The carriage ride back to the Florenzia estate felt slower than the arrival now after that embarrassing display of wind magic. The velvet-clad interior hummed softly as wheels rolled over gravel, the evening light softened the interior of the carriage under the muted lanterns glow.
Rosalee settled deep in the seat, legs crossed with casual elegance, still savoring the tart sweetness lingering on his tongue. Yet beneath the superficial calm, his mind drew back to how he left Roland.
No goodbye. Roland must have asked for him. Yes, he'd performed—beautifully—but then vanished, leaving the prince wondering if he'd been snubbed.
Lollipop felt a flick of pride.
'That was the point.'
He closed his eyes, letting the carriage sway lull his thoughts.
'If I'd stayed, he'd have looked for my reaction. Probably get annoyed at my indifference. Or worse, get used to it. Humph, I'll leave him wanting. Better to taste the mystery than exhaust the desire. Of course, it's only for fun, I don't actually plan to capture him.'
His eyelids brushed open. Outside, the Florenzia estate's vast silhouette came into view—tall columns, dark windows, rose gardens whispered in moonlight.
The carriage door yawed open; Rosalee stepped out, gown billowing, heels clicking sharp indifference.
He surveyed the grounds with cold appraisal. Hunters' torches lit the path, but the estate felt deserted—no servants lingered, no maids posted. Quiet.
'I suppose this is for the best…'
He thought.
'The further you are from the center stage and spot lights, the better it is to plot from the shadows. At least for now.'
The estate's west wing groaned as the door opened and, once inside, shut. The lingering staff were wary— more akin to shadows with sharp eyes on him, like knives hidden behind vaguely polite smiles.
Rosalee glanced at them coolly.
'Humph! Keep your "knives" to yourself, assholes.'
He slipped past them all until he made it into his bedroom. Ben hadn't meant to follow them this far.
That was what he told himself, at least.
He was simply doing his duty—after all, Lord Thornwood had instructed him to keep an eye on Rosalee. To monitor their condition. Their behavior. Their usefulness.
And yet…
Ben's steps had fallen into rhythm behind Rosalee's without conscious thought. One turn in the hall became another. One minute of watching became ten. By the time he realized where he was, he found himself standing just outside Rosalee's bedroom door—alone, the estate halls silent save for the distant ticking of a clock.
He blinked.
'Why had I followed them all the way here?'
Ben's brows furrowed as he stared at the closed door, jaw tightening. This wasn't like him. He wasn't prone to idle distraction or wayward steps. And yet… the warmth of Rosalee's laughter still lingered in his ears. The way the sun had hit their red hair. The elegance of their movements. The way they spoke like someone who was no longer a prisoner of this place.
Ben stepped back a pace, unsure of what to do now—unsure of what exactly he was feeling.
He hadn't been watching Rosalee.
He had been… seeing them.
And that worried him more than anything.
Inside, the first thing Lollipop did was collapse dramatically onto the edge of the chaise lounge at the foot of his oversized bed, dress sprawling around him like a puddle of delicate rose-pink silk.
He stared up at the canopied ceiling, its intricate carvings of roses and thorns glinting faintly under the low golden light of the crystal chandelier above, and exhaled a slow breath through his nose. The earlier adrenaline drained away, leaving a trace of satisfaction. He had staged the party beautifully, shifted the balance—with grace, restraint, and a splash of water magic they'd never expect.
This place was beautiful—undeniably. Lavish. Fit for a prince or a pampered debutante. And yet, it reeked of gilded cages.
'House of horrors.'
He thought, lips curling faintly.
He stood and stretched, crimson waves falling free. The full length mirror caught his reflection.
Soft.
Curved.
Unrecognizable.
But entirely…his.
His lips curved as he stared.
'I'll keep playing this game. But if they expect my heart…well too bad, it's not for sale.'
Every wall in this manor, every gilded frame and polished vase, was a reminder of who held the leash—his so-called parents. Abe and Lillian Florenzia: conniving, ambitious, power-hungry social climbers who used their own child as bait to catch the Crown Prince like a common trout.
And then there was his darling elder brother, Thornwood, who could tug on that leash at any moment and have Rosalee silenced, scolded, or worse, sold off like a glittering trinket to another noble family for coin or favor.
Lollipop sat back down and leaned into the plush velvet of his chaise lounge, long fingers drumming lightly against the carved mahogany frame. His red eyes narrowed slightly as the candlelight flickered along the edges of his reflection.
'This estate is a coffin with rose-printed walls…'
He mused.
'Beautiful, perfumed, and just as suffocating. But I've been in worse places—and always came out on top.'
In his past life, Lollipop had survived blackmailing clients, dangerous lovers, and the cruel machinery of desire. Compared to that, this—scheming nobles and manipulative parents—was just a high-budget theater production with more lace and prettier knives.
