lord strike me down.

He suspects that Cale’s, now his, fiancé knew about his trashy behaviour and drinking problem, and kept their distance to preserve their reputation. If not for the Henituse family’s wealth, the engagement probably wouldn’t even exist. Still, it complicates things for Kim Rok Soo’s goal of living a lazy and mediocre life. He doesn’t know what kind of person you are, whether you resent being engaged to a lout, or if you’ll have any significance later. He doesn’t even know what you look like.

“Why do you look so nervous? Are we meeting someone scary?” Hong asks, batting a paw against Cale’s stomach to get his attention. On looks up silently, her curious eyes mirroring her brother’s. He doesn't blame the two siblings for their concern; this will be the first time he meets someone he has no plan for.

"Perhaps, although they can't afford to hurt us," Cale huffs, quietly amused at his own pun, though the notch in his brow doesn’t fade. He scratches under Hong’s chin, pleased by the happy purrs that fill the carriage. His other hand moves to On, brushing between her soft ears. “That’s why I’m expecting you both to dial up your charms and get to work.”

“Yes, sir!” they chirp in unison, tails swishing as they nudge his hand for more pets. A small smile tugs at Cale’s lips as he indulges them. He hadn’t been fond of cats in his previous life, but these two have managed to creep into his heart. He’s confident they’ll succeed, if the extravagant seat Hans had set up for them is anything to go by. If his fiancé can’t treat animals well, it’ll be easier to have a valid reason and keep a safe distance.

He’ll just have to do what he does best: play it by ear and ask for a drink.

---

“I didn’t know you were fond of pets, or that your father allowed them in the estate.”

“I suppose they got lucky…” Cale can feel wrinkles forming from how often he’s furrowed his brows. His poor, good-looking face will end up ruined at this rate. Meanwhile, Hong and On are in heaven, snuggling at your legs. He’d told them to act cute, but judging by their enthusiasm, they’re not pretending anymore. The treats and affection you’ve given them have completely bought their loyalty.

“Hmm. If you say so. They are quite cute," your quiet laugh brushes against his eardrums, and Cale really needs that drink. He squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing his eyelids until colour bursts behind them. He’s misread this situation completely, and to be fair, he doubts anyone could’ve prepared for this.

You’re a man. Not the woman he assumed you were. That one’s on him, really. When reading the novel, he’d thought the author had simply mistyped and used the wrong character. It was a single sentence about a forgotten character, so he had brushed it off.

Regardless, whether you were meant to be male or female doesn’t matter, because-

You’re far too handsome.

When Kim Rok Soo first woke up in this world, he thought he’d lucked out. Cale was rich, attractive, and elegant enough to wear anything, and everyone around him seemed to have been sculpted by the same unfairly generous author: Choi Han with his sharp angles and heart of gold, Rosalyn with her vibrant hair and ambitious eyes, even the servants looked like they belonged in portraits. But when his carriage rolled to a stop before your estate and you opened the door yourself, sunlight catching on the stray strands of hair that had escaped their tie, he realized instantly that you were on an entirely different level. The faint scent of cedar and ink lingered in the air as your hand met his, steady and warm, and for a beat, Kim Rok Soo forgot to breathe. Even Hong and On had to nudge his leg to stop him from gawking. He coughed into his hand, masking his lapse with Cale’s usual nonchalance, but the thought still hit him with an almost comedic clarity: How had someone with that face ended up treated like a background character? How had you and Cale only shared a professional relationship?

“I need a drink…” he mutters, too low to be polite but loud enough for you to hear. Ah. That answers one question already, your fiancé’s drinking habit must’ve been rough for you.

“My apologies. I got carried away," the soft smile you’d worn fades into a firmer line as you give Hong and On one last affectionate scratch. Their whines follow you as you say, “I’ll fetch something from our cellar.”

Two things stand out to Cale immediately.

One: you’d called Count Deruth his father, not your father-in-law, despite your engagement being publicly acknowledged. That single phrasing already told him more about your situation than a dozen letters could have. It meant you were being careful, maybe even trying to keep the Henituse name separate from your own, to preserve some independence or dignity. That alone set you apart from everyone else he’d encountered—people who fell in line or played their roles without a thought.

Two: despite your status, you were the one who’d opened his carriage door and helped him down, hand steady and polite, the faintest trace of callouses brushing against his palm. Now, you’re the one offering to fetch his drink, a task he’d normally assign to Ron or Hans.

