Vincent was lounging back in the leather chair of his study, the afternoon light catching the sharp angles of his face as his eyes methodically scanned the report Elias had compiled.

To anyone else, they’d view the parchment as nothing but a collection of standard guard testimonies and black market trade logs. But to Vincent, it was a map. With the help of the reports, he was able to retrace every single step those zealots had taken last night.

Because the Devereux estate was fortified like a mini-fortress, the perimeter doors were made of heavy, reinforced ironwood. That meant picking the locks like a thief or forcing the doors open with sheer brute strength was not nearly enough to grant entry.

The assassins probably knew of this, which meant they had used the black powder strictly as a localized demolition charge to shear the gates off their hinges.

It would sound like a completely foolish step to the untrained mind, but considering they made it to the inner courtyard, the demolition charge was only their form of a tactic.

Explosions caused by black powder are incredibly loud, violent and chaotic. By detonating a charge at the far perimeter, it would draw attention, except that was exactly what they were aiming for. The master behind it hadn’t been aiming for subtlety, but for a diversion.

To Vincent, they probably calculated that the thunderous blast would instantly draw the bulk of the estate guards away from the main manor to investigate the breach, creating a temporary, critical blind spot in the inner courtyard that another group could easily slip through completely unnoticed.

It was a classic, military vanguard distraction.

"...how troublesome," he clicked his tongue, both impressed and annoyed that the damages on his property had become his problem to fix.

Considering the distance of the lower courtyard to his private wing, and the direction of the midnight wind, it would take approximately ten minutes for the acrid smell of brimstone to travel through the upper terrace vents and reach his chamber.

If the blast occurred ten minutes before he smelled it, and his elite personal guards had already successfully ambushed the infiltrators before he even stepped out to clarify the matter himself, that meant the zealots had been found and pinned down by the estate’s counter-response.

The enemies had anticipated the standard guards, but they hadn’t anticipated a defense net designed by him.

If it were anyone else, they might have succeeded, perhaps. Analyzing their exact missteps was the only way he could modify and strengthen his home against future threats.

"If only three assassins breached the inner courtyard last night," Vincent murmured into the empty room, his gaze fixing on a point on his wall map. "It means the ones who actually set the charge and created the diversion got away."

The realization had only just settled when a crisp, firm knock on the heavy oak door interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in," he said, his voice instantly reverting to its default, authoritative chill.

At his permission, the door swung open, and Elias stepped into the study. Behind him, two of the burly, armored men dragged a struggling man inside. He was bound tightly by the wrist, with a thick black blindfold covering his eyes.

"Let go of me! Who are you people?! Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with? Release me this instant!" The prisoner barked, trying to sound brave, but his trembling voice betrayed the desperation he was feeling.

"Leave him here," Elias ordered smoothly.

With practiced roughness, the guards shoved the man down onto his knees at the center of the room, letting him hit the rug with a heavy thud. The moment the guard reached down and ripped the blindfold off, the man who had been boldly raging immediately shrunk in fear.

The color drained completely from his face the second his eyes adjusted to the room and landed on the Marquis. He immediately dropped into a proper bow this time, his palms pressing flat against the plush carpet as he practically groveled. He kept his head submissively low, staring fixedly at the carpet out of sheer terror for the imposing figure lounging behind the grand desk.

"Y-Your Lordship?" the man stammered, his teeth visibly chattering.

"He is the one currently in charge of the recent illegal smuggling of black powder through the capital’s lower docks," Elias reported, stepping up to Vincent’s side and handing over a stained leather ledger. "If anyone holds the records of the recent black market purchases, it’s him."

Vincent didn’t move as he listened to the report. He didn’t even lean forward. He simply sat there, his piercing gray eyes locked onto the trembling smuggler like a predator assessing a minor inconvenience. The silence in the room stretched, growing heavier and more suffocating by the second, until the prisoner looked ready to weep.

"I am a busy man today," Vincent finally spoke, his voice dangerously low, almost a whisper, yet it cut through the room like a blade. "So, it is you who sold black powder to the ones who tried to blow up my estate last night. What do you have to say for yourself, hm?"

"I– I had no idea, Your Lordship, I swear on my life!" The smuggler blurted out, his forehead already glistening with sweat when he realized the kind of trouble he had gotten himself in. "If... if I had known it was meant for your estate, I would have burned the shipment myself! I am just a merchant, a simple middleman."

Vincent reached for the leather ledger, and he flipped it idly between his fingers.

"Your ignorance does not interest me," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Your ledger does. Elias tells me you keep meticulous records of your buyers. So, I will ask you one final time before I let my guards try a more... persuasive approach. I have no wish to get my hands dirty, so ensure to be cooperative."

He then rose from the chair so he could stand before the groveling man. He looked at the ledger one more time before carelessly dropping it in front of the man, making him flinch.

"Where are the weekly sales documented?"

