[AFYC] Chapter 13

Oscar’s words had become abruptly short and dismissive, causing the Duke to shudder as if he were having a seizure.

“Marquis!” 

Even as the Duke’s temper flared, Oscar remained unfazed, simply flicking the long ash from his cigarette onto the floor. 

“So, tell me. Can it be done or not?” 

The Duke’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, unable to form coherent words. Oscar, lighting another cigarette, muttered under his breath. 

“Yeah, well… If it were up to you, it would’ve been done already, wouldn’t it?” 

“...” 

The curse, cold as frostbite, struck the Duke across the face, leaving him and the woman clinging to him, frozen in shock. But as Oscar took another long cigarette, the Duke returned to his senses and erupted in anger. 

“Marquis von Reinhardt! How dare you, a Marquis of Luxen, speak so disrespectfully to a royal! If I were to formalise a complaint to the King of Luxen, do you think even you would escape unscathed?” 

At that moment, any amusement or warmth on Oscar’s face evaporated as if it had never been there. 

The woman, forced to face Oscar because the Duke held her from behind like a shield, suddenly realised that the Duke had made a terrible, irreversible mistake. 

Now devoid of emotion, Oscar’s eyes swept over the Duke, the floor, and the disordered table before he stood up without warning. He reached for the half-empty whiskey bottle. 

Her body began to tremble like a leaf in the wind, though she couldn’t tell if it was her own trembling or the Duke’s that she felt through his grip. With the bottle in hand, Oscar slowly turned his gaze back to the Duke. Desperation surged through her, and she twisted her body violently, managing to break free from the Duke’s grip. She would never have attempted it if she had been in her right mind, but now, her only thought is to escape from Oscar. 

“You, you wench! Get back here!” the Duke shouted, stretching his hand towards her as she scrambled into a corner. But he never managed to grab her. A dark shadow suddenly loomed, and the hand reaching out to her was stomped down onto the sofa under a heavy boot. 

“Aargh!” 

Oscar had lifted his right foot and pressed it down on the Duke’s hand with such force that it sank into the sofa’s cushions. He then casually perched himself on the table’s edge, placing his left foot on the sofa, effectively trapping the Duke against the corner. 

Leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, Oscar smiled as he took a drag from his cigarette. 

“I’m curious; what exactly are you planning to write in that complaint?” 

The tip of the cigarette glowed red as it burned. 

“Spent billions on entertaining you?” 

“Y-You…!” 

“Don’t stutter like an idiot. Go on, what else do you have?” 

Cornered, the Duke suddenly remembered something his elder brother had once told him. 

“Oscar… never take the bait with that man. His smile, breath, and gaze are all bait.” 

You’re better off never meeting him. 

“Marquis! I… I can tell you something useful!” 

Oscar looked down at the Duke, now begging with a desperate face, and took a deep drag from his cigarette. He raised an eyebrow as if to say, “Go on,” and nodded slightly, prompting the Duke to sputter. 

“The person who has the key to the vault is a woman, and she’s not the original vault holder. She did provide an identification document, but…” 

“But it couldn’t be translated, could it?” 

“...!” 

“Did you think I only had you inside the bank?” 

Shaking like a leaf, the Duke widened his eyes in a last-ditch effort to assert himself. 

“Even so, I’m still the President! You can’t treat me like this if you want to open that vault!” 

“We’ll see. The Felphe Bank has already recognised the woman with the key as the rightful keyholder, and the report has already gone up to the King.” 

The Duke and the woman trembling in the corner realised that Oscar had just shattered the one reason he had tolerated the Duke’s presence until now. Goosebumps spread across the Duke’s naked flesh like tiny mushrooms sprouting from the earth. 

The only movement in the room was the curl of smoke rising from the cigarette held between Oscar’s fingers. 

In the seemingly endless seconds that followed, Oscar turned his gaze to the whiskey bottle in his right hand. He swirled the remaining liquid, then took a leisurely drag from his cigarette before gently placing his left hand around the Duke’s neck as if in a mock embrace.