[AFYC] Chapter 2

The strange feeling began when Duke Baden arrived at the Arman Rose Mansion much earlier than anticipated and with an entourage of uninvited guests. His arrival disrupted the carefully laid plans meticulously crafted for the evening. The Duke, known for his indulgent tastes, wasted no time asserting his presence. He drank wine like water, each bottle worth a small fortune, between fifty to a hundred million Kerte. The vintage wine was not a rare treat for him but a mere refreshment to complement the impromptu billiards game he had started with the men he brought along.

Kathryn, the owner of the Arman Rose Mansion, observed this with growing unease. The appointment was fast approaching, yet there was no sign that the Duke was preparing to welcome the guest he was supposed to meet. Instead, he seemed intent on raising the level of revelry, turning what was meant to be a formal meeting into a boisterous party. His behaviour was undeniably rude, not just in the ordinary sense of the word but in a way that signalled something more—disrespect, even defiance. 

There was only one scenario in which such behaviour could be interpreted as anything other than outright insolence: if the Marquis of Reinhardt, the guest who was supposed to meet with Duke Baden, had no intention of showing up. That would explain the Duke’s nonchalance, his utter disregard for decorum. But that assumption was swiftly overturned when Kathryn received word that the Marquis of Reinhardt had arrived. 

Her heart skipped a beat as she processed the implications. Swallowing nervously, she turned to the woman standing beside her—a striking figure with a dress cut so low that it left little to the imagination. The plunging neckline barely covered her ample chest, a sight so alluring that even Kathryn, with her decades of experience in the business, could understand the magnetic pull it had on men. But it wasn’t just her figure; the woman had a face that could make anyone pause, a foolishly innocent smile that belied the gravity of her presence, and a voice that, while sultry, never crossed the line into vulgarity. 

In Kathryn’s experienced eyes, Anna, as the woman was called, was a rare gem, a seductress par excellence. She was the kind of woman who could make even the most disciplined of men falter, the kind who could make the powerful forget their power. Kathryn knew that unless a man was a eunuch, he would not stand a chance against her charms, especially not in a place like this. 

“Anna,” Kathryn said, her voice steadying as she gave her final instructions. 

The carriage wheels rolling to a stop signalled the Marquis’ arrival. Kathryn straightened her attire, adjusted the collar of her classic dress, and buttoned it to her neck. The dress was deliberately conservative, making her look more like a housekeeper in a royal palace than a brothel owner. As she stepped toward the wide-open main door, she whispered to Anna, “This man could spend the budget of five years for Felphe in one night.” 

The foolish look in Anna’s eyes vanished, replaced by a sharp, calculating gaze. The transformation was instantaneous as if the allure she exuded was a weapon she could wield at will. 

“A man who could spend the budget of five years for Felphe in one night,” Kathryn repeated, letting the weight of her words sink in. It was no exaggeration. The Marquis of Reinhardt was not just any nobleman. He was the owner of the railway that spanned the continent, the head of a giant steel company that fuelled the entire Norfolk continent’s industry, and the leader of the prestigious Reinhardt family. Moreover, he had achieved all this through his efforts, and he was still young, with a future as bright as his past was formidable. 

“If you play your cards right,” Kathryn continued, her voice low and conspiratorial, “it wouldn’t even compare to being the king’s mistress.” 

Anna remained silent, absorbing the implications. Kathryn’s eyes narrowed as she delivered her final instruction, “So, buy us some time. Just until the Duke realises the Marquis has arrived.” 

The moment she finished speaking, the carriage came to a halt. Kathryn’s serious expression melted into a welcoming smile that was as warm and inviting as false. She moved forward to greet the Marquis as though she were welcoming a long-lost relative, someone she hadn’t seen in years. Meanwhile, Anna stayed by the door, ready to intercept the Marquis immediately. 

“Welcome, Your Excellency. We’ve been expecting you,” Kathryn greeted, her voice honeyed with respect. 

But the Marquis did not respond. The only sound that followed her greeting was the firm, deliberate rhythm of his footsteps on the marble floor. His presence was intimidating, a force filling the air with a palpable tension. 

As Anna prepared to play her role, she glanced at the Marquis, her expression carefully crafted to be both demure and enticing. She planned to block his path, to make him pause, perhaps long enough for the Duke to make his entrance. Her hand moved instinctively to cover her chest as though embarrassed by the deep cut of her dress, even though this was the exact reaction she had been trained to provoke. 

Yet, as the Marquis approached, Anna could not execute her plan. He walked past her with a brisk, decisive stride, his focus so intense that it was as if she did not exist. Her carefully laid trap was rendered useless by the sheer force of his indifference. All she could do was watch in dumbfounded silence as he moved away, his broad shoulders and tall stature diminishing her in his wake. 

Anna couldn’t recall the details of his face; it had all happened too quickly. Yet, in those brief moments, she knew she had never seen a man with such aura of power and beauty. He was unlike any other she had encountered at Arman Rose, and she had met more than her fair share of influential men. 

Kathryn noticed Anna’s bewilderment and nudged her sharply in the waist. Anna hastily regained her composure and followed after the Marquis, though he was already turning the landing and ascending the stairs. 

Anna looked up, her eyes following the man’s figure as he ascended. His slightly wavy black hair seemed tousled yet perfectly in place, as though styled to give off an air of casual nonchalance. His deep-set eyes, framed by dark lashes, contrasted sharply with his nose’s straight, prominent lines. Each step he took was confident, almost languid, as though the concept of urgency was beneath him. He carried himself with a complete absence of manners, but this very lack of conventionality made him all the more formidable. 

“Your Excellency,” Kathryn called out, her voice tinged with urgency, but the Marquis did not so much as glance in her direction. He either did not hear her or chose not to acknowledge her presence. Anna tried to catch up by rushing up the stairs but could not match the Marquis’ pace or the four men following closely behind him. 

Their strides were wide and unhesitating as if they had no time for the pleasantries or formalities expected in such a place. Even the waiter leading them had to break into a run to keep up, his breath coming in short gasps. As for Kathryn, she was left clutching her skirt, hurrying to keep pace, while Anna, who was supposed to slow down the Marquis, was now trailing behind, completely out of the equation.