Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Even if nothing had come of it, the fact that she’d been insulted didn’t just disappear.

James Dautryche—no, the illustrious James Dautryche.

She had assumed that, because they spent one night together, he was the type to walk away cleanly without becoming clingy. Yet he was showing an unnerving level of persistence from a direction she hadn’t anticipated.

Rose briefly lamented her lack of discernment—though, in fairness, James’s actions weren’t exactly inappropriate by conventional standards—as she pointed toward the door with deliberate politeness, the way a host might remind impolite guests whose space they were in.

“Get out. Now.”

Her words made it clear she had no intention of accepting their apology, and that they could kindly vanish. The two men exchanged a glance of quick, silent dismay.

They couldn’t just retreat like this.

They had failed to carry out a single one of their employer’s orders, and worse, they had managed to offend an innocent young woman without delivering a proper apology.

“P-please wait a moment, Miss Blavatsky.”

“I’ve tolerated enough. I have no reason to put up with this rudeness and absurdity any longer.”

“Your anger is completely understandable, but please, if you could just calm down—”

“I’m not signing anything. After trying to damage my honor with talk of illegitimate children and marriage, I have nothing more to say to either of you. Now go.”

Dragging this out any further would be unworthy of a gentleman.

At Rose’s firm command to leave, Philip and the lawyer Kings quickly gathered their documents and exited the office in a rush.

They scurried down the stairs and, only after essentially being chased out of the building, finally exhaled deeply.

“It really was a lost cause, wasn’t it, Counselor.”

“Well… It couldn’t be helped. We both knew this was the most likely outcome. Honestly, if she doesn’t sue us for defamation, I’ll build a shrine and offer prayers in gratitude.”

Kings, a devout follower of Cielaf, crossed himself as he muttered this.

“I can’t imagine why our client insists on pushing such an unreasonable demand. Oh, Lord…”

At first, the two men had doubted their ears.

“If the press catches even a whiff of this, we’re in trouble. So file the assault report on your way back through city hall. As his proxy.”

“You’re… serious?”

“Do you think I’m some irresponsible scoundrel who shirks accountability?”

That the great James Dautryche suddenly felt the need to “take responsibility” for a woman, to the point of marriage registration and even filing an assault report—it was so uncharacteristic that they wondered whether someone at the party had drugged his drink.

Fortunately, he had returned from that rare overnight stay looking perfectly composed, with no trace of alcohol, and had remained disturbingly rational and clear-headed in every other matter. So in the end, it had just been needless worry.

Regardless, their mission had failed, and the carefully prepared documents were returned to Kings’s briefcase.

Now all that remained was figuring out how to explain this outcome to their boss without inviting disaster.

Rose bit down hard on her lower lip as she stormed around the office in a nervous frenzy.

It felt like the only way to purge the suffocating feeling that clung to her.

James Dautryche.

To become entangled with such a colossal figure out of nowhere—no, worse, to be hounded by him, even threatened, after he came looking for her. She never could’ve imagined it.

Sure, she knew that Logosi placed greater emotional weight on “firsts” than Mythosi did. That much was basic knowledge.

Still, she had approached him specifically because she thought he wouldn’t care.

The fact that he clearly did care—very much, in fact—was incomprehensible.

“Could it be… that I really don’t know how to pick men?”

Suddenly, doubts about her own judgment began to smother her.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake…”

After all, her former lover Arthur—whom she once considered upright and reliable—turned out to be the kind of man who would sneak another woman into the office on a weekend.

And now this: the man she’d thought was a cool-headed playboy was apparently obsessing over being her first.

At this point, wasn’t it only reasonable to question her own instincts?

She groaned and grabbed fistfuls of her hair, even while knowing it would get tangled.

She had kicked out the people James sent, but it left a lingering discomfort that wouldn’t go away.

She could feel it in her gut: if she stayed put, James Dautryche would find a way to corner her before she could leave the city.

“No way. That can’t happen. I won’t let it.”

Rose liked to think she had a strong sense of self-awareness.

And with that self-awareness came a clear understanding of her role: to quietly and anonymously prevent the end of the world, and to study the bizarre bonded mark and find a way to nullify it.

That was it. Those were the only two things that mattered.

Her role did not include marrying a powerful corporate magnate and becoming a household name, nor did it include completely abandoning her life as a Mythos to marry into a world of Logos.

‘Okay, yes, fine, maybe I ran away from Mythos society…’

But that didn’t mean she had given up being a Mythos.

She was still scraping by using trace amounts of magic to impersonate a necromancer for a living, after all.

Realizing this only made her mood sink further.

It reminded her why she had left the Mythos community, why she had chosen to masquerade as a Logos and cut ties with that world.

“Ugh. Get it together, Rose Taylor!”

She deliberately scolded herself out loud.

Falling into despair over painful memories could be tempting, even soothing, but this wasn’t the time to wallow.

She hoped those men wouldn’t come back—but based on how they’d stormed in at the crack of dawn with legal documents, it was clear they would.

Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon. And whether they sent people again or James came in person, one thing was certain: James Dautryche was not someone who would back off easily.

Sure, she could keep refusing to sign any documents, and he couldn’t force her. But all the time and energy it would take to fend him off…what a waste that would be.

“Okay. Focus. I haven’t even chosen where I’m moving to yet.”

Taking a breath, Rose curled her fingers one by one and mentally reviewed her relocation checklist.

“I’ve disconnected the phone line, submitted the business closure application, and I’m supposed to vacate the office by the day after tomorrow. What else…?”

She’d already told Mrs. Brown at the boarding house she’d be moving out. Right—this afternoon, the used furniture dealer was supposed to come by for an estimate.

What else?

“Ah! Right. Where I’m moving!”

She had started wrapping up the business in a huff, but the decision hadn’t been made with any long-term plan in mind. She still had no concrete vision for her new life.

If not for those two men showing up, she probably would’ve made her decision hours ago.

Rose frowned and returned to her thoughts.

‘Linden really is the best option.’

She mentally estimated her bank account balance and began making calculations.

She’d need to stay in a hotel until she found a new room and office, so the early days would be nothing but expenses.

Still, assuming she spent according to plan, she could manage.

It wasn’t likely she’d go more than a month without securing a place, and if she launched her business right away, income would start flowing within a month or two.

Even if she didn’t make a single cent right away, factoring in Romberton’s average rent for living and office space, she had about three months of buffer.

‘On my way home, I’ll stop by the bookstore and pick up a Linden travel guide.’

And that’s when it happened.

Whoosh.

A small whirlwind appeared in front of Rose, scattering snow-white jasmine petals as it formed.

With a burst of floral fragrance, it deposited a single envelope into her open palm before vanishing completely.

“…This is…”

Wind-elemental magic. And of course, the over-the-top flair with flower petals gave it away: 100% Arthur’s handiwork.

Rose opened the envelope reluctantly, frowning in annoyance.

“…A claim for division of business shares?”