Chapter 7

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“Really? You’re not interested at all?”

Instead of answering, I simply smiled noncommittally.

Jack sighed with frustration, as if my smile indicated the only answer he didn’t want. “You could make a fortune. Do you have any idea how much the wealthy fork out at the theater these days? You might not look the flashiest, but there’s a certain kind of… elegance about you that would definitely attract attention.”

I continued wiping the tabletop with the cloth in my hand. The table was so old that its many scratches seemed just part of its design, and cleaning it hardly made a dent in its appearance.

“If you caught the eye of some bigshot, it could change your life! Did you hear about Violetta, the prima donna of the Alba Theater? She was able to retire after Count Germon took an interest in her. Just imagine it. Crystal glasses overflowing with champagne, glittering chandeliers, luxurious dresses and jewelry, gentlemen lining up to ask you to dance!”

Right… Platters of desserts that looked like artwork, a marvel of colors and fanciful design… Silver trays that were polished until they shone, set next to glasses of light and sweet wine… Accessories made of lace and jewels that seemed as delicate as butterfly wings…

I was all too familiar with these luxuries. The marquess and his wife had brought countless such items to the manor to entertain their sickly daughter as she couldn’t travel far from home. Ophelia was unable to dance at any balls, yet they had still imported fabrics lighter than air and more vibrant than any butterfly to make her dresses. It was all beautiful and expensive, but ultimately frivolous.

I interrupted him, shaking my head. “Look, just because you ordered a cup of coffee doesn’t mean you can keep yapping away at me. I might as well work the counter.”

“I’m serious! There’s a glamorous life waiting out there, far better than working in this coffee house. I can’t understand why you wouldn’t want to give it a chance.”

Jack groused a bit more, then finished his coffee in one gulp. He was a young man in his early twenties, a bit shorter than his peers, and eager to make something of himself. He had taken on menial jobs like shoe polishing and writing tidbit articles for the newspaper, but now it seemed he was scouting talent for the grand theater. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at me longingly.

This coffee house, situated on the outskirts of the capital, was a humble establishment that rarely saw an ounce of sunlight even during the afternoon. Its clientele mainly consisted of poor students, writers, and ladies seeking a place to get off their feet for a moment. There were only three tables inside. It opened too late to serve breakfast, too early to meet the lunch rush, and closed before dinner.

It was a business that clearly wasn’t poised for financial success, and I was its sole employee. To deflect suspicion, I had spun a tale about the cafe’s owner—a wealthy old woman who lived nearby. Of course, my own origins were also a secret, which made Jack’s offer all the more amusing.

The young man handed me a coin to pay for his coffee. I placed it on the counter. “Jack…”

“Yeah?”

“If you set your ambitions too high, they can lead you to trouble.”

“Huh?” He looked puzzled.

The third son of an impoverished family, Jack had learned early in life how to hustle on the streets. He was eager for quick success and his eyes were always glowing with youthful, anxious ambition. Under different circumstances, I might have been subjected to the same pressure from my own greedy parents and struggled just as he did.

I slid the coin back across the counter to him. To Jack, even a single cup of coffee was a luxury. When every penny was so precious, these visits to the cafe and his many coffee orders seemed to be a desperate attempt at appearing wealthy and luring me into joining his endeavors.

“The brighter the spotlight, the darker the shadow,” I reminded him.

Taken aback, he glanced from the coin to my face before hastily snatching it up. It seemed he too realized how wasteful it was to spend money on a cup of coffee in his position.

“When you’re desperate… your judgment becomes clouded,” I continued. “Be careful you don’t end up regretting your decisions. Choose wisely.”

He was silent for a moment. “I don’t completely get it, but you’re certainly an odd one, Emily.”

“If you think that, then you should stop trying to sweet-talk me.”

“Hmph… Fine. I’ll leave. But I’ll be back!” he shouted as he exited the shop, clutching his coin to ensure no one would try and take it. I watched him go, letting out a small chuckle.

After cleaning up and putting away the chairs, I realized it was already late afternoon. Expecting no more customers, I decided to close up early and do some shopping for dinner.

It had been roughly two years since I had bought this building on the capital’s outskirts and made it my home.

The morning I left Windrose Estate, I visited several jewelers in the capital. I had bought some recommendations for reputable jewelers by offering a few coins to the carriage driver. I visited a few of the places he suggested, and after having my jewelry evaluated at each and choosing the one that would cut me the best deal, I sold it all.

I had been worried about visiting alone. As a young woman dressed in mourning clothes, they might significantly undervalue my jewels. Luckily, I managed not to suffer too much of a loss.

After putting some of the money into the bank, I purchased a small building with a storefront on the ground floor and living quarters above. The building was nicely secluded, with room for a small garden beside it. Even though I could afford a much more luxurious house, I saw no need. I planned to live alone and I had no intention of hiring a maid.

I considered renting out the first floor, but in the end, I decided to open a trendy coffee house to give myself something to do. I experimented with brewing tea as the maids had once done for me, and tried my hand at baking, though I frequently ended up with trays of burnt goods.

The shop was really more for personal fulfillment than profit. The location was subprime and the food and drinks I offered were of mediocre quality. Because of that, I had few customers, but I did get some passersby and young penniless people who were drawn in by the cheap coffee and looking for a way to pass the time. It was quiet and peaceful, which I didn’t find all that bad.

Yawning, I draped my apron over the counter. After putting out the lights and locking the door, I headed out onto the street with my woven basket in hand to buy some ingredients for dinner. I picked up two loaves of bread, a chunk of smoked ham, and some apples. As I tried to remember whether I had any butter left at home, I heard a commotion break out.

Turning my head, I saw a horse galloping wildly down the street, pulling the carriage it was attached to this way and that. Most people had managed to quickly jump out of the way, but one child had not. They were sitting on the ground, crying and frozen in fear.

There was still quite a distance between the child and the horse, but with the animal so agitated, their safety wasn’t assured. If they were hit by the carriage, it could prove fatal, but the gathered bystanders seemed reluctant to step in.

I dropped my basket and ran, yelling at the top of my lungs in hopes the terrified coachman would hear me. “Grab one end of the reins! Just pull one side, that’s enough to stop the horse!” I wasn’t sure if my words got through to him, but I had to try something.

I scooped the child up and rolled with them tucked in my arms. I was just in time. The horse’s hooves thundered past us moments later. The coachman must have heeded my shout because the horse then began to slow down with a loud neigh.

The child’s mother, pale with fear, rushed over and embraced them. They were a little scraped up from my hurried dive, but it was a small price to pay for avoiding a potentially fatal accident.

Catching my breath, I retrieved my basket. Its contents were now a sorry sight on the ground. I quickly found the bread and ham, but the apples had rolled in every direction. With a heavy sigh, I bent down to pick one up.

“What are you doing here?” a man’s voice suddenly asked.

I froze as his hand picked up the apple and offered it to me. I then looked up to see his face.

The man was dressed in a formal three-piece suit, his short black hair neatly combed back behind his ears. His deep violet eyes were full of tumultuous emotion that seemed beyond comprehension. I could see the prominent blue veins on the back of his hand as he held out the apple, and his lips were twisted in a perplexed frown.

Stunned, I silently called his name. Laertes Hope.