Chapter 124
When I arrived home, Michelle was anxiously waiting by the front entrance, pacing nervously.
The moment the carriage came to a stop, she ran out and exclaimed,
“My Lady! Why are you so late?”
“Good grief. Why is everyone acting like this today?”
“Lord Armin is here. He’s been waiting quite a while now.”
“I know.”
“You—you know?”
“Yeah.”
Honestly. With Sasha, Poster, and even Angela acting like I absolutely had to stay home today, it was impossible not to notice something was up.
Their every move screamed that something big was coming.
It was all indirect, of course, but obvious enough: Armin was planning something.
And what else could he possibly be hiding and preparing in a situation like this?
A proposal.
Times like this, being sharp, was exhausting.
But I didn’t let it show and instead replied curtly.
“So what if he’s here? Am I supposed to drop everything and come running like I’m on standby just for him?”
“My Lady, must you say it like that?”
“Forget it. Let him do some waiting for once.”
Hmph.
I shot a cold glare toward the drawing room.
Dusk had already begun to fall, and the lights inside were on.
I’d waited two whole weeks without a single explanation.
Letting him wait a little now would only be fair.
Without another word, I headed upstairs.
Michelle, who knew better than anyone how frayed my nerves had been for the past two weeks, followed behind with worry in her eyes.
“I want to change.”
“My Lady, wouldn’t it be better to go and greet Lord Armin first to let him know you’re back—?”
“Leave him. If he gets tired of waiting, he can leave.”
“My Lady…”
Michelle looked at me with soft, sympathetic eyes.
No one knew better than her how much turmoil Armin had caused me lately.
So, in the end, she gave up trying to argue.
“All right, my lady. What would you like to change into? Perhaps the loungewear Princess Florin gifted you?”
“No.”
“Then… shall I help you into your cotton nightgown?”
“No.”
I replied in a small voice.
“That one. The new one I bought.”
“The new one? When did you buy new loungewear?”
“Not loungewear.”
“What? Not— Wait. Don’t tell me… You mean that red dress? The one made of gold-threaded silk?”
I nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed.
At last, Michelle sighed lightly and returned to her usual, composed demeanor.
“My Lady…”
“Don’t. If you even think about teasing me right now, I swear I won’t go see Armin at all.”
“Perish the thought. Shall I touch up your makeup as well?”
“Yes. And my hair.”
“But of course, my lady.”
* * *
I changed clothes. The dress was one that spared no expense—deep crimson silk threaded with gold, delicate lace trimming the edges, and a daringly low neckline.
It had been chosen by Princess Florin herself, who had insisted, with unwavering certainty, that my shoulder line was too beautiful not to be shown off—even though I usually avoided revealing clothing.
A few days ago, perhaps sensing how down I’d been, Princess Florin had suggested we spend a little girls-only time together. I couldn’t help but wonder… had she known, too? The reason Armin had been avoiding me?
Even clueless Angela had picked up on it, so surely she had as well.
Looking at my reflection now—dressed up and fully made-up—I looked like someone under a beauty filter. I was more radiant than usual, beautiful enough to claim, without hesitation, that I was the Saint of Mendelia.
“Michelle.”
“Yes, my Lady?”
“You knew, didn’t you?”
Michelle didn’t answer. But really, I didn’t need her to.
A bitter laugh escaped me.
“How could you all deceive me so perfectly?”
“I’m sorry, my Lady. But I couldn’t be the only traitor, could I?”
“You all betrayed me, Michelle.”
“Andre always says, it’s smarter to side with the bigger crowd.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Even Andre knew? I really shouldn’t let you marry that man.”
Michelle chuckled and told me to close my eyes. Her brush danced over my eyelids, dusting on a soft shade. I grumbled again.
“Seriously. You’re all the worst.”
“All done, my Lady. Now, off to the drawing room with you.”
“Off? No thanks. I’ll take my time.”
“Oh, my mistake. Yes, please take your time. Rest on each step, maybe spend an hour or so per stair—it is exhausting.”
“Hmph. I will.”
But despite my words, my feet carried me briskly toward the door.
Then suddenly, a thought struck me, and I turned around.
Michelle, watching curiously, saw me retrieve a ring from the drawer and said,
“I’ve seen that somewhere before…”
She had indeed seen something nearly identical a long time ago—back when Armin and I had first met.
I chuckled quietly and slipped the ring onto my finger. Now, I was truly ready.
