I sat across from him in his office, trying very hard not to feel like I had just walked into a lion’s den wearing a name tag that said "Free Meal."

He wasn’t even pretending to do paperwork.

No shuffling documents, no fake coughs, just full, undivided, unsettling eye contact like I was the most fascinating and possibly edible thing in the room.

I cleared my throat, because I hate being stared at. "You didn’t tell me you were a Duke the first time we met."

"I left my business card on the table," he replied calmly, as if that explained everything. "I was waiting for you to call me in case you wanted to file a complaint against me."

I frowned, mentally flipping through my memories like a disorganized filing cabinet.

Business card? What business card? The only thing I remembered from that day was stress, chaos, and questionable life choices.

Did I eat it?

No, that would be ridiculous.

Probably.

I plastered on a polite smile. "There’s no need to file a complaint since you already paid for my service."

"So what if I avail your service again?" he asked, leaning back like a man who had never been told no in his entire, ridiculously privileged life.

"Absolutely not," I said immediately. "That was a one-time thing. You looked like you were in actual pain, so I made an exception."

"So you refuse to serve me even if I pay you generously?"

"Yes."

"Does that also includes hugging?"

"Yes."

"Holding hands?"

"Yes."

"Staying by my side?"

"Yes."

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes."

Silence.

His lips curved into the slow, satisfied smile of a man who had just won a game I didn’t even realize we were playing.

My brain, on the other hand, finally decided to clock in for work.

"...Wait," I said, sitting up straight. "No. That’s not what I meant!"

"But you agreed to marry me," he said smoothly, like this was a perfectly normal business transaction. "I can even transfer the entire estate to your name right now."

"P-please don’t make fun of me, D-Duke," I stammered, my dignity packing its bags and leaving through the nearest window.

"Just a while ago, you were calling me by my name," he pointed out, amused. "Where did that confidence go?"

My stomach dropped like it had just been personally betrayed. "Wait—you remembered what happened?"

"Every single thing," he said, tilting his head with that same infuriatingly calm smile, like recalling my humiliation was his favorite bedtime story.

I nearly fainted on the spot.

Unfortunately, my body chose survival, so I was forced to sit there and suffer with a smile that probably looked more like a cry for help.

"Can we... forget everything that happened?" I said weakly. "If you could just give me my salary then I’ll be on my way."

"How about you stay for dinner?" he asked, as if that was a perfectly normal follow-up and not the conversational equivalent of setting my remaining dignity on fire.

"I refuse," I said quickly. "I still have something to do once I get back."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Behind him, Sykelion and Finnian stood in perfect, synchronized secondhand embarrassment, their souls visibly trying to evacuate their bodies.

If there had been a window in the office, they would have already thrown themselves out of it—gracefully, professionally, and without hesitation.

Anything was better than standing here and witnessing whatever this was.

Since when did the Duke become... like this?

Cheesy didn’t even begin to cover it. This was advanced-level nonsense. Catastrophic levels of secondhand embarrassment.

Was this some kind of side effect when someone found their so-called fated mate?

Because if that was the case, Finnian and hiim would both happily sprint towards the nearest cliff, hold hands as comrades in suffering, and swan dive into oblivion just to avoid witnessing another second of it.

And the estate.

The entire estate.

He was willing to hand it over like it was a complimentary dessert. This was only their second meeting.

TWICE!

For goodness’ sake, most people didn’t even remember names by the second meeting, and here he was, ready to transfer property like he were signing off on a receipt.

"Your Grace," Sykelion said, stepping in with the strained composure of a man barely holding the line between loyalty and a complete mental breakdown, "please just give Miss Blanca her salary."

"You’re no fun," Vesphyr replied casually.

Sykelion almost fainted.

No, really—his vision blurred, his knees threatened mutiny, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he saw his ancestors shaking their heads in disappointment.

The Duke—his Duke—who had the emotional range of a marble statue on most days, was now calling him no fun?

Finnian quietly turned his head away, as if refusing to make eye contact would somehow exempt him from this unfolding disaster.

Meanwhile, Sykelion stood there, re-evaluating everything he thought he knew about the man he served, and more importantly, wondering if it was too late to transfer departments.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

I let out a slow breath, summoning what little professionalism I had left. "Thank you for offering me dinner, Your Grace, but I really need to go—"

"Vesphyr," he cut in smoothly.

"I’m afraid I can’t call you that," I said immediately.

Absolutely not.

I still had a deep and abiding attachment to my head remaining attached to my body.

"You had no problem calling my name when I was in my beast form," he pointed out.

