Chapter 8

"Please, be my wife."

What I felt upon hearing Lord Albert’s words wasn’t anger over something he’d been hiding, nor was it any kind of aversion to a same-sex marriage from a mental or emotional standpoint.

(Ah… I knew it.)

It all made sense. I’d done it again. Just like how I fell for the sweet promises of “a welcoming workplace” and “no experience required” and joined my last job. The reality was a harsh environment with a boss who denied my entire existence. Colleagues quitting one after another. It was hell. And the one who accepted Lord Albert’s offer—that was me. I guess I just don’t learn. Of course there’s no such thing as a convenient, perfect workplace.

While I sank into my thoughts, Lord Albert watched me closely.

“…Yuka?”

“…It’s nothing.”

Seeing me like that, Lord Albert lowered his gaze, looking genuinely apologetic.

“…I’m sorry.”

“Lord Albert…?”

“I’ve been forcing my circumstances onto you without considering your feelings… I know I’m being selfish. I understand that there’s nothing in this for you. But there’s no one else I can ask. Please… I need your help.”

“Lord Albert…”

He bowed his head. His expression was deadly serious. That usual high-handed attitude—it was like a completely different person.

Don’t look at me like that… That’s not fair… I’ve always had a hard time turning people down. I’ve gotten burned by that kind of thing countless times, even back in school. That’s probably why I ended up being overworked at that black company. Still…

“Please raise your head, Lord Albert.”

“……”

“I accept your proposal. If you’re okay with me, I’ll do it.”

“Yuka… Are you sure?”

“Yes. After all, you’re the one who took me in.”

If I were really the kind of person who could ignore someone, I wouldn’t have tried to help in the first place. His arrogant demeanor reminded me of my old boss, and I almost ran away—but it looks like staying was the right call.

What I told Lord Albert wasn’t a lie. If he hadn’t taken me in, I probably would’ve stayed in that hellhole of a workplace. Eventually, I would’ve reached my limit, mentally and physically. When I think about that… well, being engaged doesn’t sound so bad. Let’s just say it’s my way of repaying him.

“…Thank you, Yuka.”

“You’re welcome. And from now on, I’ll be counting on you—as your wife.”

“Of course. I won’t make a liar out of the words I said to you.”

The luckiest person in the world, huh? That’s a bold claim. But somehow, it feels very… him.

“By the way, what should I call you from now on?”

Now that I’m his… wife(?)… should I start calling him something different? Like “dear” or “darling”…? Ugh. Just imagining myself calling Lord Albert ‘darling’ makes me nauseous. I’m 27, for crying out loud. I’m a grown man inside.

“You can keep calling me the same as always. I’ll keep calling you Yuka too.”

“Understood.”

Thank god. I was spared from that particular kind of hell.

“So Yuka, there’s something I want to ask…”

“Yes? What is it?”

“…What exactly are married couples supposed to do?”

“…That’s what I’d like to know too.”

Married couples… Wait, does he mean making babies? S*x??

And so, our engagement(?) began.