Now, it seemed his efforts were futile.

Frederick crushed the lace into his palm, that phantom itch burrowing into his flesh once more. His grip tightened instinctively; though he could have let go at any moment, he was like a man ensnared by Satan's temptation, utterly stripped of his self-control.

He had tried his best to ignore that little bird, maintaining a mask of indifference throughout the entire day.

But he had overestimated his own morality and restraint, while underestimating the sheer gravity of desire that was dragging him down. Oreo had been right: he was indeed being lured. He was nothing more than a hypocritical human, burdened by original sin.

He wanted to devour the bird—to peel back her feathers, to stroke her wings, and even to fasten a glittering diamond chain around her slender ankle.

As if possessed, a dark impulse flickered in his mind.

His Adam's apple bobbed heavily. He forced his expression to remain a mask of calm, his crisp shirt and vest "disciplining" the heat radiating from his body. With a calculated, elegant grace, he raised his arm.

He brought the scrap of lace to the bridge of his nose and, as if savoring the bouquet of a vintage red wine, he took a slow, deep breath.

The fragrance hit him instantly—beyond the clinical scent of laundry detergent, there was a hidden, faint warmth. This tiny piece of lace seemed to wrap around a secret garden.

By the time Frederick realized it, his brain had already imprinted the scent so deeply it was impossible to ignore; he could no longer pretend none of this had happened.

Even without Satan's lure, Adam and Eve would have eventually tasted the forbidden fruit.

The little bird tempted you, and that is why you tried to cast her away, isn't it?. Yes.

She had done nothing, yet he was ensnared. He thought that by throwing her far away, he could continue to play the part of the polished gentleman. But he wasn't a gentleman. He was a demon, a pervert who had spent his evening in the dark, lusting after a girl's discarded lace.

Frederick allowed a thin smile to cross his face, a silent acknowledgment of his own shame. His massive frame blocked the overhead light, casting a long, heavy shadow across the room. His sapphire eyes, usually clear as a mountain lake, were now dark pits of shadow.

He didn't shove the blue court-style dress into the closet this time. Instead, he took a hanger and placed it right in the middle of his row of bespoke suits. The lake-blue silk stood out sharply against the sea of navy and black wool. Slowly, meticulously, he folded the pink lace and tucked it into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

He picked up the landline and dialed the internal extension for Harold. "Sir," the butler answered.

Frederick didn't change his clothes. He put on his coat, dabbed a trace of cologne on his wrists, and issued his commands like rapid-fire rounds from a machine gun—precise and lethal.

"Bring me two pills. Have the maids prepare the guest suite adjacent to mine. Arrange the helicopter and notify the JH Club. I will be there in one hour".

Harold was stunned by the sudden reversal. "To do what, sir?". "To bring her home," Frederick replied.

He had decided to keep this little bird. He would accompany her, care for her, and protect her—until she was willing to be his and his alone. He convinced himself he was doing a good deed. God would surely forgive him.

At the JH Charity Club, Arabella had buried herself deep inside the closet. She refused to speak to anyone, and the tray of chocolate mousse sat untouched. In the depths of extreme sorrow, appetite vanishes, replaced only by a cold nausea that makes even the thought of food revolting.

Being abandoned was a physical ache. She didn't like to cry, yet the tears tracked down her face until she eventually cried herself into an exhausted sleep. When she woke, the world was pitch black.

There were no lights on in the courtyard. The darkness was absolute. For a terrifying moment, the void swallowed her, and Arabella let out a small, sharp cry of fear. She didn't know where the switches were. She had no phone, no flashlight, no source of light at all. She could only huddle in the closet, curling into a ball like a wounded animal.

Her stomach groaned. She was starving; she had missed both lunch and dinner. "Is anyone there?" she whispered. "Hello?".

She called out several times, but there was no response. The club staff didn't work overtime; they lived orderly lives, punching out the moment their shifts ended. The cafeteria was locked, and the town center was miles away.

In her subconscious, Arabella felt as if she had never been alone in a place this dark. Glimpses of her forgotten past flickered through her mind like old film reels: a massive, beautiful palace—like Frederick's home, but louder, more vibrant, teeming with people 24/7.

A world that was always glowing, where neon lights turned the night into day and the very air smelled sweet. She remembered the sound of a fountain and the crisp click-clack of coins being thrown into the water....

She even remembered a garden filled with chocolates and cakes where she could fill a bamboo basket until it overflowed. But she couldn't place the location. It felt like a whimsical, impossible dream.

Arabella tucked her face into her knees. Her skin felt tight and uncomfortable where the tears had dried, but she was too afraid to find a sink in the dark. She tried to sleep again, hoping that if she slept until dawn, someone would come to take her to breakfast.

But sleep wouldn't come. Her mind was a loop of the helicopter's cold departure. What will happen tomorrow? Or the day after? How can I survive in this country alone? What was I doing before I lost my memory?.

She knew she had to be strong, but the weight of it all was too much. "Frederick..." she whimpered.

"Bad guy."

"I'll never believe you again."

"Abandoned me..."

"I'll abandon you, too."

"You aren't my mommy at all"

"No mommy could be this mean."

"When I find out who my real mommy is, I'll have her get revenge for me."

"And my Dad... he'll teach you a lesson."

"Big bad guy."

"I hate you."

"Throw me away..."

Before she could finish the word, a low, helpless chuckle echoed through the room. The muttering stopped instantly.

Arabella clamped her mouth shut and sat bolt upright, her eyes wide and searching the void. "Hello? Who's there?" she asked, her voice trembling.

No response.

"If you're a ghost... please don't scare me...".

Frederick's lips curved into a smile in the dark. He didn't want her to be afraid any longer. He reached out and flipped the switch, flooding the room with light.