The sunlight outside the window was dazzling, but the atmosphere inside the drawing room was still like walking on thin ice. Ashel Lysander, who had loathed me until just two months ago, was now sitting in front of me with a kind face, pushing the sugar bowl toward me.

“Is it not to your taste? I thought you said you liked the aroma last time.”

“……Why are you suddenly acting like this?”

At my dry question, his eyes wavered. The vitriol he once spat—'Don't even call my name, it's disgusting'—was still lodged in my heart, yet the current Ashel was treating me like the most precious treasure in the world.

“Do you have some kind of ulterior motive?”

In the past, an insulting remark would have flown back at me, but he simply let out a short sigh and moved closer. Keeping just enough distance to not touch, he whispered softly.

“It might be hard to believe, but there is no motive. It's just that I've finally started to properly see the wounds I've inflicted on you.”

What was held in his eyes was clear regret. My heart sank, but I coldly withdrew my hand, anxious that this warmth might vanish at any moment. His kindness, for some reason, felt like the most dangerous trap of all.