If he was going to survive—and eventually thrive—he'd need more than grace and good makeup.
He tapped a finger against his lips, scheming as naturally as he breathed.
He needed allies.
No, more than that. He needed tools. Loyal, reliable, obedient tools who would bleed for him without asking questions.
The servants barely looked at him without sneering. Most probably wouldn't pour tea for him without spilling it on purpose. As far as they were concerned, Rosalee was an embarrassment, a burden forced into their care by a couple too obsessed with status to raise children who mattered.
But he didn't need all of them.
He just needed a few.
The first on his list was obvious: Ben Bell. Thornwood's personal servant.
Thornwood's personal attendant was practically a second shadow to his so-called "brother". Stoic, loyal, and definitely hiding something under that stiff professionalism. Lollipop could see the cracks already. The glimpses of interest. The fluster when he teased. That made him the perfect mark.
'Getting the brother's dog to heel for me instead… that'd be a treat.'
If he could win Ben over—truly make him loyal—he'd have eyes and ears in Thornwood's inner circle. A double agent wrapped in crisp lapels and polished boots.
But one mind wasn't enough. He needed muscle.
A guard. A knight. Someone big and broad and dumb enough to follow orders and smart enough to keep his mouth shut. It wasn't enough to just flirt his way through life anymore. Not after his first death. Not in this world with magic. And definitely not in this house with enemies bounded by blood. He needed someone who could protect him when the claws inevitably came out.
'And speaking of muscle…'
Lollipop glanced down at his waist, his pout tightening. All those tarts, mousses, and cream-filled buns had stacked up fast. He could already feel the sugar high edging into a food crash. His fingers grazed over his stomach, patting it lightly. Still flat… for now.
But if he kept indulging like this, he'd start packing on softness, and that wouldn't do. The image of his hips thickening and his face puffing from sugar bloat made him cringe so hard his body physically spasmed.
'Absolutely not! If this keeps up, I'll be shaped like a doily-stuffed cake. That's a hell no from me, sweetheart.'
He needed to keep his figure—sleek, taut, delicious. The kind of body that turned heads and bent knees.
"I'm training tomorrow…"
He muttered aloud, crimson hair spilling around his face.
"I don't care if I have to sneak into the knights' training grounds like a runaway princess—I'm getting my stamina back. And scout for someone to whip me back into shape. Preferably one with big arms and no morals."
He'd need to be extra careful. A noble tool like Rosalee wouldn't be expected to step foot near the training fields, especially a second pretending to be a woman. And if anyone saw him working out with a guard in secret, questions would be asked.
He'd need a volunteer. Someone trustworthy. Discreet. And maybe a little bit hot. No. Very hot, and big…
His grin turned feline. The plan was shaping up nicely.
'One thing at a time.'
First, he needed to get out of this godforsaken gown.
Standing, Lollipop sashayed toward the wardrobe, undoing the pearl buttons of his tea party gown as he went. The corset was a bitch to loosen on his own—tight enough to make him breathless, snug enough that his ribs whined with every motion.
Lollipop stood in front of the wardrobe and tried to untie the first few strings along the corset, only to fumble at the tighter knots down his spine. He twisted, groaned, tried to wriggle out of it—but no luck. Too tight. Too high. And this damn thing had enough hooks to restrain a wild beast.
After five minutes of struggling and hissing curses, he gave up.
"Ugh… now I miss zippers…"
He muttered.
"Huff. I need help."
He strode to the door in nothing but silk stockings, a thin, pink chemise and red curls cascading down his back like molten wine. His fingers grasped the handle.
He opened the carved wooden door that led into the hallway—only to pause when he found a very familiar figure standing just outside, arms crossed and posture rigid. His chestnut hair tousled slightly as if he'd run his hands through it in thought.
Ben Bell.
He hadn't moved an inch since they returned.
But something about his expression had shifted. His jaw was tight, brows furrowed, and his pale green eyes seemed locked in thought—like he was trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle, and the puzzle's name was Rosalee Florenzia.
Either way, this was perfect.
A plan bloomed in Lollipop's mind, sultry and wicked like a perfume soaked in sin.
Lollipop tilted his head.
"Well, well… standing guard for little old me, Mister Bell?"
Ben snapped from his reverie and straightened immediately. His pale green eyes flicked toward the open door—and widened ever so slightly at the sight of Rosalee standing in nothing but silk and attitude.
"Hello? Still there, Mister Bell?"
Rosalee purred, his voice low and amused.
"I was just… checking to see if you needed anything."
"Oh, how sweet…"
Lollipop cooed, batting his lashes.
"Well, since you're so concerned about my well-being, I could really use a bit of assistance with my corset. It's very… stubborn tonight."
