This man is terrifying.

A single tear escaped her eye; she was too frightened to hold it back. She desperately tried to hide her thin, bare ankles deeper into her pant legs.

Talon gave her one brief look before turning his gaze away.

"Your Grace, this one is new. He's quite ignorant; I haven't had the chance to train him yet," Cecil said, a practiced smile plastered on his face, though every wrinkle around his eyes twitched with nerves. He rubbed his hands together. "The ones waiting by the door are for you, My Lord."

"And which unlucky bastard do you think I should pick?" Talon sneered.

"Look at our top host. Kieran, get over here! What are you standing there for?" Cecil cursed the incompetence of his staff under his breath.

"Your Grace," Kieran said, stepping behind Cecil. He looked stiff with fear; he didn't want to be disfigured or worse. He was only here for the temp work.

"This little duck looks unwilling," Talon noted, glancing at Kieran. He thought the boy’s green hair looked like the unkempt shrubbery back at the ducal estate.

"Nonsense!" Cecil squeaked, pulling another host forward. "Our 'Prince' has been looking forward to your visit every day. Isn't that right, Reese?"

The host named Reese nodded fervently. "Duke Talon is the most handsome man in the Imperial Capital! Who wouldn't want to be favored by you?"

The shrill voices made Talon’s head throb. He felt exhausted and had no desire to play their games of selection.

Talon pulled his right hand from his coat pocket. Every host tensed, terrified that the Duke's ringed finger would point at them.

Finally, they watched as the Duke’s finger pointed directly at the "jinx" trembling in the corner.

——— To be continued ———

0006 She Begged for Mercy

Cecil stared at the Duke’s outstretched finger, then at Hilda on the floor. His head swung back and forth between the two in disbelief before he finally accepted that the Duke truly wanted this little blond boy.

It seemed there really would be a death in his club tonight. The little thing didn't look like he could survive much of anything. Cecil felt a flicker of pity, but as a businessman, his conscience was a limited resource.

"Take His Grace to the room!" Cecil commanded.

Hilda watched in horror as Talon walked away. Her mind was a blurred mess, but she knew she had just brushed against death—this terrifying man was the "Duke" mentioned in the entry chant.

But why had he pointed at her?

Her ears were still ringing; she hadn't heard the conversation, only the sound of everyone repeatedly calling him "Your Grace" with terrifying reverence.

Hilda tried to fix her belt, wanting to apologize to Cecil for her mistake. She couldn't lose this job; she had only just managed to get a few cookies.

However, she still didn't get to touch her belt.

Hilda was easily dragged from the corner by the two hosts, Kieran and Reese. Her trousers slipped down her hips, leaving her in just the oversized shirt and blazer, which fortunately were long enough to cover her.

"The Duke chose you," Kieran said, his face expressionless.

"You're lucky, Blondie. You'll get a huge bounty for your first day," Reese said with a smile, but Hilda didn't hear any kindness in his voice—only a hidden, malicious glee.

Hilda turned her rose-red eyes toward the lobby. Every "waiter" in their colorful suits was watching her with a twisted smile, as if looking at a sacrificial lamb.

The realization finally hit her: this place had nothing to do with a restaurant. These people weren't waiters at all.

A wave of primal fear crashed over her. Her body felt like it had been plunged into ice; with every step she was dragged, she felt closer to hell.

Finally, she was brought before a set of double doors plated in solid gold.

"The Duke is waiting. Move it!" Cecil glanced at Hilda, then suddenly knelt to meet her tear-filled eyes.

He sighed. Truthfully, the golden-haired kid reminded him of his own grandson; they were likely the same age. A rare spark of mercy flickered. "One piece of advice: never resist the Duke. Do whatever he tells you to do. That is the only way to survive in the Imperial Capital."

"Don't be scared, little guy. It's just a bit of fun with the Duke," Reese said, straightening her clothes before firmly gripping her arms.

