Chapter 18

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter Title: Villainess Imprinted with the Male Lead 26

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Richt slipped into an alleyway to dodge the crowds and hunkered down in a suitable hiding spot.

"...".

Ever since he'd mistaken Marquis Leslie for Luciana and admitted his condition was off, he'd been brooding in a low-pressure funk.

He recalled the moment he'd caught sight of that pink hair—all stray thoughts washing away, replaced by a surging sense of fulfillment.

'Pathetic! How can my judgment be this clouded?'

This wouldn't do. His research was barely at the starting line—if he was already unraveling like this, what then?

'Guess the only option is to steer clear of everything tied to that woman.'

Even as the Imprint tried to seize control of his body, the duke refused to accept Luciana right up to the end.

'If I could, I'd shove her somewhere out of sight.'

Richt was back to his usual defensive stance, as always. But it didn't last.

Soon enough, he heard voices from nearby drawing closer bit by bit, plunging him right back into gloom.

"Hey, I got invited to Lady Leslie's birthday banquet for the first time ever?"

"What?! For real?!"

"!"

Luciana's birthday?

New info on his mate hit like lightning—a sharp glint pierced his sunken red eyes.

"Ugh, so jealous. When's the party?"

Gulp.

Luciana's birthday, which he didn't know.

The mention of that crucial date pulled every sense straight to his ears.

Richt held his breath, waiting for what came next.

"Well, it's on..."

Whisper, whisper.

"Huh?"

Damn it. Whispering like cowards!

Bam!

Frustrated at missing Luciana's birthday, Richt lashed out and smashed the wall with his fist.

"Eek!"

"Your Grace...?!"

Logan, fresh from sending a boy on an errand, spotted the two young ladies screaming and bolting, then Richt pounding a stranger's building. He came sprinting over in horror.

"Th-the wall's cracked!"

Oh, my aching head.

Why was the duke going off like this today?

"No! What in the world?!"

Logan clutched his throbbing forehead, eyeing the stark crack and the owner who'd rushed out.

"Ah, no! My sweet baby, scraped up after I scraped together twenty years' savings to buy her!"

The half-bald shopkeeper, who doted on the building like a child, freaked out at the damage and raised his voice.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing wrecking my shop like this... Eek!"

The owner clamped his mouth shut upon seeing Richt silently cracking his knuckles, primal fear kicking in.

'L-Looks like a noble by his getup. But bare-handed...? No way.'

Debris flaking from those knuckles sent chills down his spine.

'Great, tangled with a lunatic noble.'

Status be damned. Sometimes the lofty upper crust treated powerless commoners like dirt under their boots.

'Ugh. Humiliating, but to avoid a scene, maybe bow and eat it.'

The owner pegged Richt as one of those rotten nobles who trashed others' property without a care.

The owner with his head bowed low. The duke, looking half-unhinged.

'Sigh. Trouble.'

Stepping in to fix it—as always—was Logan, resignation letter tucked in his heart.

"Oh dear, terribly sorry about this."

"And you are...?"

"Our fault entirely. Send the repair bill here, and we'll cover every penny."

Logan flashed a warm, folksy smile and fished a calling card from his pocket.

"C-Cassio Duke's house...?"

"Haha. We'd be grateful if you kept this under wraps. Our Grace has been out of sorts lately—not like him at all."

"Y-Yes, sir..."

Logan smoothly soothed the owner, mediating like a pro.

Luckily, proper payout seemed enough for him—no big fuss, just went along.

"My apologies. For amends, we'll pay double the estimate. Full comp for business losses during repairs too."

"Th-thank... Eek! You! Y-Your Grace!"

Richt approached after pulling himself together late, promising hefty amends. The victim bowed like it was an honor—a ridiculous sight.

'Those eyes shave years off my life every time.'

Partly the payout melted injustice like snow. Mostly, that blank face—no clue what he was thinking—scared him into wanting out fast.

"We'll be waiting for your call."

"Y-Yes! T-Take care!"

The owner bolted inside like a rabbit diving for its hole to escape a predator.

Situation cleared, Logan led Richt to the main drag and vented his frustration.

"Your Grace, why smash a perfectly good wall outta nowhere? Same at the palace—you're really off today."

"...".

Richt dodged Logan's chest-thumping plea, sticking to silence.

Sorry to his aide, but it was Richt's best shot.

How could he admit punching a wall like some nutcase over missing one woman's birthday?

"...Where's the carriage."

"Told 'em to wait at the plaza. Should be there now."

"Got it. Let's move."

Logan sighed at the duke's blatant dodge and trailed after.

'Yeah. Nearly a month tracking the imprint, zilch to show—he's bound to be edgy.'

Probably vented on an innocent wall 'cause emotions boiled over.

'Neurotic? Gotta get the doc to check his head soon.'

Mansion vibes hinged on the lord's mood. For Logan's sake—and the staff's—Richt needed calm, stat.

"No urgent papers today. Rest up when we get home."

Logan rubbed weary eyes, praying desperately for whoever was grinding Richt's gears to get nabbed ASAP.

Halt.

"Your Grace? Sudden stop?"

"...".

The duke halted dead in his tracks.

'He ain't gonna trash another shop, is he...?'

Logan sidled up, needless dread creeping in.

"Hm?"

He followed the duke's gaze and blinked, surprised.

Richt had stopped before a jewelry shop decked out for fancy noble tastes—a hot upscale spot in the capital.

"Oho. Pink diamonds."

Red eyes fixed on a jewelry set posing elegantly in the display.

"...".

Richt stared at the necklace, entranced—forgot he stood right at the full glass window.

Luciana's birthday.

That chance-heard word hijacked his brain, refusing to budge.

'Interest in jewels now?'

Logan eyed Richt's trance and chimed in casually.

"Diamonds are prime for color collections. Raw stones, processed sets—folks hoard 'em all."

No way he'd guess Richt—who ignored women entirely—was agonizing over one.

'Never spared 'em a glance, so I figured zero interest.'

Logan chalked it up to his lord picking up collecting, like any noble.

'Yeah. Too buried in work and drills. A solid hobby like this'd be good for him.'

Worried over Richt's rollercoaster state, Logan opted to play hype man.

"Quality's top-shelf—worth snapping up. This place? Jean Perde runs it, right? Name rang a bell."

"Jean Perde? Famous artisan?"