The picture is painfully clear. You’re well-mannered, intelligent, probably too kind for your own good, and, unfortunately, broke.

He leans back against the chair, crossing one leg over the other. The cushion dips under his weight, a faint creak of the frame cutting through the quiet room. The house isn’t neglected, but it feels tired. The polished floorboards have dulled in certain patches; the curtains look older than they should.

It fits the narrative.

Cale drums his fingers against the armrest, eyes half-lidded. In a world with dragons and ancient relics, being short on funds must be worse than being cursed. He can almost hear Ron’s dry chuckle or Choi Han’s gentle disapproval in his mind. But Cale doesn’t pity you. He just finds it… interesting. The way you carry yourself, all poise and composure, as if you haven’t noticed the cracks showing. You play the part of a noble well.

“Cale Henituse and his fiancé only shared a professional relationship.”

He can see why now. There’s nothing to gain from sentimentality when survival depends on pretending not to sink.

“You’re running out of funds, aren’t you?” Cale says suddenly. Your steps halt at the doorway. There’s a pause, a single sharp intake of breath, before the hinges groan and the door eases shut. The faintest shift of your weight, the soft click of your boots against the floor.

“Yes,” you say quietly. “You are correct. Will that be a problem for you, regarding our engagement?”

The honesty is disarming. No hesitation, no excuses, no attempt to hide it behind pride. Just a simple agreement. Cale exhales slowly, thoughtfully, and lets his gaze drift just slightly downward, trying to disguise the curiosity sparking behind his usual calm demeanor. Honest, agreeable, and, frustratingly, too handsome for your own good. You would have been the fan-favorite side character who dies halfway through to give the protagonist emotional depth.

He sits up a little straighter. The leather glove around his hand creaks as he folds his fingers together.

“Of course not,” he replies without missing a beat, “I’m loaded. I don’t need your money.”

That earns the faintest twitch of your lips. Not quite a smile or pity, but it's charming all the same. Cale shifts slightly in his seat, willing down the heat travelling up his pale neck to his cheeks. He's tempted to fake another cough, but he's already done that before. He knows you were nice enough to not point it out. You've been watching him as carefully as he has you.

He gestures toward the seat across from him, “Sit. I want to learn more about my fiancé.”

You move without hesitation, crossing the space deliberately, and settle into the chair opposite him. You adjust slightly once, ensuring your posture is straight but comfortable. Cale notes the subtle movements, the small indications of confidence in the way you arrange yourself. He shifts his weight again, resting his elbows lightly on the armrests, and studies you more closely. The distance between you is polite, exactly the kind that would suit a “professional relationship.”. He wonders, briefly, if that’s why Cale Henituse, the original one, never bothered to get closer. Maybe he’d thought you were too unremarkable, too ordinary in a story filled with heroes and villains. Or maybe he just never looked close enough.

Kim Rok Soo, however, has always been the kind to notice the background details. The light catches along your hollow cheekbones, outlining the slope of your bony jaw, the faint shadow of fatigue beneath your eyes. You look like someone who’s been holding a crumbling house together with spit and blood.

“You don’t need to act so formal,” he says after a moment, “It’s exhausting to watch.”

Your brows rise slightly, “Then how would you prefer I act, Lord Cale?”

“Like someone who doesn’t care whether I approve of them or not.”

A pause. Then, to his mild surprise, you actually relax a little, leaning back in your chair. There’s something almost amused in your eyes now.

“As you wish,” you murmur.

The silence that follows is oddly comfortable. Hong’s purr rumbles softly in the background, and On yawns, curling into a ball near the chair legs. Cale’s gaze drifts to the faint gold ring on his own hand, a symbol of an engagement that had never meant anything. Until now, perhaps.

“We’ll get along fine,” he says at last, mostly to himself. “Just don’t cause me any trouble.”

You hum in acknowledgment, “I’ll do my best, Lord Cale.”

He watches the slight tilt of your head as you speak, the even cadence of your words, the calm certainty behind them. There’s no hidden agenda, no attempt to manipulate, no sign that you intend to interfere with his plans. You are competent, careful, and measured. He realizes that because you’ve been able to remain unnoticed until now, despite your capabilities and presence, you likely won’t bring trouble to him. You understand boundaries and have learned to navigate situations without attracting conflict. That in itself is a relief, and a rare one at that.

He hums back, low and unimpressed, but the faintest smirk tugs at his mouth as he leans back in his seat.