Hilda finally understood exactly what kind of place this was. Deep despair took hold, but she had no strength to break free from the two men's grip.

"Please, let me go..." She fell to her knees, weeping as she begged Cecil. She desperately hoped he would be soft-hearted like the orphanage director. "I was wrong, sir... please... I won't steal cookies anymore... Please save me... help me..."

Cecil ignored her. He began instructing the other staff to prepare surgical alcohol and fresh bedsheets.

Cecil’s cold voice struck Hilda’s heart like a hammer: "Throw him in. And remember to lock the door from the outside. Don't let him out."

0007 He Can’t Smell Her Pheromones

Kieran opened the gilded door. The room was dark, and Hilda could see nothing inside, but she knew that whatever waited in that darkness was her doom.

Her hamster shop had only just become stable. Her new life hadn't even truly begun.

She was tossed inside like a rag doll, landing on a soft mat by the door. The sound of the lock clicking behind her echoed like a death knell. Her heart turned to ash.

The man sat in a luxurious gilded chair. Pale blue moonlight slanted through the window, illuminating his large frame. He was as handsome as a masterpiece painting, sitting with his legs crossed and his head resting on one hand, staring at Hilda on the floor as if she were a meal served on a dinner table.

Hilda dared not speak or move. She felt as though she were being stared at by an abyss.

"Come here," Talon spoke first, his low voice vibrating in the dark room.

Do whatever the Duke tells you.

Hilda crawled forward. Her legs were like jelly; she didn't have the strength to stand.

She crawled toward his white leather shoes, just as she had fallen before him earlier. She hung her head, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in her back—a constant reminder that another kick could be coming if she wasn't careful.

However, perhaps because his crossed legs made kicking awkward, he instead reached down and tilted her chin up. His leather glove was cold against her skin, yet sweat began to pour down her face. She averted her eyes, staring blankly at the gold-carved armrest of his chair.

Talon appraised her. She had straight, short golden hair and large, rose-red eyes, the color of pink roses dyed in a flower shop. Her eyelashes were long and thick, her skin fair. But the most absurd thing was her frame—she was far too small and delicate. Her exposed calves were as thin as bamboo stalks. She looked incredibly fragile.

Yet, he had to admit, the boy’s face was exquisite. He was likely the most beautiful "host" he had ever seen, and certainly the smallest.

Talon was certain the boy was an Omega, but he must be using heavy suppressants. Talon couldn't smell a single pheromone—only the scent of sweet orange shampoo clinging to the boy's hair.

It seemed Cecil hadn't lied; this little thing really wasn't trained. How dare he use suppressants in a place like this? Pheromones were a necessary part of the game.

Talon felt a flicker of disappointment. He didn't think a pretty face alone would be enough to pique his interest; there were plenty of beautiful men in the Imperial Capital. Unless the kid had incredible skills—but given the way he had crawled over like a frightened dog, Talon immediately dismissed that idea.

0008 She Closed Her Eyes

Talon was irritated by the way Hilda kept staring at the chair's armrest.

Was his face less interesting than a piece of furniture?

The thought filled him with a sudden, sharp anger.

{The Duke's emotions are currently extremely volatile. He cannot control his leaking pheromones or his negative impulses. It isn't entirely his fault; he is likely in great distress himself.} — Dr. William’s medical log.

Talon grabbed a handful of Hilda’s golden hair, pulling hard enough that several strands snapped.

Her scalp stung, but she didn't dare make a sound. She was afraid that screaming would only make him more violent.

"You're being paid to serve. Do your job," the Duke growled. He had no patience left to wait for the boy to undress him. He felt as though ants were devouring his flesh. His voice was hoarse. "I’m asking you—how long are you going to play dumb?"

"I... I'm sorry... Your... Your Grace... I..." Hilda’s teeth began to chatter. She couldn't even form a coherent sentence. "I... I... I don't know..."