Emma’s jaw tightened, a single muscle flicking beneath the smooth porcelain of her face.
Then—
click.
Her fan snapped shut with the crisp authority of a gavel.
"Very well," Emma said, a smile curving her lips without ever touching her eyes. "I have proof. After all, evidence doesn’t lie... does it?"
"...Evidence?" I echoed, letting just enough curiosity bleed into my voice.
"Yes. Let’s check his room," she replied smoothly. "The artifact worn by the Faceless Imposter—it’s there. I’ve already confirmed it."
Her words fell like stones into the quiet room. A direct strike. No more vague accusations or coy suggestions—this was a frontal assault.
"I arrested Julies Evans before he had the chance to erase any traces," she continued, chin tilted with quiet triumph. "Right as he left his quarters. If we go now, we should find it."
"Ah," I said dryly, "so unfair. I can’t even speak properly before being judged."
Emma’s eyes glittered, sharp as cut glass. "Quite confident, aren’t you? That means you have no objection to a search?"
She leaned forward slightly, the scent of her perfume—a faint frost-rose—tightening around me like a net.
I met her gaze and allowed myself a lazy shrug. "Objection? How could I, a mere servant and son of a minor baron, dare to defy a lady’s request? Please, search as you like."
"...What?"
For the first time that evening, her composure faltered. A flicker of surprise cracked the surface of her perfect mask.
"Julies," Alice cut in, her voice softer than before. "Are you sure? You don’t have to agree. A room search isn’t exactly... pleasant."
I turned to her, catching the faint note of concern in her eyes. Interesting. Perhaps she regretted her earlier coolness.
"I am innocent," I said simply. "If a search will prove it, then by all means, search. I welcome it."
Emma blinked, thrown off balance by my unflinching acceptance. Her carefully laid trap, meant to corner me, now left her without an easy retort.
Inside, I almost smiled.
Why refuse when this was the perfect chance?
A clean search would not only shred Emma’s suspicions but also bury any lingering doubts Alice might still harbor.
Let them look, I thought, feeling the faint, dangerous thrill of control slide beneath my calm exterior.
The more certain they are, the deeper their confusion when the truth finally surfaces.
Emma’s fan trembled ever so slightly before she regained her poise, the faintest tightening of her grip betraying the irritation beneath her flawless façade.
"...Very well," she said at last, her tone sharpening like a blade hidden beneath velvet. "Since you are so eager to prove your innocence, let’s not waste time. Show us the way, Julies."
I inclined my head, a polite bow masking the quiet satisfaction curling inside me. "As you wish, Lady Voss."
Alice remained stood for a heartbeat longer, her eyes narrowing in faint suspicion. Then she followed as well and following her was Amelia.
"Julies," she murmured as she passed me, "if there’s anything you’ve hidden—"
"There isn’t," I said smoothly, meeting her gaze with a steady calm. "You have my word."
Her eyes lingered on me for a second longer than necessary, searching, testing, before she finally turned away.
The walk to my quarters was heavy with silence, broken only by the distant hum of servants preparing for the upcoming celebration. Each step echoed like a drumbeat in the tense corridor, the air tightening with unspoken stakes.
----
The fourteenth drawer groaned in protest as Emma yanked it open, the hinges screeching like a wounded animal.
The candlestick on the desk wobbled dangerously, nearly toppling under the force of her frantic search. Papers fluttered to the floor, a silent testament to her growing desperation.
"Two hours have passed," came a dry voice from behind her, "and you’re still tearing apart this tiny room?"
Each disdainful remark only sharpened the tension coiling in Emma’s chest. Her magic had been clear—she saw the mask. She had watched it gleam faintly on that very desk. Yet no matter how many drawers she rifled through, no matter how deep she searched, the golden mask was gone.
Was her own spell betraying her?
Had her eyes been tricked by some clever illusion?
No. The image had been too vivid. Too precise.
’Damn it... if I’d just waited a little longer...!’
She had restrained Julies too hastily, certain the evidence was secure. But familiar magic devoured mana like a starving beast. Maintaining her hold on him while keeping her gaze on the surroundings had been impossible. And now—now she was paying the price.
"Well," Julies drawled from the doorway, his lazy smile cutting sharper than any blade, "have you found your phantom treasure yet?"
That look. That infuriating calm.
