen it before?

“Then, when you go to see it later, can I look with you?”

I pushed away that odd sense of familiarity and asked her lightly. At my suggestion, she hesitated briefly, then nodded with a firm, decided expression.

“But you can’t talk.”

“Okay, I got it.”

“If you’re noisy, it’ll ruin the experience, so you have to be quiet.”

“Mm, I’ll be quiet.”

Adorably, she kept listing rules for me until the meal ended, even fixing me with mock sternness in her eyes. She must really love art. I had to promise her five times that I understood, and when the meal was over, I even hooked my pinky with hers to swear I’d behave.

“Don’t run, Hye-yul-ah. You’ll fall.”

After brushing her teeth, she bounded up the stairs with a light step, her braids bouncing like rabbit ears with every movement. Why were children even cute when they moved? Before I knew it, we were at the door of the room with the paintings.

“Shh.”

She shushed me again. I didn’t want to laugh at such a serious moment, but the finger pressed to her lips was so cute I felt my mouth twitch. She grasped the doorknob with her small hand, eased the door open, and slipped inside.

“....”

It was a gallery-like space with a glass ceiling. Monet’s painting was in the center, flanked by two others. I stepped forward blankly, my eyes locked on the painting before me.

“Really...”

It really was water lilies.

“This is Monet’s.”

The canvas was ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) wider than my outstretched arms. In a blue-green pond, lily pads and flowers floated serenely.

I had never seen it before, and it had never been shown in the media. Even someone as indifferent to art as Yido must have recognized its value instantly to have bought it.

So why did it feel familiar to me? Why could I picture it so clearly, as though I had once seen it with my own eyes?

“...Why?”

Perhaps my dazed expression seemed odd, because Hye-yul asked quietly. When I didn’t answer, she looked at me with round eyes and repeated, curious,

“Do you like Monet too, oppa?”

“...Huh?”

I suppose I should be grateful—that question snapped me out of my thoughts. Oppa? What a strangely guilt-inducing form of address. I glanced down at her, scratching my cheek awkwardly.

“Not oppa, you should call me uncle.”

“But... I only have one uncle.”

She pouted—not whining, but as if deep in thought. After a long, serious moment, she suddenly looked up at me again.

“So, do you like Monet?”

“...Yeah, I guess I do.”

I wasn’t much of an art lover, but it was hard to ignore that bright, expectant gaze. When I nodded, her eyes widened in genuine delight.

“Really?”

“....”

I shouldn’t lie to kids, but now I’d have to start liking Monet—or at least this particular painting.

“When I was little, I went to a museum in Paris, and there were water lilies hanging on a round wall there.”

Though she’d told me to be quiet, she started her story in an excited voice. The image of her being “little” at her current age of seven was amusing—what, maybe six years old?

“In a room bigger than this one, it was all water lilies from over there to here.”

That must have been the Musée de l’Orangerie in Paris. I’d never been, but I’d heard of it many times.

“....”

Or... had I never heard of it?

“It was so cool that I asked Mom to buy it for me, but she said she couldn’t.”

“You asked her to buy that?”

“Yes. When I go to galleries with Mom, she buys me one painting I pick.”

She spoke clearly, though the word “gallery” came out in perfect native pronunciation. Then she rolled her eyes and carefully tugged at my collar.

“If you like water lilies, can’t you buy the one there?”

“...Mm.”

If Kwon Ikyung couldn’t, I probably couldn’t either—not just because of the price, but for ethical reasons. Even if I did bring it home, I wouldn’t be able to take proper care of it.

“If we brought it here, other people wouldn’t be able to see it, right?”

I kept my tone gentle, wanting to give her a reason she could accept rather than just refusing.

“We can go to Paris and see it whenever we want, but for a beautiful painting like that, isn’t it better to leave it in a museum so others can enjoy it too?”

“Then we can put it in the Hye-yul Museum.”

“....”

That stopped me short. She looked at me steadily as she explained,

“Paris is too far, and flying is hard, so if it’s in the Hye-yul Museum, we can see it and other people can too.”

I had clearly underestimated a seven-year-old. There was no counterargument to such tidy logic. So, knowing it wasn’t right, I gently shifted the responsibility.

“Then, when your uncle gets here, should we talk to him about it?”

“With Uncle?”

“Yeah. Let’s hear what he thinks, and then you can tell him your idea. How’s that?”

My apologies, Kwon Yido. I offered the thought silently. As someone who regularly played with his niece, he’d surely know how to navigate this without trouble. I couldn’t bring myself to flatly refuse her.

“Uncle’s coming at five, so there are four hours left.”

Thankfully, she nodded without complaint. Apparently, she did have a solid sense of time—and could even calculate the remaining hours.

