Leon Benning, as seen through the eyes of his maid, Fleur, was a precarious figure. Rarely did he show his emotions. Despite having served him closely for years, Fleur had never seen Leon Benning laugh, cry, or even express anger. Even on the day Clovis Benning died, Leon simply received the news with a cold and composed expression.

“Thank you for your concern.”

Leon Benning’s hand, as it clasped Fleur’s, was cold—so cold it seemed inconceivable for a summer’s day. Fleur was more struck by the chill of his touch than by the fact that he had taken her hand at all.

“Shall I prepare some water, young master?”
“…No, that won’t be necessary.”

Perhaps inheriting her elder sister’s nature, Fleur had grown into a gentle and considerate young woman. Her delicate beauty was a rare gift for someone of her station as a maid. When Clovis Benning first brought her to the estate, there had been many who looked at her with skepticism. However, over the course of fifteen years, she earned a respected position among the servants. In particular, her fellow maids adored her.

“It’s lovely how much she worries about the young master. She works so diligently, too. How could anyone dislike a girl like that?”

These were the words of the head maid when she trained Fleur and subtly shared her thoughts with the other servants. None of them disagreed.

A sister’s sins are her own. Fleur had no connection to them.

Gradually, Fleur became Leon Benning’s de facto personal maid.

“He wasn’t very talkative to begin with, but ever since the head of the family passed… hasn’t he seemed like a different person?”
“Exactly. It’s like he’s grown colder, more rigid.”

If anything, Leon had simply reverted to his true nature, a fact known only to Bernardo Lennon.

“Still, it’s fortunate that Fleur is by his side. She’s been with him the longest, after all….”
“Let’s hope her kind heart isn’t affected by the young master’s icy demeanor.”

After Clovis Benning’s death, the other servants believed that Fleur, as his personal maid, might help alleviate Leon Benning’s increasingly distant attitude. Fleur herself didn’t seem to mind the assignment. Whatever wariness she had toward Leon melted away before long.

“…Young master?”

Leon Benning gazed at Fleur intently. She was beautiful. Her hair, a near-silver shade of gold, framed pale, shimmering blue eyes that seemed on the verge of breaking. Despite her status as a maid, unable to adorn herself extravagantly, she was already known throughout the estate as a remarkable beauty.

“No. It’s nothing.”

Of course, Leon Benning wasn’t particularly interested in her appearance. What captivated him was the simple fact that she was the younger sister of the senior maid he had killed. That first murder—an act that might have been forgotten quickly—lingered in his mind, tethered there by Fleur’s presence.

“…Yes, young master.”

Fleur turned her gaze away, her pale face blushing like a ripe peach. It was unlikely the summer heat was to blame.

“Let’s go, Bernardo.”
“Yes, young master.”

Following Leon Benning, Bernardo cast a glance back. Fleur, clutching her hands tightly to her chest, seemed lost in thought, as if trying to etch the memory of Leon’s touch into her mind.

“This might turn out to be interesting.”

Leon murmured the words with a faint, almost sardonic smile, one of the rare occasions he allowed his emotions to surface. Bernardo observed him quietly. Leon Benning’s detached demeanor masked an aura that naturally drew people to him. His cold smile, sharp features, and eyes like chisels gave him an enigmatic charm that made him the object of fascination among noblewomen in the social circles.

“Is something the matter, Bernardo?”

As the heir to a renowned martial family, Bernardo had become a formidable figure. Though he disdained fame, his talent as a swordsman grew undeniable. The world seemed to conspire to make him one of the kingdom’s strongest knights.

“I was just watching Fleur for a moment.”

There was no reason to hide it, so Bernardo answered honestly. Leon Benning shrugged slightly as they ascended the staircase of the mansion.

“Fleur is undeniably beautiful. Even I find myself staring sometimes.”

Leon spoke with a faint trace of amusement. Despite the creaky wooden staircase, his steps made no sound, a testament to his exceptional skill. Bernardo couldn’t help but assess Leon. In another ten years, only a handful of people, Bernardo included, might be able to match him.

But Leon Benning’s ambitions were different from others. He operated on a unique principle: “I do it because I can.”