It was the same expression every slippery criminal wore when her rookie hands once fumbled a case.
Emma’s fists tightened until her nails bit into her palms. "Of course not," she forced out through clenched teeth. "Why would I expect to find such luxurious items in a servant’s room?"
The room itself mocked her: a Spartan space with only a desk, a wardrobe, and a narrow bed. Not a hint of gold. Not a trace of anything beyond the bare minimum.
It had to be here. Hidden. Masked.
But unless she produced proof now , she would be the one humiliated.
To falsely accuse a servant—one belonging to another ducal household, no less—was already a grave insult. To fail in proving it? An unpardonable one.
"I’ll give you ten minutes," Alice’s cold, measured voice cut through the tension. "Decide for yourself."
The meaning was unmistakable.
Continue this fruitless search and risk disgrace...
Or swallow her pride and admit defeat.
Emma’s jaw tightened until it ached. Every nerve screamed at her to keep looking. But reason, cold and merciless, prevailed.
Her shoulders sagged with reluctant resignation. "...I apologize, Lady Draken. I acted... too rashly."
Alice’s eyes, icy as the northern wind, did not soften.
"You are apologizing to the wrong person," she said, her tone sharp enough to cut glass.
Emma blinked, startled. "What...?"
The air between them tightened, heavy with unspoken meaning. Alice’s gaze slid toward Julies—calm, unreadable, but edged with something that made Emma’s stomach knot.
"That apology," Julies said smoothly, stepping forward just enough for the lamplight to catch the faintest edge of a grin, "belongs to me ."
His gaze locked with hers, unflinching, daring her to look away.
"After all," he added, voice dropping to a low, velvet whisper, "I’m the one you accused."
Emma’s breath caught, the words she’d planned to use dissolving into a silence so sharp it stung.
Her eyes, usually so quick to cut, faltered under the steady weight of his.
For an instant, Julies thought he saw something flicker—frustration, pride, and the faintest trace of embarrassment—before she smoothed it away like a smudge on polished glass.
"...You are correct," she said finally, the admission tasting of ground stone.
Her voice was soft, but the strain in it betrayed the cost.
Emma’s chin remained high, her shoulders drawn tight with defiance.
This was no meek apology of a defeated woman.
It was the carefully measured retreat of a general forced to yield, sword still in hand.
"I wrongfully accused you, Julies Evans. My... deepest apologies."
Her voice was steady, but the faint tremor beneath it betrayed how much effort it took to force the words out.
Julies tilted his head slightly, a faint, mocking smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"What was that? My wrist’s still throbbing—I don’t think I caught it."
That...!
Emma’s nails dug into the soft fabric of her gloves. The audacity of this servant, this baron-born nobody, to play deaf in front of her.
Suppressing the surge of heat crawling up her neck, she drew a slow breath and forced her tone to remain even.
"Accusing you unjustly, and even... imposing unfair pressure. I admit it."
Julies let the words hang in the air, savoring them. Then, with an infuriatingly casual shrug, he replied,
"Hmm. I can’t say I feel much sincerity, but... I suppose that will do. I accept your apology."
The teasing lilt in his voice was a blade wrapped in velvet.
Emma’s entire body stiffened as a tremor of humiliation coursed through her.
A man of baronial birth—barely above a commoner.
A suspected criminal, no less.
And yet he dared to mock her ?
’I will remember this, Julies Evans.’
The thought burned into her mind like a seal.
He was from the West.
The Evans baronial house—so small and obscure she had never even heard of it.
What difficulty could there possibly be in crushing a family so insignificant?
One letter.
One word whispered in the right ear.
That was all it would take to bury a man like him.
Julies’s faint, knowing smile only sharpened her resolve.
"Express gratitude for the leniency you’ve been shown," she said coldly, forcing her lips into something that almost resembled a smile. "That will be all."
Without waiting for a reply, Emma turned on her heel, her skirts flaring sharply as she strode away.
To stay a moment longer risked too much—her composure, her pride, and the delicious plans already forming in her mind.
Julies watched her leave, the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes, as if he could already read every vengeful thought she carried.
---
Author Note:
Thank you for reading the Chapter. I hope you continue to do read more in future.
It’s my second novel so if there’s any kind of mistakes you find in the novel related to grammar please tell me and I’ll edit it as soon as possible.