CHAPTER 38: CHAPTER 38: DOUBTS

The Leonidus villa had changed.

At least, it felt that way to Aiden.

The walls did not shift, the marble stairs remained the same cold stone, and the chandeliers still glistened above with their usual brilliance—but the rhythm was different.

The mornings no longer carried the same stale quiet of a household held together by rigid order. Now there was flow. A subtle current that moved to his pulse.

He felt it in the way the maids lowered their eyes when he passed, in the way Lady Catherine’s laughter often carried an unnatural note of gleeful brightness, and in how even the lord himself—towering, brooding Augustus—lingered with doubt when Aiden dropped whispers.

There was serenity, yes, but not for all. It was serenity carved for him alone.

Aiden strolled down the corridor with that triumph burning in his chest, a faint grin tugging his lips, his golden eyes carrying the weight of command. His ember pulsed with steady warmth, filling him with something more dangerous than arrogance: the illusion of inevitability.

The platinum coin he had exchanged through Flora now flowed in his pockets as a sea of gold.

Hundreds of coins. Enough to turn heads. Enough to tip balances. Enough to lay bricks for the foundation of power. His fingers brushed over the purse hidden in his coat, the satisfying jingle inside grounding him.

It was not just wealth—it was validation. A reminder of a past life, when the first hundred thousand dollars had set him aflame with ambition. That same thrill coursed through him now, that same dangerous high. Money was not just survival—it was leverage.

And leverage, in this house, meant control.

He already decided where it would be spent. Not on luxury. Not on indulgence. Those were for fools. No, Aiden’s sights rested on something far more crucial: the Leonidus military arm. The private force that lent weight to the family’s nobility, the very knights and soldiers who once aided the novel’s protagonist in battles to come.

He would not touch the main figures—he was not reckless. But he would feed seeds, water doubts, and bend loyalties before anyone realized roots had shifted.

Knock. Knock.

The sound reverberated into the lord’s study.

"...come in."

The hoarse voice belonged to Augustus Leonidus.

Aiden stepped in, chest slightly puffed, grin faint and measured. His stride was confident, but not arrogant—submissive enough to keep suspicion at bay. He carried a patch of documents in hand.

The lord looked up from his seat, surprise flickering across his face. "Oh. Aiden—it’s you. I thought Gerald came."

"Yes, my lord," Aiden replied smoothly, bowing. "Gerald intended to come, but I insisted I pass these documents to you myself." His voice carried soft notes of devotion, a hint of loyalty painted over calculated intent.

Augustus leaned back, curiosity flashing in his tired eyes. "You... know about these documents?"

The man’s tone carried faint disbelief—did this boy even read?

Aiden allowed himself a small smile. "Yes, my lord. This is the monthly budget detail. Below that is the record of the previous month. And another document—"

"Okay, okay," Augustus cut in, raising a hand, though his lips curled faintly with approval. "You’ve talent. Gerald is grooming you well." He nodded. "Thank you, Aiden. You may go."

Aiden bowed low, placing the papers gently on the desk. But as he turned to leave, he let a whisper slip—soft, careless, like a murmur meant only for himself:

"...but there was something strange. This month’s budget was nearly double the previous. Could there be some... corruption?"

The words hung heavy in the room, carried by silence sharper than any blade.

Aiden closed the door with quiet finality, a small smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

Seeds planted well as Doubt was the most fertile soil.

The weight of the hundred platinum coins in his pocket was intoxicating. A fortune most nobles would hesitate to carry so freely, and yet it sat with him, hidden under layers of obedience and bowing courtesy.

He knew where they had come from—the Viscountess’s purse, taken with reason she could no longer remember. She looked worried at times, brow furrowing as though trying to recall a memory deliberately erased. Erased by him of course.

That made him grin. He had wiped her mind, erased the trail, and slid the expenditure neatly into the military budget with Gerald’s trusting help. The old steward had no suspicion.

In his own coat lay a copy of the documents—the key to further manipulations.

But business could wait. It was tea hour, and where there was tea, there would be women of power. And where there were women of power, there was opportunity.

He made his way to the kitchen, already knowing what he’d find.

There she was.

Akidna.

Bent slightly as she prepared the trays, her wide hips framed perfectly by her uniform, the fabric clinging as though conspiring to tempt him. Her dark hair fell neatly against her shoulders, her glasses perched at the tip of her nose.

Every movement she made had a rhythm, almost domestic, almost innocent—but to Aiden, she looked like prey offering itself willingly to the hunt.

Maids flitted nearby, carrying out duties. But most were already his—under charm or temporary possession. A simple flick of his hand sent them scattering quietly, one by one, until the kitchen air grew still.

He stepped closer. His palm itched.

Slap!

"Ahh!" Akidna gasped, her body jolting from the burning slap against her backside. She turned sharply, anger flashing in her eyes—only to soften the instant she recognized him.

"Who dar—oh. Aiden." Her tone melted, shifting from fury to delight with startling speed.

Her lips quirked into a smile. "I thought you were busy, helping Master Gerald."

Aiden didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped closer, pressing against her back, arms sliding around her waist. His nose brushed her neck, inhaling her scent—a soft mix of lavender and sweat, sharp enough to spike his hunger. His ember pulsed low, his restraint thinning.

"Aiden..." she breathed, voice soft, conflicted. "I... I have work to do." Her protest trembled, weak and pliant, her hands fumbling against the counter as his lips grazed her skin.

He didn’t reply. His hand traveled upward, grasping at her chest, squeezing as her muffled moan escaped.

"Ahh..." she gasped, biting down on her lip, glasses fogging from the sudden heat. "Aiden..."

His body pressed harder against her, his bulge pushing against her back, igniting her restraint into trembling need.

"Come here," he commanded, spinning her gently to face him. Her eyes, hidden behind fogged glasses, gleamed with hunger of their own.

Their lips met, his tongue forcing past her parted lips. Her moan vibrated into his mouth as his hand squeezed her again, dragging her closer until not even air dared remain between them.

"Mmm..."

When he finally pulled away, strands of saliva connected them briefly before breaking.

"Delicious as always," Aiden murmured, licking the corner of his lips. He reached casually for the tray of teapots she had prepared. "I’ll handle this one. Don’t worry."

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, glasses askew, lips trembling. "But, Aiden... it’s for the Duchess. And for Lady Catherine."

He smirked. "Yes. And you already know ....they’re quite fond of me."

She adjusted her glasses, biting her lip, watching him leave with the tray. The heat in her chest twisted into a hollow ache. It had been days since he truly visited her, days since he gave her more than teasing hunger. She knew why

—Flora. Always Flora.

’Maybe... I’m not important enough,’ she thought, her smile fading as she touched her own lips.

.

.

Aiden knew her loneliness, her ache. But plans had layers, layers so deep, even he felt he would fall in the pit. But that was it. If he would fall, he would fall alone, not let someone he held dear fall with him.

’one pit at a time..’ he thought, looking at the tea pot.

[Aura of allure activated]