What would it feel like to stand before Anette as Cassian?

Hertian couldn’t even begin to count how many times he’d imagined this.

‘Would Anette be disappointed? Or pleased? Or would she harbor some other emotion?’

Thousands of scenarios unfolded in his mind.

Moreover, he had just shed the guise of Cassian. Now he intended to stand proudly as Hertian, as her husband, before Anette.

But suddenly, Anette had met Cassian?

“Who met whom?”

Hertian was engulfed in the greatest confusion of his life.

The real Cassian is here, so who on Earth claims to be Cassian?

“Hertian? Why are you acting so strange all of a sudden?”

Anette, noticing Hertian’s irritation, inquired curiously.

“I was simply too curious.”

He awkwardly smiled and scratched the back of his neck. His mind was in turmoil. He wanted to rip apart whoever this person was.

“Remember, I told you I had a pen pal before we got married? The one whose face and name I didn’t know. I finally met them.”

“So, who was it?”

He hastily posed the question, then trailed off. He didn’t want to arouse unnecessary suspicion. But he couldn’t control the trembling of his legs under the table.

“You wouldn’t know him, Hertian. He’s a noble but not an active one.”

“There’s someone like that other than me?”

“Yes. He seemed reluctant to discuss his family, perhaps because of some issues. He also seemed hesitant to meet me.”

He barely managed to hold back a snort.

The more he heard, the more absurd it seemed. The person was acting just like him, as if they had read all the letters.

“Poor guy. So who is he?”

Hertian bit the inside of his cheek and asked again. After a moment of thought, Anette told him.

“It’s Mikael Vallosone.”

As she said, it was someone he hardly knew.

In short, the person had cleverly chosen someone who could serve as a believable excuse.

‘What the hell is Serdis scheming?’

He had long known that the person who burned all the letters in front of him was Serdis.

At the time, he had thought Serdis was simply jealous and provoking him, but after hearing her story, it was clear there was another trick at play. A scheme exploiting the fact he couldn’t reveal he was Cassian.

“Hertian? Do you know him?”

Lost in deep thought, Hertian was snapped out of it as Anette waved her hand in front of him.

“I don’t know him. A viscount, you say? Quite a highranking individual.”

“I was surprised, too. And he’s a temporary aide to Prince Serdis. He said he approached me because he knows that Prince Serdis and I have a strained relationship. I feel guilty.”

“Bullshit!”

In a moment of weakness, a harsh curse burst from Hertian’s lips. Startled, Anette took a step back.

“Are you, angry?”

“Yes, I am.”

And why wouldn’t he be?

‘What the hell is a viscount doing? Pretending to worry about Anette while sticking close to a guy like Serdis?’

The more he thought about it, the more outrageous it seemed.

Noticing his irritation, Anette rummaged through her bag and handed him a calming tablet.

“Your arrhythmia is getting worse. Calm down.”

“Thank you.”

“But what exactly is making you angry, Hertian?”

He pondered briefly. There were thousands of reasons, but this one seemed most suitable to share.

“Didn’t I promise to serve you a fish dish, my wife?”

“You’re angry because of fish?”

Anette continued to look puzzled.

“I despise people without a sense of courtesy. If it were me, I’d serve my favorite dish to a newly met friend.”
In the end, he made an excuse with whatever came to mind. Of course, the lack of sensibility also displeased him. If you’re going to imitate, you should know well what you’re imitating. How dare you serve fish dishes to Anette?

‘I even changed my tastes?’

After marrying, Hertian had even changed his tastes. He had put away the fish dishes he used to enjoy, eating eggs and meat dishes that she liked every day, in case Anette might be offended by the smell.

“The more I think about it, the worse it gets.”

Grimacing, he grabbed his jacket.

“Where are you going?”

“Looks like I have no choice. Today, I’ll have to serve a delicious meal to my wife. To forget such unpleasant memories.”

(This is a time separator.)

Hertian went out of the townhouse first, saying he would look for a good restaurant.

I chuckled as I looked at the spot where he’d exited.

“Sometimes, I think the one who knows me best is not Cassian but Hertian.”

He had never done anything I disliked. Even before marriage. No, since the first time we met, he had always given me what I wanted, like a wizard granting wishes.

Thanks to that, my mood, which had been dampened by my meeting with Cassian, improved instantly.

“Should I suggest macarons for dessert? I had them yesterday, so should I try something else?”

I lost myself in a happy dilemma as I wiped my mouth. Meanwhile, seeing that I had finished eating, the old butler approached. He looked at the plates with food remaining and asked, concerned.

“Madam, did the food not suit your palate?”

“It was excellent. But I’m planning to have a delicious meal for lunch, so I ate only a little.”

“That’s a relief.”