Ben's jaw clenched.
"You want me to—?"
"Of course…"
Rosalee interrupted, opening the door fully and grabbing Ben's sleeve with surprising strength.
"You're already here. Why bother fetching a maid?"
Before Ben could object, Lollipop pulled him into the room. He kicked the door shut behind him with a soft click.
The room smelled faintly of rose oil and something warm and spiced—honeyed sandalwood, perhaps. The candlelight cast soft glows along Rosalee's pale shoulders as he turned, presenting the laces of his corset.
Ben's eyes widened, and his posture stiffened like he'd been hit with an ice spell.
"L-Lady Rosalee—!"
"I need help…"
Lollipop interrupted smoothly, stepping back with an exasperated sigh as he lifted the thick waves of red hair off his neck to expose the tangled mess of knots along the back of the corset.
"Getting. Out. Of this."
Ben stood frozen in place, eyes locked on the bare skin now exposed to him. The soft curve of Rosalee's upper back.
"Well?"
He said, voice lighter now, teasing.
"Get to it."
"I—I don't think it would be appropriate—"
"I'm not asking you to undress me for fun…"
Lollipop said, voice laced with false innocence.
"I just need someone with working fingers, and unless you want me to sleep in this bloody corset and suffocate in my sleep, you're going to help me."
Ben hesitated, clearly torn between duty and discomfort. But his hands moved. Precise. Efficient. As if he was more used to dressing Thornwood in armor than helping a noble Second disrobe.
As the corset came undone and Lollipop could breathe more freely, his mind raced through possible seductive scenarios he could perform at this moment.
Ben's hands were warm. Surprisingly gentle as they worked the tight knots free. One by one, the laces loosened, and Lollipop felt the grip around his ribs relax. He let out a soft, exaggerated sigh of relief.
"Mmm. You're good at this. You must do Thornwood's, too."
Ben paused.
"Only when requested."
"Shame…"
Lollipop murmured, turning his head just enough to flash a sly smile over his shoulder.
"With hands like these, you could start charging."
Ben flushed again. A deep, delicious pink.
Lollipop let the silence stretch, watching Ben in the mirror.
"You seem distracted. Wanna tell me what you've been thinking about?"
He said softly.
Ben's eyes met his in the reflection.
"I find it odd…"
The butler replied, attempting to keep his tone neutral.
"That someone can change so much in a single day."
Rosalee's smirk deepened.
"Maybe I was always like this…"
He whispered.
"And no one ever noticed."
Ben didn't answer. But his gaze lingered just a second too long on the bare slope of Rosalee's shoulder.
'Good…'
Lollipop thought.
'Let him wonder. Let him doubt. I don't need his loyalty just yet. I just need to peak his curiosity.'
Because curiosity leads to cracks. And cracks can be widened with a smile and the right amount of pressure.
Once the final knot came loose, the chemise sagged forward at the shoulders. Rosalee caught it with one hand and held it in place, turning toward Ben with a tilt of his head.
Ben stepped back, he draped the corset neatly over a chair.
"Shall I send for your nightgown?"
"No need…"
Rosalee said, twirling a strand of crimson hair.
"I'll manage."
Ben gave a short bow.
"Then I'll take my leave."
"Thanks…"
He said, smile teasingly.
"You've been very... helpful."
Ben cleared his throat.
"I should go."
"Yes…"
Lollipop agreed.
"You should. Or else you'll get used to being in my room."
As he opened the door, Lollipop called out, just before he vanished down the hall.
"Oh, and Ben?"
Ben turned.
"Thank you. For staying. It means more than you know."
The look in Ben's eyes was unreadable—the butler didn't respond. Just gave a sharp bow and practically fled out the door.
Lollipop laughed under his breath and let the chemise fall to the floor in a heap. He smiled as the door shut behind him.
Step one: interest acquired.
Ben was the first piece.
Tomorrow, the training fields awaited.
And soon?
So would the entire estate.
…
Old habits die hard.
The first rays of dawn filtered through crimson curtains, casting streaks of gold and rose across the dark floors. Lollipop stirred before the sun fully rose—out of long-ingrained habit. Even before the life of a call boy, he'd learned that dawn was the best time to leave before trouble arrived. Some things never change.
His limbs ached for movement, the soft sheets far too stifling. Last night had been unusually warm, too warm for his liking. Kicking off the blankets with an annoyed sigh, he sat up, blinking blearily into the dim, amber light filtering through velvet curtains embroidered with crimson roses. Their eyes fluttered, trying to adjust to the soft opulence of the bedroom.
Even after a full day of navigating the labyrinthine absurdities of noble life, Rosalee—no, Lollipop—hadn't yet grown used to waking up in a four-poster bed the size of a Manhattan studio apartment.
