MLS Chapter 27

“An affair between the elegant, virtuous duchess and the debauched, bastard marquis. Now that’s quite the spectacle.”

Lorena was quick to interject, as if she had been expecting such a reaction.

“Of course, that’s not how I see you, Marquis.”

Then she hastily added, “You are far beyond someone like me.”

But to Miguel, the words lacked conviction.

“It’s nice to hear, at least. Now, tell me, Señora. What is it you’re offering me in return?”

His tone had reverted to its usual polite formality.

“If I help you get your divorce, what will you give me?”

“The prince’s head.”

Lorena delivered the answer as casually as if she were selecting a dish from a dinner menu.

“And if you wish, the king’s as well.”

Miguel’s lips slowly pressed together. He ran a hand over his forehead, as if to dispel a troublesome thought, but before he could process the first statement, another bombshell followed.

“I will make you the king of Bessen.”

“……”

“I need a man to play the role of my lover. But this isn’t just about divorce. I need an accomplice. Someone willing to drive a dagger into Vaye Levantes’ throat. The perfect partner to bring this golden kingdom to ruin alongside me.”

Tearing down both Levantes and the Bessen royal family—this was Lorena’s ultimate goal in this lifetime.

And for that, two lives were required.

Vaye Levantes. And Prince Davit Lemen.

Toppling the monarchy was, at its core, treason.

Ultimately, what Lorena was proposing was a conspiracy. A coup. A rebellion.

It was a gamble—one fraught with peril. If Miguel refused and reported her to the palace, this life of hers would also end in failure.

For a long, precarious moment, silence stretched between them.

And then—Miguel burst into laughter.

“You’re far more ambitious than I expected.”

Seeing the expression on his face, Lorena felt an inward sense of relief.

At least… he wasn’t mocking her.

Miguel’s gaze swept over her with something bordering on admiration.

At that moment, he understood.

Why, over the past few weeks, he had been so uncharacteristically invested in this game of hide-and-seek.

Why he had walked into this place of his own accord, drawn in by the absurd proposal of a woman whose face he hadn’t even known—a woman who had brazenly asked him to become her lover.

The eyes of those who wished to destroy someone… The gaze of those who had dedicated their entire existence to bringing down their enemy… They always carried a certain resemblance.

This woman had undoubtedly recognized the same in him.

“So, what you want from me isn’t just to play the role of your lover.”

“I want everything you have—your reputation, your power, your wealth, every right you enjoy in this country. In return, I’ll give you the same.”

“……”

“Once I escape Levantes, you can do whatever you want with me. My bank, my money, my connections, my name—every piece of value I hold.”

“Even if that includes playing with fire?”

“Even that.”

Miguel studied the hand she had laid out before him, weighing its worth. His brow furrowed slightly, as if something about it intrigued him, but his expression as a whole remained composed—detached, even.

“So, I help you divorce, and in return, you assist me in my rebellion… No matter the method, you’ll cooperate unconditionally?”

“If necessary, I’ll offer my soul.”

“Your soul.”

“As long as I can break free from Levantes, I’ll be your chess piece. If you need someone to dirty their hands in your stead, I’ll do it. If you need a spy, I’ll become one. Use me however you see fit.”

“…I see.”

Miguel’s response was vague—unclear if it was an agreement or simply a murmur of thought.

Lorena, unable to read him, swallowed dryly.

And then, without warning, Miguel stepped forward and lifted her into his arms.

Lorena gasped, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck.

“W-What are you—?!”

“Boarding the same ship.”

The cascading layers of her gown spilled over his waist and thighs as he carried her in long strides toward the wall.

But what she had assumed to be a wall was, in truth, a floor-to-ceiling window concealed behind heavy curtains.

With a firm push of his foot, Miguel swung the glass door open.

A warm night breeze swept against Lorena’s nape.

“…Ah.”

Her head turned instinctively.

Beyond them, the blazing, feverish lights of Motrel stretched endlessly in every direction.

The capital unfolded beneath them, gleaming under countless gas lamps. From Alborada’s entrance to the distant glow of St. Vergos Cathedral, the straight line of the Carus Bridge, and the grand silhouette of Motrel Palace—every major landmark of the city was visible from this perfect vantage point.

At the hotel’s entrance below, a lively crowd buzzed with excitement.

Guests coming in, others leaving, exchanging hushed whispers—almost all of them centered around the same subject: the missing Duchess of Levantes and the Marquis of Ervatos.

Miguel, observing the shifting gazes from above, smiled in satisfaction.

“This should do.”

He set Lorena down at the edge of the terrace, his grip tightening slightly around her nape.

For a brief moment, she found herself captivated by the way his long, narrow eyes curved with something undeniably sensual.

Like a god of indulgence and desire, sculpted into human form, he leaned in.

And Lorena—she did not pull away.

The instant she realized he was about to kiss her, a vision flashed through her mind.

A massive shadow.

The force of teeth sinking into her lips, devouring.

Lorena’s shoulders locked rigid with tension.

Amber eyes flickered in her vision, momentarily overlapped with a transparent violet hue.

Panic surged within her.

‘Vaye?’

Lorena froze, unable to breathe, staring into the half-lowered gaze before her.

Not quite red, yet not quite brown—his eyes were murky, intense, wholly different in both shape and color from Vaye’s.

And yet—there was one thing that was exactly the same.

That dull, insatiable thirst lurking in his pupils.

Lorena was paralyzed.

But the violation she feared—the desperate, ravenous force that had once consumed her—never came.

Miguel let out a slow, deep sigh, his breath skimming over her skin.

The lips that had seemed so certain to claim hers lingered dangerously close, hovering just over her upper lip without quite touching.

“You’re not very good at this, Señora.”

“Ah… what?”

Lorena barely registered the faint scent of whiskey in his breath. She had all but forgotten how to breathe.

Miguel, glancing at her frozen expression, let out a low chuckle, his brows twitching slightly in amusement.

“You’re not some naïve little princess, so what’s with the act?”

“……?”

“Forget it. Just put your arms properly around my neck.”

Lorena hesitated before slowly loosening her grip on his collar.

Their lips were still perilously close, his warm palms still cupping her cheeks. Even the slightest movement of her head would bring their mouths together.

Yet, from a distance, they looked unmistakably like lovers locked in a passionate kiss.

Then—click.

The distinct sound of a camera shutter echoed in the air.

A flash of light flickered from somewhere behind Miguel’s shoulder.

“……!”

Her heartbeat pounded erratically.

Someone was taking photos of them.

Miguel lightly patted her cheek, wordlessly instructing her to remain calm.

At that moment, Lorena fully understood the meaning behind his earlier words—“Boarding the same ship.”

Miguel had deliberately left the slightest sliver of space between them, allowing her to gradually collect herself. The phantom presence that had loomed in his violet eyes—the same one that had paralyzed her moments ago—had now vanished.

Several seconds later, the warmth of his hands finally withdrew.

Lorena’s lashes fluttered as she felt his thumb brush against her lips.

Her crimson lipstick had smudged, spreading at the corners of her mouth like paint.

‘What is he doing?’

Miguel gave her a look—then tilted his head slightly, as if gesturing for her to do the same.

Hesitantly, Lorena angled her head just a fraction, and in that instant, her lower lip brushed against his upper one.

The contact was so fleeting, so brief, that it barely counted as a kiss.

Yet heat flared up her neck all the same.

She flinched, but his hands held her face firmly in place.

His lips moved again, forming a single word.

“Breathe.”