“Hye-yul, when you visit, do you just look at paintings until your uncle comes?”

“No. I go to the study to read, eat snacks, and take naps in Uncle’s room.”

She ticked each activity off on her fingers, looking adorable. She spent her time well enough alone, though she didn’t look particularly happy about it. Likely, she got bored waiting for Yido to arrive.

“What about you? What do you do until Uncle comes home?”

“Told you, not oppa...”

I chuckled helplessly. “Uncle” was far preferable to “mister,” but still. I let my eyes drift to the paintings on the wall as I replied slowly,

“Pretty much the same as you. I read, eat, sometimes go for walks.”

“That sounds boring...”

Even she, kind as she was, pitied me for being alone here. I smiled faintly and asked,

“Hye-yul, do you like flowers?”

This time, the greenhouse table was set for tea. It was usually flower tea, but today, perhaps for Hye-yul’s sake, there was a sweet fruit tea with strawberries, along with soft butter cookies fit for a child’s taste.

Lee Taeseong, who had followed us silently, stood with his hands clasped behind him at the greenhouse door. I’d wondered if Hye-yul might be intimidated, but she showed no discomfort around men in black suits. Then again, as the only child of that Kwon Ikyung, she’d probably seen her share of bodyguards.

“When did this get here?”

“The greenhouse?”

“Yes. It wasn’t here before...”

She cradled the teacup in both hands, rolling her eyes as she studied the flowers and the lights overhead. Then, in an unexpectedly serious tone,

“It must be hard to water all these flowers...”

“....”

Once again, I thought—seven was older than I gave it credit for. Sometimes she seemed more thoughtful than many adults, her speech and vocabulary not far off either.

“It smells like you in here.”

She sniffed the air and said this. I brought my hand to my nose, wondering what scent she meant, but she scrunched her brow and murmured,

“A flower smell... like white flowers.”

“...Flowers?”

Maybe it was from working with fragrance materials today. But the scent I’d been learning wasn’t floral. As I blinked in puzzlement, she nodded earnestly.

“Mom smells like sunlight, Dad smells like paint. And Uncle smells like wood.”

“....”

It was a simple description, but she was probably talking about pheromones. The scent she said Yido had certainly wasn’t perfume—he rarely wore any, and certainly not woody types.

Of course, as an alpha, it wasn’t strange for her to sense pheromones even before manifestation. I’d caught faint whiffs before my first heat, too. The problem was that she said I smelled like flowers.

....

How long until my next heat? It was probably soon, but with the irregularity, I couldn’t be sure. I’d have to stay alert—I couldn’t let her see me in a state like that.

“I’m going to read in the study after this.”

Soon enough, she seemed to tire of the greenhouse. While she could gaze at paintings for half an hour straight, she lost interest in the flowers quickly. She drained her sweet strawberry tea and popped the unfinished butter cookie into her mouth.

Afterward, we went to the first-floor study together. I wondered if there’d be any books for a child, but she found one she liked on her own—a picture-heavy volume of East Asian paintings, conveniently shelved right at her eye level.

For someone who claimed he wouldn’t make a good father, Yido had made sure every detail was set for her comfort—special slippers, a different menu, everything. Even if the staff had arranged it, I couldn’t help thinking it was all at his instruction.

....

About thirty minutes later, she began nodding off with the book on her lap. After a full meal and dessert, it was no wonder she was sleepy. I carefully took the book from her hands and, lifting her into my arms, left the room.

I went straight to Yido’s room—she had said she napped there, so it should be fine. From what I knew of him, he wouldn’t mind.

“Shhh...”

I laid her on the bed and gently patted her chest. Her slightly parted lips and peaceful breathing brought a smile to my face. Children were so innocent and beautiful—her plump, soft cheeks were downright lovable.

“Two hours...”

Two hours until Yido arrived. I glanced at the clock on the wall, then blinked drowsily. His pheromones filled the room, making my head hazy as if I’d taken too many sleeping pills.

Drawn in, I crouched beside her. I told myself I’d just rest my eyes for a moment, but the moment my eyelids closed, sleep overtook me. The warmth of a child and Yido’s unique pheromones loosened all my tension.

And so, I fell asleep beside Hye-yul. It was impossible to resist. At one point, I felt someone stroking my hair, but my consciousness never surfaced.

“When is oppa going to wake up?”

“...Oppa?”

A soft chuckle followed, then a careful touch against my cheek. I frowned slightly, and a familiar voice spoke firmly,

“No. He’s your uncle’s fiancé.”

That one sentence was steeped in indescribable affection. Warmth welled up from deep in my gut, and I drifted back into sleep. It was a moment of perfect peace.