The first murder, the patricide—these weren’t driven by emotion or necessity but by an intrinsic desire that set him apart from ordinary people.

“…Does she interest you?”

Leon turned to look at Bernardo, a rare flicker of curiosity in his expression.

“It’s unusual for you to ask such a question.”

Leon’s lips curled into a faint smile—a smile that could make noblewomen swoon.

“What do you think?”

Bernardo narrowed his eyes. He knew lying would be futile before Leon’s piercing gaze. Slowly, he shook his head.

“I’m not sure.”
“Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

Leon’s response, for once, was ambiguous—a rarity for a man who thrived in absolutes. Bernardo’s brow furrowed slightly in confusion.

“If I had to say….”

Reaching the top of the staircase, Leon glanced down at the now-empty lobby where Fleur had been.

“I don’t know.”

That night, Leon Benning held Fleur Denia.

What began as an exploration of curiosity soon turned into an exploration of Fleur herself. Under the quiet night sky, the first chapter of their relationship unfolded amidst the chirping of crickets in the Benning estate.

“Young master….”

Fleur, who had not resisted Leon’s unexpected visit, thought about him as she lay in his arms. His face, so often devoid of emotion, occasionally displayed hints of something unreadable. Despite fifteen years of serving him, she realized she knew nothing of the man called Leon Benning.

As morning neared, Leon rose, dressed himself, and delivered a statement that froze Fleur in place:

“Resign as a maid starting tomorrow.”

Her confusion was met with indifference as Leon continued, “From now on, you will serve as my secretary. Report to my office tomorrow at noon.”

Without waiting for her response, Leon left. The door shut behind him with an almost cruel finality, leaving Fleur to stare at its wooden frame in stunned silence.

+++

The wedding between Leon Benning and Fleur Denia took place only after their daughter was born. Fleur never pressed Leon about marriage, and he displayed little interest in the matter, even after the child’s arrival. She didn’t blame him for his indifference. Though the retainers seemed displeased by the non-political nature of their union, none dared to voice their discontent to Leon, who now stood as the head of the family.

“-Do you vow to stand together in joy and sorrow….”

The ceremony was modest, just as Fleur had wished. No nobles from the kingdom were invited; the wedding was held quietly in the mansion’s backyard. Wearing a pure white dress, Fleur accepted the ring from Leon with a smile that could have been the most beautiful thing in the world.

After the reception, Fleur returned to their room with Leon and sat near the cradle. The child’s hair was a platinum blond, a soft blend of her mother’s and father’s shades.

“How about naming her Theodora?”

Fleur, now bearing the Benning name, suggested the name while gazing at their peacefully sleeping child. Coincidentally, it was the name of her late elder sister. Leon nodded and smiled faintly. Seeing the expression on his face, Fleur’s lips curled into a soft smile as well.

“So be it.”

Bernardo was chosen as the child’s godfather. When it was decided that he would oversee Theodora’s training and education when she grew older, Fleur laughed, saying he would probably be too strict.

Leon silently watched the two of them—the child bearing the name of a sister he had killed, and the woman who had made him her husband, unaware of the truth. Suppressing the laughter that threatened to escape, he turned it into a smile and sat on the bed. Fleur, smiling contentedly, gently rocked the cradle. She knew nothing.

Fleur believed that the days ahead would remain as they were—peaceful and bright, like the sunlight that had graced their wedding day. That is, until the note reached her hands.

“Madam, this….”

A former colleague, now addressing her as “madam,” handed her a small, folded piece of paper.

“Who gave you this?”
“Read it somewhere private. If you don’t want to read it, give it back to me now, and I’ll toss it into the hearth. If you’re going to read it, hurry to your room and make sure the master doesn’t catch you. Quickly, go!”

The servant’s urgency left Fleur uneasy. Almost instinctively, she hurried back to her room, locked the door, and looked at the note in her hands. It felt heavier than it should. With a furrowed brow, she unfolded the paper.

As her eyes scanned the first line, her hands began to tremble violently.

Perhaps she would come to regret her decision to open it more than anything else.

-She should have burned it instead.

"Do you wish to know the truth about your sister, Theodora Denia’s death?"