"That’s because you were acting like a puppy!" I shot back before my brain could file the necessary paperwork to stop my mouth.

He smile widened. "So do you want me to shift back into my puppy form just so you could call my name again?"

Thud!

I blinked slowly as I looked down.

Sykelion was on the floor, fully collapsed. His soul had exited the premises and left his body behind as a formal complaint.

Finnian didn’t even try to help him. He just stared down at Sykelion like this was the inevitable conclusion of a long, painful journey.

Meanwhile, I sat there, staring at the unconscious man on the floor, then back at Vesphyr, who looked entirely unbothered, as if fainting subordinates were a normal part of daily operations.

"Umm... what happened to him?" I asked, leaning slightly to peek behind Vesphyr.

"Oh don’t mind him, Miss Blanca. He just died from cringe," Finnian said solemnly, as if announcing a very tragic but completely expected cause of death, while discreetly nudging Sykelion’s body farther out of my line of sight with his foot.

I decided not to question anything anymore for my own sanity.

"Vesphyr," I said, finally giving in, because clearly this day had already taken everything from me anyway. "Can I have my salary now?"

"Come here and I’ll transfer it to you," he replied.

I stood up, determined to finish this transaction and escape with my sanity barely intact.

One step.

Two steps.

Almost there when Sykelion, who had apparently chosen that exact moment to return from the dead, shifted.

My foot caught on something as I tripped and in one smooth, horrifying motion, I fell straight onto Vesphyr.

He caught me effortlessly and the problem was, he didn’t let go. Instead, I found myself sitting on his lap.

There was a pause.

A very loud, very heavy pause.

Thud!

Thud!

I didn’t even need to look this time.

Sykelion fainted again along with Finnian.

"So we’re back here again, huh?" Vesphyr said casually, as if this was a perfectly normal recurring situation and not something that would haunt me for the rest of my natural life.

"I’m sorry," I said quickly, clearing my throat as I scrambled off him. I straightened myself and immediately held out my OmniSync like it was a sacred barrier between us.

He simply tapped his OmniSync against mine.

Ping!

I glanced down and nearly broke character.

One million IC.

My soul briefly left my body, did a celebratory backflip, and came back just in time for me to maintain a composed expression.

"This is too much," I said, with the strength of someone fighting for their life. "After calculating the required fees, you only need to transfer 500,000 IC. That already includes my physical and emotional damage—from you and your staff."

He chuckled, clearly entertained. "Consider it payment for taking care of me while I was in my beast form."

Ah. So this was hush money.

"Thank you," I said shamelessly, bowing with all the elegance I could still afford after everything that had just happened. "And it was a pleasure doing business with you."

I turned around—

"Blanca."

I froze mid-step.

Of course there was a "Blanca." There’s always a "Blanca" when you’re this close to freedom.

I turned back. "Yes?"

"I was just joking," he said, far too casually for a man who had nearly altered my entire life trajectory five minutes ago. "Consider the half of payment as a betrothal gift."

I didn’t even think as I marched back to him like a woman possessed and immediately transferred the 500,000 IC back.

There.

Problem solved.

Crisis averted.

Future secured.

He actually laughed. "I didn’t know you’d take that seriously."

"I have no plans of getting married," I said flatly, because clearly someone in this room needed to be committed to rational decision-making.

’Also because I still needed to figure out how to get back to my real world and not accidentally become a Duchess in the process.’

For a split second, his gaze darkened.

It was subtle, fleeting, like a shadow passing over glass.

Then he blinked, and it was gone, replaced by that same composed expression like nothing had happened.

"Even having a boyfriend?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered without hesitation.

He nodded, slowly, like he was filing that information somewhere important. Then he went quiet, sinking into thought, which was honestly the most peaceful he’d been this entire time.

I took that as my cue.

"Oh, can you please keep my identity a secret?" I asked.

"I’ll gladly do that," he said without even a hint of teasing this time.

Good. One less thing to panic about.

"One more thing," I added. "Can you wake Finnian up so he could drive me to the portal? It’s too far to walk from here."

"Finnian."

That was it.

Just his name and like some kind of well-trained soldier—or possibly a resurrected ghost—Finnian was suddenly upright, alert, and standing like he hadn’t just fainted in the span of five minutes.

"Drive Blanca to the portal," Vesphyr ordered.

Finnian bowed immediately. "Yes, Your Grace."

"Thank you, Your—" I caught myself when Vesphyr looked at me.

Right.

"Vesphyr!" I corrected quickly, the name coming out a little too loudly, a little too forced, like I was trying to convince both of us this was normal.