The man frantically scrambled to open the book with trembling fingers, pointing out a hidden sequence of dates near the back. He spilled every detail he knew, terrified that a single moment of hesitation would cost him his head.

Later on, when the weeping smuggler was finally dragged out of the study by the guards, the heavy doors clicked shut. The room returned to its quiet,tense sanctuary, whilst Elias turned to Vincent.

"He is still into illegal trading," Elias reminded the young man before him. "Are you sure you don’t want to have him as a prisoner? The guards can still reprimand him."

"I got the answer I needed," Vincent replied, not bothering to look back at Elias. "Whatever he does after that is none of my business. I am a man of my words."

"Then what about Sir William?" Elias reported, "I heard he has also been released."

Vincent didn’t look the least bit surprised at the news. He simply walked back to his grand desk and returned to his chair, a rare, chillingly abused smirk playing on his lips– he seemed rather delighted by the development.

"You knew?" Elias furrowed his brows, caught off guard by his master’s total lack of alarm.

Vincent leaned back once more and crossed his arms over his chest. "Let’s be honest, the Count just came back to the capital. It was quite obvious a man of his pride wouldn’t let his useless son remain locked away in the dark tower for long. He has too many favors to pull."

He then reached out, picking up a crystal decanter to pour himself a smooth glass of amber liquor. He swirled the liquid, watching the light catch the glass.

"I bet he is still in absolute shock regarding the Marchioness’s behavior toward him," Vincent murmured. "But in his defense, so was I. The arrogant fool probably still thinks he owns her."

He took a slow, deliberate sip. "I am almost tempted to pay him a little visit myself... just so I can see the utter look of despair on his face when he finally sees the truth for what it truly is."

"But...you already knew about Sir William’s involvement with the sister," Elias stated, "why didn’t you just tell her about it from the beginning?"

"Because it is even far more satisfying now that she’s figured it out herself," Vincent replied. "If I had told her, she never would have believed me, and you know this to be true, Elias. She was blinded. I would have backed off, perhaps, if William were a man of great potential, but he is far from that. He is just a pathetic creature. I’m certain she knows, because that alone logically explains her behavior. It’s amusing how the tables have insanely turned."

Elias hesitated for a moment, the tension in the room thickening before he finally found the courage to air out his deepest, most troubling thoughts.

"But, My Lord... Lady Penelope’s unexpected affection toward you makes no sense to anyone either," Elias said, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper. "What if she’s only using you? What if this sudden devotion is merely a shield? I am...merely worried."

"I don’t care if she’s using me," Vincent replied as he set his glass down with a final, decisive click. "It’s not as if being used is a new concept to me. The entire empire uses me, so what’s one more? But, as long as she stays, it doesn’t matter what she wants to do with me. As long as she continues to find me useful like everyone else, she’ll never leave me."

At that point, it took all of Elias’s self-control to not cross the room and slap some sense of discipline into Vincent’s head. He alone had stood by Vincent’s side for years. They basically grew up together. He could not fault Penelope for rejecting his master all these years, but that didn’t mean he had to like her.

It got to the exact limit where Elias had secretly wished she would just marry William, simply so his master would finally be free of her suffocating hold. But then, completely out of nowhere, she had boldly declared how happy she felt to be marrying Lord Vincent instead.

How could he trust that her feelings were genuine? To him, a sudden shift that drastic could only mean one thing; she had an ulterior motive, and she was playing the deadliest commander of the empire like a lute.

Meanwhile, Vincent picked up his glass again, taking a slow sip as if pondering the deepest mysteries in his life. Then, suddenly, he looked at Elias.

"Elias."

"Yes, My Lord?" Elias quickly braced himself, expecting a command regarding the security net.

"Is it scientifically— or perhaps physiologically possible," Vincent asked, his expression deadpan and serious, "for a woman to fall in love with a man solely because he is good in bed?"

Elias froze.

His brain entirely short-circuited.

He stared at his master, his mouth opening slightly but there was no sound coming out of it. Of all the tactical questions he had prepared for, this was certainly not on the ledger. In fact, he was completely unaware of the fact that his master could ask such things.

"I... beg your pardon?"

Vincent casually waved his hand, completely cutting him off and dismissing the question with a sigh. "Never mind. Forget I asked."

He set his glass down and leaned back in his chair, shooting Elias a look of mild pity. "I doubted you would know the answer anyway. In order to provide a scientific hypothesis on the matter, one must first possess a baseline of hands-on experience with the opposite sex. I doubt you’ve even held a woman’s hand before."

Elias felt an invisible arrow pierce his chest. He stood there, completely dumbfounded and deeply insulted by his master’s commentary, yet entirely unable to defend his honor.

"My Lord," Elias muttered through gritted teeth, his eye twitching slightly. "My personal life has nothing—"

"It’s fine, Elias, you don’t have to overcompensate," Vincent interrupted smoothly, already pulling out a fresh stack of tactical maps. "Let’s get back to work."