The Ahn family—its roots tracing back to the Eastern continent—had once been Valeria's largest vineyard owner, their vast lands blanketed in vines that stretched toward the horizon.
Wine was not only their livelihood, but also their pride, and the empire had long associated the name Ahn with the finest vintages ever poured into a glass.
From Cassian's fragmented memories, Ji Hoon could recall that only four members remained of the main line: himself, Viscountess Yuhwa Ahn—his steadfast mother—Sapphire, his older sister, and his father, Viscount Ahn.
Viscount Ahn, once celebrated as the empire's greatest winemaker, was rarely home. Even now, he was away in a neighboring country, chasing after what he called a "new ingredient" that might restore their legacy. His absences left Viscountess Yuhwa to shoulder the burden of the estate alone.
For years she had managed with grace, keeping the family afloat. Like many noble houses, the Ahns had bound their future to politics.
Their eldest daughter had been married off at twenty to a prince of the neighboring kingdom of Delivane—an arrangement made at the request of the previous emperor himself.
But that very connection became a curse. When the emperor abdicated three years ago, the new ruler looked coldly on all families who had aligned too closely with the old reign.
The Ahn family's goodwill with the former emperor branded them relics of the past, untrustworthy in the new order. Their influence at court dwindled, their rivals circling like wolves.
And then came the final blow—the fire. Last year's great blaze devoured nearly half their vineyards, scorching fertile earth to ash and swallowing cellars filled with priceless reserves. Of the family's storage, more than sixty percent was lost in a single night. What had once been their pride and power now stood as blackened reminders of fragility.
The once-great Ahn family, whose name had echoed in the empire's halls of power, was now struggling not only for influence, but for survival.
Ji Hoon made his way toward the study, Beatrice and Ione trailing quietly behind. The moment he'd returned, he was told of Madam Ashdown's sudden visit.
The name wasn't unfamiliar. The Ashdown family were not nobles, but their influence was vast—the largest tavern owners in the capital, and for decades, the primary distributors of Ahn wine. Without them, the vineyards' reach would be cut in half.
From Beatrice's hurried explanation, Madam Ashdown had come to "negotiate." In other words, to press the weakened Ahn family on their terms. Ji Hoon's eyes narrowed.
He had dealt with people like her in his previous life—hard-eyed business types who smiled with their mouths but never their wallets. There was only one language they understood: money.
And money was exactly what the Ahn family was running short of.
When they reached the study, Ji Hoon took a slow breath before stepping inside.
The scent of tea and sugared pastries lingered in the air. His mother, Viscountess Ahn, sat poised at the low table, her calm smile concealing the strain in her eyes. Across from her, Madam Ashdown reclined comfortably, a cup of coffee balanced between two elegant fingers.
She was an older woman, her silver-streaked hair pulled into a strict bun, and her gown of deep green silk spoke of wealth earned, not inherited.
Her sharp nose and thin lips gave her the air of someone who had spent a lifetime sniffing out weakness in others, while her half-lidded eyes glittered with shrewd calculation.
Viscountess Ahn got up from her seat up on seeing her beloved son had returned. "Oh son, have you returned? Was it tiring?" she asked smiling.
"It's fine, mother, it wasn't." he politely answered and then looked at the old woman before him, as Lady Ahn introduced. "Here, this is my son, Cassian. Cassian, Madam Ashdown."
Ji Hoon bowed politely. Madam Ashdown acknowledged him with a slight nod, her greeting little more than a formality before she returned her gaze to Lady Yuhwa.
The three of them sat, but the atmosphere was taut as a drawn bowstring.
The negotiations were about to begin.
* * * * *
The sun slanted warmly through the high arched windows of Lady Miranda Hallows' salon, painting soft gold patterns over the velvet carpets. A tea set of porcelain roses gleamed at the center table, steaming cups releasing delicate aromas of jasmine and bergamot.
Lady Vale sat among her circle of friends—four young noblewomen, all dressed in silks of the latest capital fashions. Their voices flitted like sparrows, laughter mingling with the chime of teacups.
Lady Miranda Hallows, the host, was the first to sigh dramatically, fanning herself with her lace handkerchief. "Truly, the season is dreadfully dull. Balls, operas, endless dinners… and yet, not a single man of worth to keep the heart entertained."
At this, Lady Felicity Rowan—the sharp-tongued brunette with more wit than patience—leaned forward, her lips curling. "Not of worth? Don't tell me you've already dismissed Viscount Terrel after he spent half a dance last week practically kneeling at your feet."
