"Mom, Dad, Sir Laurence, Madam Celeste..." Jude paused, his gaze landing on Amara's innocent face. For a second, he almost felt guilty for what he was about to do. "...and Miss Amara. I know we're in the middle of something important, but there's something I must confess first."
The entire table went quiet. Even the ticking of the grandfather's clock seemed to stop.
Jude ran a hand through his red hair, his green eyes darting between the shocked faces of his parents and the calm expression of Amara, who still hadn't realized what was coming.
He sighed.
"Ha... this isn't easy to say."
It had been a week ago when he found out his parents had already arranged someone for him to marry—Amara Totanya, daughter of a wealthy and influential business owner. Their families had been long-time business partners, and this marriage was supposed to strengthen that bond.
Today was the day of the formal meeting, a perfect setting for the two to get closer.
Except Jude was late.
Not only did he arrive thirty minutes after everyone else, he also came with someone he definitely shouldn't have brought: his servant, Moya. And worse, he made the man sit beside him.
From the moment they entered, the adults had sensed something was off. Jude's mother kept throwing him tight smiles and sharp glares. His father's brows furrowed deeper with every passing second. Sir Laurence and Madam Celeste looked politely confused. And Amara... poor Amara just smiled, oblivious to the storm brewing.
Moya sat stiffly beside Jude, trying to appear calm. He knew what was coming. He had agreed to it. He told himself this was repayment for everything Jude had done for him. But deep down, he didn't mind helping Jude. Not really.
Jude cleared his throat. "Before we continue with... uh, the engagement talk, there's something I should probably clear up first."
His mother frowned. "Jude, what nonsense are you—"
"I'm gay."
The words dropped like a bomb.
The silence that followed was deafening. A fork clattered somewhere. Madam Celeste gasped. Sir Laurence blinked. Amara's lips parted in confusion.
"You're... what?" His mother asked.
"And," Jude continued before anyone could interrupt, flashing a shaky grin and wrapping his arm around Moya's shoulders, "I'm happily in a relationship with him."
Moya's face heated up. He could already hear the blood pounding in his ears. Still, he did what he promised. He kept his composure, glanced at Jude, and smiled—small, nervous, but warm enough to look like a man in love.
The adults froze. Jude's parents went pale. Madam Celeste's hand flew to her chest. Sir Laurence's teacup rattled.
Then Jude leaned sideways.
"I'll make it quick," he whispered so quietly only Moya could hear.
Before Moya could reply, Jude's lips were already on his.
Gasps filled the room.
It wasn't a gentle kiss either. Jude had always been dramatic. Moya's first instinct was to pull back, but he stopped himself, remembering the plan. And maybe also because Jude's lips were unexpectedly soft. His body froze, heart thundering, until he realized everyone was staring.
So he did what any man pretending to be in love would do. He kissed back.
At first, it was clumsy and forced. Then, somewhere between the shock and the heat, something in Moya's chest twisted. He felt Jude's hand tighten around his nape, and before he knew it, he let out a groan.
The room might as well have exploded. Madam Celeste looked like she was about to faint. Sir Laurence's monocle dropped into his teacup. Jude's mother fainted. His father's fist twitched violently.
And Jude? Jude pulled away, looking smug and a little too pleased with himself.
"How was it, babe?" he asked, breathless but grinning.
Moya's face burned. "You—You're dead later."
+++
One Week Ago
"—I'm serious this time, Moya. I'm running away," Jude muttered, pacing around in Moya's room like a restless cat. "I'll take the carriage at night, hide somewhere, maybe pretend to be dead for a few months."
Across the room, Moya was washing clothes in a basin, sleeves rolled up, hands red from the cold water. "And live on what, Young Master? You can't even cook."
Jude scowled. "I'm not that useless." Then paused. "Okay, maybe I am. But still! I can't live like this anymore. I hate politics. I hate smiling at people I can't stand. Do you know how exhausting that is?"
Moya hummed. "Can't say I do, Young Master."
Jude threw himself dramatically on the bed. "If I run away, how long do you think I'll last before starving?"
"Two days."
"Two days?"
"Yes. Two days."
Jude groaned into the pillow. "I hate this! Who cares about being the future duke? I want freedom!"
Moya just shook his head. He'd known this man since they were boys. Spoiled, reckless, and loud—but only in front of Moya. To everyone else, Jude was sharp-tongued and cold, the perfect noble son. He'd seen this person throw a tantrum every now and then. But this—this level of frustration was new. Something was definitely wrong.
"What happened this time?" Moya asked quietly.
Jude peeked from behind the pillow, eyes dark with annoyance. "They've decided my fiancée."
"Oh?"
"Amara Totanya."
Moya blinked. "She's not bad. Pretty, polite, rich. It's about time you settled down, no? You're already twenty-six."
"Settle down?" Jude sat up like he'd been insulted. "I'd rather jump into a river."
Moya chuckled, wringing the water out of a shirt. "Then just tell them you don't want to get married."
"I did. They said I have to."
"Well..." Moya shrugged. "Then just tell them you're gay or something."
There was silence.
When he looked up, Jude was staring at him—eyes wide, lips twitching as if struck by divine revelation.
"Moya," he said, voice low and dangerous. "You might've just saved my life."
Moya frowned. "I wasn't serious—"
But it was too late. Jude had already jumped to his feet, pacing again. "I'll say I'm gay! And you'll be there to back me up. It'll be perfect!"
"Me?!"
"Who else? Someone has to make it look real. Maybe a hug, maybe a kiss—"
Moya froze. "A what?"
Jude grinned, boyish and shameless. "You said it yourself before, right? Nothing convinces people more than them seeing it."
That was the moment Moya realized he was doomed.
Still, when he looked at Jude, this red-haired idiot who once pulled him out of a slave cart over a decade ago, who saw a bone-thin boy covered in filth and bruises and chains, and freed him, he couldn't say no.
Jude had been so young back then, a young noble who'd seen injustice and acted before thinking. He'd brought Moya home, fed him, clothed him, gave him a name, and scolded him every time he forgot to eat. Jude didn't treat him like a servant. He treated him like a person.
And so, when Jude laid out the ridiculous plan that night, down to the part where they had to kiss, Moya agreed.
Not out of duty. But because deep down, he trusted him. And maybe, just maybe, a part of him wanted to see what would happen next.