The silken sheets whispered against their skin as they stretched languidly, the gauzy nightgown clinging to their form in a way that would've made past lovers weep. The thing was practically translucent, flimsy lace draping over their shoulders like the breath of a ghost. It hadn't been intentional, really—they'd simply found the temperature too high last night. Not one to suffer heat in silence, he'd chosen a gossamer-thin nightgown made of rose-tinted sheer fabric. It clung delicately to the curves of Rosalee's new body, transparent in just the right light. No undergarments. No shame. The feel of it was dangerously light, like air—or temptation given form.
Still, the result was undeniably stunning.
Yawning and stretching, Lollipop slipped from the massive bed and padded across the room, their waist-length red hair spilling behind them like molten rubies, and unlatched the tall glass doors to their private balcony. With a flourish, he opened them, letting the crisp morning breeze kiss his skin, carrying with it the scent of fresh-cut grass and roses, and the heat of the room sighed away.
The view stole a moment of his breath: rolling hills coated in dew, spires of distant noble homes poking through the mist like ancient sentinels. Birds chirped. Sunlight crept across the Florenzia estate like a golden tide.
Eyes closed, they stood bathed in sunlight, hips tilted, a living piece of casual decadence.
The sun caught him just as he stilled, arms raised above their head, arching his back in a slow stretch that made the sheer fabric pull tight over his breasts and flare around his thighs.
He was radiant in the sunlight—hair the color of blood and rubies cascading down his back, glinting like silk. His nipples, perky and blushed, pressed visibly through the gauzy fabric. His hips swayed slightly as he shifted his weight. The view was almost theatrical, like a living oil painting in motion.
And just then, the door creaked open behind him.
That was the moment Ben Bell chose to enter.
He didn't knock. He never knocked—Rosalee was notorious for being a deep sleeper, often needing assistance just to get out of bed. Which is why, when he stepped in and saw them standing so exposed, framed by sunlight and silk, he froze.
For a beat too long, Ben simply stared.
Dead silence.
Lollipop turned his head, golden rays painting his face, his sheer nightgown glowing like fiery lace. The sunlight poured in behind him, outlining every curve, dip, and shadow of his figure. The thin nightgown left nothing to the imagination. The slope of his back. The faint swell of his hips. The high arch of his thighs and the subtle silhouette of his perky chest.
It wasn't just that Rosalee looked like a work of art—it was that this Rosalee was something utterly unfamiliar to him. Poised. Comfortable in their skin. A presence that seized attention and refused to let go.
His throat constricted. His pale green eyes widened in shock, then narrowed slightly in unconscious inspection—memorizing the shape of those legs, the slope of the hips, the thin waistline, the soft, exposed silhouette underneath the barely-there nightgown.
Every instinct screamed at him to turn away.
And yet, he lingered.
He remembered the skin from the night before—smooth, warm, deceptively soft beneath his fingertips as he undid the corset. He hadn't meant to look then. But now? Now he had no excuse. His gaze slid downward, almost hungrily, until the sharp pang of realization kicked in.
His face turned a shade of scarlet that rivaled the roses embroidered on Rosalee's bedding, and then immediately snapped his gaze away.
His thoughts short-circuited.
"I—I'm so sorry!"
He stammered, voice cracking like dry parchment. Backing out like he'd walked in on the Duchess herself bathing.
"I should've—knocked—I didn't expect—forgive me—this will not happen again!"
Ben hastily bowed, muttering another string of apologies before the door shut behind him with a loud thud.
A beat of silence passed.
Lollipop blinked, lips curling slowly into a smug, wicked grin.
Lollipop giggled.
"Oh my."
He whispered to himself.
'That worked better than expected. And here I didn't even mean to seduce him.'
They'd genuinely not planned it, but seeing the way Ben's pale green eyes widened—how they lingered before shame overtook them—was delicious.
"Guess even Thornwood's precious little butler isn't immune."
They purred to themselves, heading back inside to start the day.
He stepped back inside and reached for his robe. They made a mental note to use the balcony stunt as part of a larger seduction strategy.
"I'll definitely have to remember this trick for another time…"
He hummed, tying the sash around his waist with a flourish.
"That reaction was priceless."
After changing into something less scandalous but still flattering—a soft burgundy blouse with intricate lace at the collar and black breeches that hugged their waist—they sat in front of the mirror, brushing out their crimson waves and applying a light dusting of rose-scented powder. The mirror caught their smile.
Still a ten out of ten.
They were nearly done when a maid knocked twice—properly, unlike some people—and called through the door:
"Lady Rosalee, breakfast is ready in the dining hall. I will escort you now."
"Coming~"
Lollipop sang back, checking themselves one last time before stepping out.