Miranda waved a hand, rolling her eyes. "Viscount Terrel? Please, Felicity. He sweats like a horse by the third song. I want a man, not a fountain."
The four women burst into laughter, the sound echoing around the salon. Lady Julia Estmere, the youngest of the group and forever red-cheeked when such topics arose, tried to sip her tea to hide her smile but failed miserably. "You are all impossible…"
Lady Serena Daven, calm and composed as always, finally spoke, her tone more measured. "Still, Miranda isn't wrong. Finding a good man is no easy matter. One needs a balance of wealth, status, and refinement. Handsome too, if the gods are generous."
At that, all four pairs of eyes flicked toward Lady Vale. She raised an eyebrow, pretending innocence as she nibbled on a sugared biscuit.
Felicity leaned in with a sly smile. "And yet, I believe such a man already exists. Wealth, power, charm… surely you've all heard of Roswald de Clein?"
The name stirred a ripple through the group. Even Julia sat straighter, her eyes lighting up.
"Oh, Roswald," Miranda practically purred. "Golden hair, a smile like polished marble, and the owner of Valeria's most prosperous food empire. If there is a perfect candidate for husband—or even just a proper scandal—it's him."
The ladies dissolved into giggles again.
Lady Vale's lips curled slightly, but she kept her voice smooth. "You make him sound like a knight in a fairy tale."
Serena nodded, her composure unshaken. "He is one of the most eligible men in the capital. Rich, well-connected, and with the emperor's ear. Some even say that he might be the next emperor's son-in-law, his courtesy is unmatched."
Lady Vale smiled at the mention of him being the emperor's son-in-law, while the women continued their gossip.
"Oh, unmatched indeed," Miranda said dreamily. "Why, last season at Lord Varrow's banquet, he personally poured wine for Lady Crenshaw before taking his seat. Can you imagine? A man of his stature, lowering himself for such a gesture? That is true refinement."
The circle erupted once more, their laughter a little sharper this time, a little more eager.
It was Julia, innocent-faced Julia, who turned the conversation like a blade.
"But Lady Vale, surely you needn't trouble yourself with such talk." She sipped her tea, her wide eyes glimmering with feigned sweetness. "After all, you have Cassian Ahn already, don't you? And everyone knows how desperately he dotes on you."
The laughter quieted just enough for the jab to sting. Felicity's grin turned wicked, Miranda raised her brows in mock surprise, and even Serena hid her smile behind her cup.
Lady Vale's hand tightened slightly on her saucer. She tilted her chin, voice cold but still carrying the elegance expected of her. "Cassian is not what you imagine him to be. Injured or not, he remains a noble son of a great house."
Miranda chuckled, leaning lazily on the arm of her chair. "Of course, of course. It's only a pity, Vale, that he was so gravely hurt. A man who cannot so much as stand firmly hardly seems a… partner for the long road, if you take my meaning. I heard that his family isn't even doing good."
The group tittered again, but Vale's eyes narrowed.
She forced a smile, her voice honeyed but sharp enough to cut. "Mock him if you wish. It matters little to me. After all," She let the words linger, savoring their effect. "…he's nothing but a man who cling to me by a contract. I will leave him as soon as I find a perfect candidate."
For a moment, silence fell. Julia flushed crimson, Miranda's smile froze, and Felicity only laughed harder, clapping her hands in delight.
"Vale, you're crueler than all of us combined!" Felicity exclaimed, eyes dancing.
Lady Vale only smiled thinly, sipping her tea. Inside, however, her thoughts were far less kind.
'Cassian. That desperate little Cassian, who trails after me like a puppy? He may hold my hand for now, but it is Roswald whom they all desire. And Roswald…'
Her lips curved faintly, this time with genuine amusement. 'Roswald already looks my way.'
And what woman would not enjoy having what others so obviously crave, resting under her palm?
The laughter and chatter of the salon faded.
Later that evening, in the gilded hall of de Clein manor, Lady Vale sat across from Roswald himself. The glow of candelabras painted him in warm light, his golden hair gleaming like a crown, his sharp blue eyes studying her with quiet amusement.
No gossip, no laughter. Only a silence that felt like a chessboard with every move calculated.
Roswald raised his glass of wine, his smile polished, practiced, and utterly captivating. "To us, Lady Vale. And to the bonds that shape the future of Valeria."
Her heart thrummed, not with affection but with satisfaction.
'Yes,' she thought, lifting her own glass to meet his. 'This is the man worth my time.'