What Happened to No Feelings?

I sat cross-legged on the couch, laying out the banknotes, gold leaves, loose silver coins, and several land deeds I had saved up over the years. I counted them carefully three times. It came to a total of three million dollars. I took a deep breath and thought even the air tasted sweet.

With this fortune, I could easily buy a thousand acres of fertile land in Saltmarsh, set up a sprawling five-courtyard mansion, and live in comfort as a wealthy gentleman, with ten young helpers hired to wait on me while I drank wine and listened to music.

The door creaked open, letting in a gust of the cold late-fall wind. Quick on my feet, I yanked the embroidered quilt over the bed to hide the heap of gold and silver.

The aloof and austere Grand Tutor, Misty Standish, strode into the room. She wore a moon-white outfit, pristine and spotless. Her brows drew together, and she carried an innate air of superiority.

Without sparing me so much as a glance, she walked straight to the table. She casually tossed an exquisite trapiche emerald onto the table, and it landed with a crisp clink.

"Lysander's birthday is next month." Her voice was cold and flat. "I'm going to accompany him to the Chapel of the Pale Flame to pray. For the next fortnight, you'll stay at the estate. Don't cause trouble, and don't set foot outside."

Lysander Endicott was the son of the chancellor's legal wife, as well as Ms. Standish's childhood sweetheart, whom she had protected and cared for since they were young.

I climbed down from the couch and shuffled over in my slippers, swiftly stuffing the trapiche emerald into my outfit. It felt warm and smooth to the touch. Good stuff. I could pawn it for at least 500 dollars.

I looked up and flashed her a thoroughly pleasant smile, my tone perfectly agreeable. "Rest assured, Ms. Standish. I'll be on my absolute best behavior and keep my eyesore of a self out of your way."

Ms. Standish lowered her gaze to look at me. Her eyes settled on my face, which was glowing with delight at having gotten my hands on the emerald.

The corners of her lips instinctively curved upward ever so slightly, but the hint of a smile was soon replaced by a trace of disgust, as though she found my money-grubbing delight utterly vulgar.

"Know your place," she spat out before turning on her heel and walking out. I stood rooted to the spot, watching her retreating figure disappear beyond the courtyard gate.

The smile vanished from my face in an instant. Ms. Standish wanted me to know my place? Oh, I knew my place all too well.

I turned around and walked to the bed, pulled back the quilt, and pulled out the bundle I had prepared long ago. Then, I began stuffing banknotes into it.

Half a month? Ms. Standish, you were far too generous. Half a month was more than enough time for me to hire the fastest carriage, race all the way back to my distant hometown, Saltmarsh, and marry my sweet, down-to-earth childhood sweetheart, Claire Mortimer.

I was the son of a fallen merchant from Saltmarsh. Dad had lost everything in business before kicking the bucket and leaving me with a mountain of debt.

To pay off those debts, I had taken the ten dollars Claire scraped together for me and set out to the capital on my own to make a living. I had no special skills other than writing a fine hand, so I'd set up a small stall on the streets of Bramford to write letters for people.

It had been drizzling that day when Ms. Standish's carriage pulled up in front of my stall. She lifted the curtain and stared at me for a long while.

I only learned later that it wasn't my calligraphy she had taken a liking to. It was the way my profile, as I lowered my head to grind the ink, bore a 30% resemblance to Lysander.

Lysander was far above my station, having already married the Third Princess as his legal wife. Unable to have the man she desired, Ms. Standish had bought me for a thousand dollars and sequestered me in this secluded estate.

She had taught me how to read, write, and play the lute, but she had never touched me. She simply liked to sit beneath the lamplight, watching me practice calligraphy, and use my face as a way to pine for another man.

I was crystal clear on where I stood. I never wasted energy on internal turmoil, nor did I ever indulge in love or sentiment.

I accepted all the gifts she gave me. If she wanted me to smile, I smiled. If she wanted me to be quiet, I kept my mouth shut.

I treated this purely as a high-paying job, conscientiously playing the part of a dutiful substitute. Now that the Third Princess had favored a concubine over her consort, Lysander had divorced her in a fit of rage and returned home.

Ms. Standish's true love was finally single again, so it was only natural for her to wait on him hand and foot. My mission as her substitute was complete, and it was time for me to step down and retire.

However, before I left, I still had two other accounts to settle. After all, the cost of living in Bramford had been far from cheap. To save up three million dollars as quickly as possible, I hadn't been working solely for Ms. Standish.