Levinar had never truly believed in fate. Not when he was scraping coins off bar floors, not when he was bowing to drunken nobles as a lowly host, and certainly not when he first learned to weaponize his looks and charisma. He had believed in only one thing: effort equals reward. So he worked. Worked like the world owed him.
And in some twisted way, it paid off.
"I was poor in the start," he'd mutter with a nostalgic sigh, usually to no one. "So I worked my ass off. Guess what? All of it paid off."
From a host to an auctioneer, and then to a man capable of hosting entire networks of black-market auctions. He didn't just rise—he climbed with bloodied nails. And even now, even after tasting gold-dipped success, he chose to stand at the podium and auction things himself.
It reminded him of where he came from.
But of course, not every decision rooted in nostalgia was wise.
His latest failure reeked of one.
He had joined hands with a noblewoman—a Countess—and together they arranged a high-stakes auction. One that included powerful criminals in the blood list. Levinar had voiced his hesitation then. Loudly. But the demand had outweighed his resistance.
Predictably, the most valuable artifact was stolen.
"Disgusting," he'd spat the day after. "Just as I thought. Criminals can't be trusted with money."
But that day wasn't all rot and ruin. There was her. Wanora.
Each time her name floated to the front of his mind, something curled in his stomach. A soft, warm flutter. Ticklish. Uncontrollable.
"I met someone nice that day…" he admitted, more to himself than anyone. "Wanora, I believe that was her name…"
He'd done his fair share of digging after. Her past was foggy—concealed, almost intentionally. A fallout with one of the criminals at the auction, maybe even a family member.
"A sister," Levinar mused, shaking his head. "How sad… a criminal being sisters with an angel."
And yet, Wanora never asked much. All she said was, "Return the favour when I need it."
So he did what he could. He sent her the item she had bid for. No response. No favour request. Just silence.
Why doesn't she ask for anything more?
"Haaah…" Levinar slumped onto his desk.
---
"I am Durva," the man said sharply, adjusting his gloves. "Right-hand of Levinar."
He'd seen his boss crawl through mud for coins, watched him laugh in the faces of troubles and taxes alike. Levinar loved money—more than comfort, more than safety. He would dive into boiling oil if there was gold at the bottom.
But lately…
He sighed too often. Slouched even when the room was empty. And he giggled!—while staring at letters that never came from who he wanted.
Durva could only stare.
"Who?" he whispered to himself. "Who is it he's waiting for?"
It was unthinkable. Levinar, obsessed with currency, now obsessed with a person?
Durva paused.
"…Oh. It's love."
He jolted upright when a guard knocked and reported: "Sir, someone's here to meet Sir Levinar."
Durva turned, uninterested. "Who is it?"
"Wanora. She says she knows Sir Levinar."
That name was all it took.
"WAIT—WANORA IS HERE?!"
Levinar's voice cracked through the room. He leapt from his seat, scrambled to the guard, eyes wide. "REALLY?"
The guard nodded, startled. "Y-yes."
"LET HER IN—WAIT, DURVA, HELP ME CLEAN THIS MESS, FAST!"
The room was already clean. Still, Levinar stuffed papers, adjusted paintings, brushed invisible dust off furniture. Durva helped—mostly to contain the chaos.
And then came the knock.
The door opened.
And there she was.
Lady Wanora.
Levinar looked up from his seat, hands still suspiciously near a half-shoved drawer. "Lady Wanora," he greeted, forcing composure. "What brings you here? Are you here for the favour? I haven't forgotten it. Don't worry." He smiled.
Wanora sat down with elegance. "Of course I haven't forgotten my favour. I'm here for that today."
His eyes lit up. "What do you need?"
She slid a paper across the desk.
"I want all of this sold in auction. Overseas. Not in Bladis, which is under the Emperor."
He blinked. "Why? I mean—I can get it done, but is there a reason?"
Wanora sighed. "Just get it sold. I'll send you the items tomorrow."
She stood.
Levinar's heart dropped.
Is this it? After all the waiting, was this her big favour? One he could complete in a week? Would that mean he'd never have a reason to expect her again?
Why? Why do you want something less?
"Excuse me?"
Wanora turned to him.
Levinar froze.
He'd said it out loud.
"I—I… w-what? Oh… nothing. I said it by m-mistake. Please don't think too much of it… it's nothing."
He stared at the floor.
Wanora's eyes lingered, unreadable. "Well, I still need some work done. But I'll contact you soon. It's not like I was going to forget about you," she added with a smirk. "You are quite valuable to me."
That one sentence rewrote Levinar's whole day.
"T-then… a d-dinner?"
"A dinner?" Wanora tilted her head. "Why?"
"W-well… to discuss the payment and all… stuff…"
Wanora chuckled. "Sure. Let's do it another day, though. My siblings are coming home today."
"Of course! Yes, another day, that's what I meant," Levinar blurted. "Even I am b-busy t-today, you know…"
She walked out.
Levinar slumped back into his chair, flushed red and smiling like an idiot.
---
"I am Durva," the right-hand man said once more. "And I take it back."
Levinar wasn't just in love.
He was in love… with a devil.