Chapter 27

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter Title: Even Though I'm the Villainess, I Got Imprinted with the Male Lead Chapter 34

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“Ah...”

Luciana awkwardly withdrew her hand that she'd extended into empty air.

In stark contrast to his unusually tender demeanor just moments ago, Richt had already put a couple of paces between them.

The chill of the room swiftly erased any trace of his warmth, as if it had never been there at all.

Yet even as his presence faded like a mirage, it felt as though Richt's shadow still silently enveloped her body. Though all that greeted her now was the cold night air.

What was that? So uncharacteristically sweet... what the hell!

Who am I even thinking about like this?

Her face, which had begun to soften in embarrassment, hardened right back up.

Luciana grimaced faintly as she recalled his previous icy warning.

“One last thing, out of an old man's concern: I'd appreciate it if you didn't get any needless misconceptions.”

A caution he'd once flung at her.

Remembering it doused her mind like a bucket of cold water, leaving it utterly still.

“This is because of the imprint, right?”

“What?”

Luciana added, narrowing her eyes at him as if she'd heard something bizarre.

“Don't worry. I still remember what you said about not getting the wrong idea.”

“...!”

For some reason, Luciana lowered her gaze, leaving Richt—who had stiffened unnaturally—behind her.

When she'd first heard those words, they'd seemed utterly absurd. But considering his position, she could sort of understand why he'd said them.

There won't be any such thing, but if I got the wrong idea, it'd be a problem for him.

Judging purely by appearances, Richt was an outstanding man by any objective measure.

Proving it, the original story even mentioned a few women who fell for him at first sight, deliberately dropping handkerchiefs or spilling wine on their clothes to draw his attention.

The male lead must have been defensive based on past experiences, warning me not to misunderstand.

If Luciana were swayed by his looks or the imprint's influence—by that sudden tenderness—and developed improper feelings, it would be a massive disaster for him.

What if she abandoned her fervent research and clung to him, begging to spend her life together?

That would be a catastrophe for Richt, nothing less.

“Thank you for your concern, but how could I take it easy? You're the only key to breaking the imprint.”

In a situation where anything could happen at any moment, slacking off was a luxury she couldn't afford.

But unlike Luciana, who brushed it off, he rolled his dark red eyes in visible distress.

“Hm...”

It didn't seem like she'd said anything wrong.

Another awkward mood like this.

Lately, Richt grew quiet whenever the imprint came up.

His rigidly frozen expression looked precarious, as if he'd been struck by shock.

Whatever. What do I care? He must have his reasons he can't share.

His reaction tugged at her a bit, but Luciana decided not to dwell on it.

“Anyway, I got your handkerchief dirty because of me. Hand it over. I'll have it cleaned and return it.”

Her eyes fell on the fine silk, pitifully crumpled in his tensed fist, veins bulging on his hand.

Richt stared at her outstretched hand for a long moment before finally speaking.

“Anyone can see it's a man's handkerchief.”

“Pardon? Ah...”

Understanding his meaning late, Luciana realized her mistake.

Laundry wasn't a lady's duty; the estate servants would handle keeping handkerchiefs pristine—not her.

No one would fail to be shocked seeing a young lady suddenly show up with a bloodstained men's handkerchief.

“Or were you planning to wash it yourself? With those hands?”

He might strain a muscle just kneading the laundry.

“Not that, but... ahem, my mistake.”

What? That look like he's pitying some lowly thing. Is he mocking my hands as ridiculous?

Richt's gaze remained fixed on Luciana's pale hand, which was perhaps half the size of his.

She nearly bristled at his inexplicable stare but decided to quietly ignore it.

I need to get back and rest soon.

She'd already had a splendid nosebleed, and staying in the same space with Richt any longer would drain her energy completely.

“Well then, I'll really be going now.”

With a light farewell, Luciana returned to the mansion without lingering. With a pop!, the living figure vanished like a midsummer mirage.

“...”

The silence descended in an instant, as if mere absence of one chattering mouth could empty the room.

Had one person's warmth held such presence?

For some reason feeling downcast, Richt wearily rubbed his face.

In truth, his mind had been a jumble since he'd wiped her blood away.

Moving to sit before the fireplace, Richt leaned back against the chair and sank into deep thought.

He fiddled with the handkerchief he still clutched stubbornly.

Gazing at the filthy red stain, the image rose of the woman who'd bled so defenselessly before him.

“Damn it.”

Richt's brow furrowed deeply.

The moment he'd seen the blood pouring out, his mind had gone blank, and his body had moved on instinct.

He hadn't even noticed how strange his actions were, too focused on staunching the flow.

He could've just handed over the handkerchief. Instead, he'd let his nature take over and done something unnecessary.

Yet despite his desperately twisted expression, his lost hands kept futilely caressing the damp handkerchief.

Richt found himself ridiculous.

He mocked his pathetic self even as he kept chasing the warmth that lingered on his fingertips.

“...I'm no different.”

An old wound locked away in the lightless abyss of his heart.

Recalling the ugly scar it left, he muttered in self-derision.

“Isn't that right? The duke and I are just tied together by accident...”

Her words—flawless truth—felt like a venomous curse he couldn't bear to hear.

“Don't worry. I still remember what you said about not getting the wrong idea.”

When she softly recounted his past words in that gentle voice, he wanted to eradicate the culprit: himself.

The funny part was, he felt no disappointment in himself anymore.

—How pathetic. Do you want to live a pitiful life like 'him' too?

No. I'll never...

Even as a scolding voice stirred deep memories, his burgeoning nature steadily eroded Richt's resolve.

—But you've already fallen for her. You can't even toss a bloodstained handkerchief into the fire.

Something bearing her trace—he'd have discarded it long ago in the past.

But look at you now.

No matter how you plug your eyes and ears in denial, you're their descendant too.

Aren't you? Huh?

A satisfied laugh echoed from somewhere. His cunning nature mocked Richt's slow corruption, sensing its victory.

“...Luciana.”

Amid the turmoil, Richt whispered her name as if it were an escape.

What do I even want?

He questioned the depths of his heart, but no answer came.

Time marched on relentlessly. The endless winter faded at last, giving way to gentle spring breezes.

As snow melted and new buds sprouted on branches, Luciana's research progressed slowly but steadily.

They still lived day by day bound by the imprint, yet on the surface, things seemed fine enough.

Surface-level, at least.

“...”

Richt, out on the street without even an escort, prepared to head back while thinking—as usual—of Luciana filling his mind.

Time heals all wounds, or so they said, but not for this. Still, he'd grown somewhat accustomed to his daily torment from his mate.

It remained uncomfortable, but perhaps tinged with resignation now.

As if offering faint consolation, a light breeze brushed his ear.

Wonder what she's doing. I'll see her tomorrow.

As Richt walked on, ignoring such thoughts flooding his head—

“Duke!”

He froze.

A cheerful voice suddenly called from nearby, shattering his reverie.

With an annoyed look, Richt turned to eye the unwelcome intruder.

“It's been a while!”

Beneath lush, lustrous golden hair gleamed vivid amethyst eyes.

Richt instantly recognized Deborah, and his red eyes slowly narrowed.