Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? - Chapter 103

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 103
“What brings you to me?”
“…Brings me?”
Watching her sluggish responses, Isidore reaffirmed his conviction that Deborah Simour was far from her usual self.
“It’s rather cold. You should wear this at least.”
The moment she accepted the water glass, Isidore draped his jacket over her shoulders. Wrapped in the oversized black fabric, Deborah Simour suddenly murmured something.
“…Your hand.”
Isidore lifted his hand with a puzzled expression.
“My hand?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me how many fingers this is?”
As he waved three fingers before her crimson eyes, she furrowed her brow.
“…Two. I’m not drunk.”
She was confidently wrong, yet her gaze showed no signs of intoxication. The way she glared at his fingers as if she might snap them made Isidore hastily fold one away.
“Yes, two. You’re absolutely right, my lady.”
She suddenly relaxed her eyes and let out a soft laugh. The sight sent an unexpected warmth creeping up the back of his neck. Her smile, which she showed only occasionally, was truly beautiful.
‘It feels like I’m being led around.’
“…You’re quite kind. Knight Isidore.”
She murmured while taking a sip of water.
“….”
It was true that I treated her with kindness. Originally, I never approached anyone like this. Until last year, I had used Territory affairs as an excuse to avoid official gatherings, and this year I hadn’t planned to come to the Academy at all—but someone had changed my plans.
“…And you’re far too perfect. It’s suspicious.”
At her continued words, Isidore’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Where does a perfect person exist in this world? They either hide their flaws or pretend to be flawless.”
“Pretend….”
Deborah Simour repeated the word “pretend” several times over.
“The stronger the light, the deeper the shadow, as they say.”
Isidore spoke while gazing at the great crescent moon, half-hidden in darkness.
‘This isn’t like me.’
The way honest words kept tumbling from my lips suggested that I too was intoxicated by the hazy atmosphere the moonlight created.
“…So you hide your flaws in the shadow?”
“Perhaps.”
Soon silence settled between them. Isidore suddenly dimpled his cheek and opened his mouth playfully.
“But what’s so perfect about me? I can’t even play the piano.”
“…That just adds to your charm.”
“Charming?”
Isidore stared at her incredulously. Then she suddenly pulled his jacket over her head.
“Why are you doing that?”
“…It’s dazzling. I want to escape from the sun.”
‘She’s truly impossible to predict.’
But the problem was that her peculiar behavior was utterly endearing. From deliberately stepping only on the golden floor ornaments to her quiet, intoxicated antics that made me want to keep watching—I felt as though I were glimpsing another facet of her hidden beneath the veil of malicious rumors and cold appearance.
“It’s nighttime. Why would your eyes hurt? Because of the moonlight?”
Isidore asked gently, his voice tinged with amusement. Deborah Simour had squeezed her eyes shut so tightly that her brows furrowed, but then suddenly she lifted her eyelids.
“…All right now.”
“What is?”
“My optic nerve suddenly overexerted itself, so I rested it a bit.”
She continued to murmur incomprehensible things before fixing her gaze on Isidore’s hand once more.
‘So when she’s drunk, she fixates on one thing and won’t let go.’
And the fact that it was his hand didn’t displease him. If it had been another man’s hand… wouldn’t he have wanted to break that man’s wrist? The thought flickered through his mind for a moment.
‘But how much longer does she plan to stare?’
As her crimson eyes clung to him persistently, Isidore flexed his stiffened hand gently, then relaxed it.
‘And why am I so tense in front of a drunk person?’
As he nervously tapped his fingers on his knee, she spoke in a quiet voice.
“…I like large hands that play the piano well.”
‘Why piano, of all things?’
It was an ideal type that seemed ordinary yet distant from him. And the fact that Thierry could only play piano well struck him as absurd. He forced a smile to his lips.
“I practice piano every day. I’ll keep playing until I’m good at it, so don’t play with Thierry in the meantime. That man’s a notorious gambler.”
“…Practice?”
“Yes. Isn’t such effort admirable? I want to praise him every day.”
“…Even if you did it for ten years, I don’t think it would work.”
“But my hands are much larger and more convincing, aren’t they?”
“…Yes. But I can’t play.”
She relaxed the tension around her eyes and smiled softly. Her shoulders trembled with laughter, and her hair, pinned up, swayed gently.
“…Your hands are really beautiful.”
“If you like them so much and find them so pleasing, take them and look all you want.”
