As night quietly descended, the streets of the Rose District gradually grew quiet.
The last trace of warmth faded from the oven, and that tantalizing aroma in the air slowly dissipated.
Tulia was humming an off-key little tune as she wiped down the spotless counter, in an exceptionally good mood.
“Mom, all the roast chicken is sold out today!” Lisbeth poked her little head out from the kitchen, still with a smudge of flour on her face, looking like an adorable kitten.
“Thank you for your hard work, my little hero.” Tulia smiled, counting out a few silver coins from the cash box and handing them to her daughter. “Go on, the bookstore Aunt Ilana recommended should still be open. Go relax and read for a while, I’ll make dinner tonight.”
“Yay!” Lisbeth cheered, took the coins, and darted out the shop door like a happy little bird.
Only Tulia was left in the shop.
She stretched, just about to hang up the “Sold Out Today” sign, when the bell at the door gave a crisp “ding-a-ling”.
A customer walked in.
Tulia looked up, and her eyes instantly brightened.
It was a woman in a stylish yet practical riding outfit, with pink hair and a tall, straight posture. Her features were striking, with a natural air of coldness and pride in her eyes and brows—she looked like a sword, always ready to be unsheathed.
“My goodness…” Tulia’s heart skipped a beat.
Her long-silent heart gave a groundhog-like shriek in her mind: Cool big sister! A real cool big sister! And she’s pink-haired! I’ve died and gone to heaven!
She quickly set down her cleaning cloth, pasted the warmest, sweetest smile on her face, and walked over briskly.
“Good evening, miss! I’m really sorry, but today’s roast chicken is already—”
Before she could finish, the “cool big sister” took action.
Isabella tugged at the corner of her mouth, trying to produce a rakish, flirtatious smile. However, her intense inner resistance and discomfort made the smile look excruciatingly stiff on her handsome face, more like a cramp than anything.
Imitating the mannerisms of those pampered young men in her memory, she strode toward Tulia in what she imagined was a dashing way. But the knightly march ingrained in her bones made her walk like she was parading—arms and legs stiffly moving in unison, hilariously awkward.
Tulia’s smile froze as well.
Eh? What’s going on? This lady… seems a bit odd?
Before she could figure it out, Isabella was already standing before her.
Taking a deep breath, Isabella suddenly reached out, and with a loud “smack”, slapped her palm against the wall behind Tulia, trapping her between the wall and herself.
She’d been so nervous that she’d used too much force—the impact was so loud her own hand went numb.
Tulia: “…”
T-this doesn’t seem right at all?!
“Ahem.” Isabella cleared her throat, trying to make her voice sound magnetic and commanding. She leaned in, close to Tulia’s ear, and in a tone that even she found unbearably cringeworthy, she said, “Beautiful madam, I’m far more interested in you than in roast chicken… May I have the honor of inviting you to my residence… as my guest?”
Oh no!
Alarms went off in Tulia’s mind at once.
So after all that, this isn’t a cool big sister, but a female scoundrel!
She was speechless—truly, trouble comes knocking on a widow’s door, as the old saying goes.
Use force?
Her instincts told her to summon her magic and smack this shameless woman into a dried husk.
But reason held her back in an instant.
No. This is Silverglow City, right under the Emperor’s nose—it’s not the chaotic Northport.
If you act rashly here, the Imperial Gendarmerie Mages and soldiers will have you surrounded in seconds.
Her “refugee widow” persona had just been established, the house just bought, her daughter’s schooling not yet settled—if she offended some influential noble, how would they live in the future?
In a flash, Tulia made her decision.
The admiration and amazement in her eyes toward the “cool big sister” vanished, replaced with just the right amount of panic and helplessness.
Her shoulders trembled, her hands anxiously clutched her apron, and her beautiful eyes quickly misted over, like a frightened little deer.
“Mi…miss,” her voice quivered just the right amount, so fragile it seemed a mere breeze could knock her down, “You…what are you talking about… I… I don’t understand…”
“Don’t understand?” Isabella sneered stiffly, reaching out with her other hand—gloved in soft leather—and roughly pinched Tulia’s delicate chin, forcing her to look up.
“Don’t act in front of me, madam.” Isabella leaned in even closer, close enough for Tulia to smell her scent. “A beautiful widow, showing her face in public… you and I both know what you’re really after.”
Are you serious, officer? Running a shop to support my daughter is now ‘having ulterior motives’ in your book?
That’s so old-fashioned!
And what motive, exactly? Am I after your family’s rice supply?
A surge of anger shot up in her chest, but she managed to swallow it back.
“No…no, that’s not it… I beg you, please let me go…”
“Let you go?” Isabella, seeing she was still “acting”, steeled herself and buried her face in the crook of Tulia’s neck, taking a deep breath in an utterly humiliating posture.
“Mmm… truly fragrant.” She murmured in a dreamy, supposedly seductive tone, “Mixed with the scent of smoke and spice… and a sweet milky aroma. It seems, madam, not only is your roast chicken excellent, but you yourself are a rare delicacy.”
Hey, hey, hey! Are you part dog?! Do you have to sniff me? And what’s wrong with smelling like milk? I’m a mother, it’s perfectly normal! That’s discrimination! That’s a personal attack!
The humiliation almost made her snap, but thinking of her daughter’s tuition and the new house she’d just bought, she forced herself to swallow the retort: “Try sniffing one more time and see what happens.”
Isabella straightened up, glancing around the little shop with utter contempt.
She casually picked up a spice jar from the counter, tossed it in her hand, and then, as if throwing away trash, hurled it to the floor!
“Bang—!”
The porcelain jar shattered instantly, spilling the painstakingly ground spice powder all over the floor.
“Any single decoration in my manor is worth more than your entire shop.” Isabella ground her heel into the spilled spices, making a mess of the floor. “Come with me, and I guarantee you’ll want for nothing.”
Tulia stared fixedly at the mess on the floor.
My Secret Thirteen Spices! I spent a fortune making those with my own hands!
Do you have any idea how many gold coins you just cost me with one stomp?! Such a wastrel! An absolute wastrel!
Her heart bled, but her face still had to keep up the pitiful act.
She glanced at the half-open shop door; there were still a few late-night passersby on the street.
No, I can’t make a scene here, the fines are outrageous! And to be seen by others would be social death!
A thought quickly formed in her mind.
Tulia raised her tearful, pear blossom-stained face, and in a voice trembling with near-begging and timidness, whispered:
“Mi-miss… I beg you, please… not here…”
She cast a watery glance outside the door, her voice quivering even more, “There are people coming and going… If someone hears… my… my reputation will be ruined…”
It was as if she’d summoned all her courage, her expression desperate and resigned, as she shakily reached out and gently tugged on Isabella’s sleeve.
“If…if you have something to say… c-could we go inside and talk? Please, I beg you…”
In Isabella’s eyes, this was the textbook image of submission and compromise.
“Oh?” She awkwardly raised an eyebrow, forcing herself to appear amused, the victor in this game. “At least you know what’s good for you.”
Without refusing, she seized Tulia’s wrist and dragged her roughly toward the Living Area at the back of the shop.
Tulia meekly stumbled after her, and as they passed the shop door, she used her free hand, in an apparently flustered and careless way, to flip the “Sold Out Today” sign.
The sign spun around, revealing the message on its other side—”Pause Business”.
Then, with a subtle movement of her heel, she nudged the door shut.
With a soft “bang”, the door closed from the inside.
“Click.”
The sound of the latch falling into place was especially clear in the quiet shop.