“I’m going now.”
“Congratulations, my Lady.”
Michelle smiled at me as she said it, and a wave of shy warmth bloomed in my chest.
I walked quickly toward the drawing room where Armin was waiting.
Before I knew it, I was standing at the door. The butler, clearly in on everything too, bowed deeply before knocking.
Oddly, I felt nervous. It was my house—why was I so tense?
The door opened, and there he was, seated on the sofa. Armin.
He looked just as nervous as I was.
I knew what was coming next, and it only made my heart pound harder.
I tried to keep my face neutral, but a bashful expression slipped out against my will.
“You’re busy, aren’t you? And yet you’re here? I heard you’ve been waiting quite a while.”
“Vivian.”
Just hearing him say my name with that gentle smile—
All the petty plans I’d made to act cold until he earned my forgiveness melted away instantly.
“That’s cheating. Smiling at me like that.”
“You’re one to talk. How am I supposed to stay calm when you show up looking that beautiful?”
“What? This? I dress like this all the time.”
“At home?”
“Of course. I’ve been wearing this for days. It’s probably dirty by now. I hope you’ll be understanding.”
We traded playful jabs until our eyes met—
And then, laughter bubbled up from both of us at once.
It was just like those scenes I’d read over and over in romance novels.
The kind where even the sound of a swallow was loud enough to echo in your chest.
Scenes of confessions in sunlit meadows.
Of the hero and heroine locked in a room as the man spent days convincing her they simply had to get married.
All those stories flipped past in my mind like pages in a book.
This wasn’t a meadow, and Armin would never do anything forceful. There was no alcohol in the drawing room, so I wasn’t drunk, and I certainly hadn’t been kidnapped.
Maybe…
Maybe the fact that this wasn’t like a scene from a novel made it all the more nerve-wracking. In stories, the proposal was always dramatic for the sake of entertainment. But this—this was just a plain, ordinary proposal. That made it even harder to breathe.
I’d worn the wedding ring, as the Duchess had advised—she’d insisted I absolutely had to wear it—but if I received a proposal ring now, which finger was I supposed to wear that on? I was mentally wrestling with the logistics when—
If Armin had pulled out a ring and simply knelt on one knee to say, Will you marry me?, my answer would have been yes, yes, and yes again without hesitation.
But instead, Armin did not pull out a ring.
He handed me… a bundle.
It was so unexpectedly large and oddly shaped that I was momentarily thrown.
“What… is this?”
“You’ll see… once you open it.”
I’d seen many sides of Armin before, but never one like this—embarrassed, bashful, and so flustered he could barely speak. His face looked like it was about to burst into flames. He even began rambling, tripping over his own words as if trying to justify himself.
He was so nervous, he didn’t even notice the wedding ring already on my finger.
“I mean, it might not live up to your standards, Vivian… but this was the only way I knew how to express how I feel. It’s not that bad, I promise. I had a lot of help from Mother… and I consulted Poster, too.”
Okay, but what is it?!
His nerves were rubbing off on me, and I swallowed hard as I looked down at the bundle.
The wrapping was surprisingly honest about what was inside—I could tell almost immediately what it was. And yet, unlike the usual books I read, this one felt… thin. A short story, maybe?
I untied the ribbon slowly.
Inside was, as expected—a book.
“A book…?” I murmured.
I glanced at the title.
<Captivated by the Recluse Lady>
I’d never seen it before. Where the author’s name should’ve been, only initials were printed:
A.G.
A new author? I tried to come up with names in my head, piecing them together. And then—suddenly, it hit me.
No way.
No. Way.
No way…?
I stared at Armin slowly, disbelieving.
Armin Grey. The son of Rebecca Grey. Armin Grey.
And then, it all made sense—his mention of “Mother’s help,” of “Poster’s advice.”
“…No way. This isn’t—wait, really? Really really?”
I was so flustered I couldn’t stop asking.
Armin Grey wrote a romance novel?!
Was this real life?
“Vivian Roha,” he said, looking me in the eyes, “I love you enough to do something like this.”
“…Can I read it now?”
“…Even if I say no, you’re going to, aren’t you?”
“Of course.”
I nodded furiously. I couldn’t stop myself—the words, ‘What is happening right now?!’, kept spilling from my mouth in disbelief.
With Armin beside me, utterly red-faced and looking down in embarrassment, my heart pounding like mad—
I gently opened to the first page of <Captivated by the Recluse Lady>.