“…Give them to me.”
She didn’t refuse but held out her hand as if she’d been waiting. Anyone watching would have thought she was entrusting something to him.
‘She won’t remember this anyway.’
Swallowing a sigh, I placed my large hand gently into Deborah Simour’s palm like an obedient dog.
“Is that enough?”
Suddenly, her ruby-like crimson eyes gleamed with mischief like a naughty child’s. As if to examine the target she’d been relentlessly pursuing, she slowly tilted her head.
‘Isn’t she looking from too close?’
Just as her face and my hand drew closer until our lips might have touched, her fingertips slipped beneath my sleeve.
‘Wait, what is she doing….’
As her fingers slowly penetrated past the edge of my glove, I tensed my broad shoulders and long spine rigidly.
A ticklish sensation coiled around my wrist like a serpent. I had told her to look, but I hadn’t expected her to want to see my bare hand. Caught off guard, my eyes widened and my lips froze with bewilderment.
But I couldn’t push her away. In truth, it was more accurate to say I didn’t want to.
‘This is maddening.’
Just as when we first met, she breached the boundary I had drawn without warning. Now, like a black swan appearing without prelude, she invaded and occupied even my firmly closed senses. She stirred the distinct boundary like marbling, scattering it in all directions.
Her hand gradually slipped deeper into my palm. A burning heat rose within me. Though surely it shouldn’t be this hot in reality.
A sweet and excruciating sensation surged through my hand like an electric current.
The moment our skin made light contact and her fingers traced across the back of my hand, a faint moan threatened to escape, so he bit down hard on the tender flesh inside his mouth. Isidore’s hand—pallid to the point of appearing bluish—interlocked tightly with her slender, graceful one.
Soon after, the glove, shed like a discarded skin, fell limply to the ground.
* * *
Isidore’s large hand, with veins prominent beneath the surface, was icy white yet possessed a distinctly masculine, unyielding texture. His eyes, meeting mine, were redder than usual and blazed with a ferocity that cut like a blade.
“….”
His smooth, firm hand pressed between my fingers as if to devour them.
It was merely a hand-to-hand contact, yet my cheeks burned and my toes curled. The moment I realized the shared warmth was far too intense, I yanked my hand away in panic, as though I’d touched flame.
Crash—!
The empty water glass beside me shattered against the floor. A moment too late, warning lights flashed crimson in my mind.
‘What, what was that?’
What exactly was I trying to confirm? Even through the haze of alcohol, a burning sensation spread through my chest.
‘Was it a dream?’
Intoxicated and dizzy, I desperately denied reality and hastily handed him my jacket as though destroying evidence.
“You must be cold. Wear this.”
His low, restrained voice brushed against my ears. My dulled senses couldn’t discern the emotion in his tone. Only my palm throbbed with heat. My vision spun as though my inner ear had malfunctioned too.
I clutched the collar of my clothes around me and looked about uncertainly, like a lost child.
“I’ll escort you to the carriage. You’re intoxicated.”
His voice grew distant, then faded entirely. The surroundings blurred past in a dizzying whirl before the scene cut out abruptly.
And the next morning.
I opened my eyes on the bed.
“Ugh, my head.”
The moment consciousness returned, a vicious hangover and splitting headache crashed over me. Seeing me clutching my hair and groaning, the servants brought herbal tea supposedly good for headaches.
‘I desperately need aspirin.’
I grimaced while sipping the barely effective tea, when I suddenly dropped the cup. Isidore’s handsome bare hand had materialized vividly in my mind.
‘Wait, why was I removing his gloves?’
And even caressing his hand without permission.
The fragmented memories from last night worked three times better than any headache remedy. Mortification easily overpowered the pain.
‘I should bang my head.’
I pounded my forehead against the pillow repeatedly, then tore to shreds the information about Isidore that I’d purchased from the Information Agency for a total of 1,000 gold as if venting my rage.
“This isn’t happening!!”
What on earth had I done because of this? And why had I drunk so much?
No matter how strong Deborah’s tolerance was, drinking a glass every time someone was introduced to me had clearly been too much.
‘From now on, champagne is absolutely limited to five glasses maximum.’
I engaged in pointless regret while alternately pounding the bed and wall with my fists. I felt the servants’ frightened gazes, but I couldn’t stop thrashing about.
I’m ruined.
‘What do I do?’
I chewed my lip before finding an answer.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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