Zen, who said he would be right back, didn’t return until 30 minutes later.
Thirty minutes. It was a bit long to call “soon,” but considering the size of the mansion, it was understandable. Just walking from the interview room to the main entrance easily took five minutes.
“I’m sorry. It took longer than I thought…”
Zen rushed into the room as if being chased by something. His once messy hair and clothes were now neat and elegant.
Deborah gave a faint smile and said,
“It’s okay.”
Deborah didn’t expect Zen to return her smile. But she thought he would at least tell her why she had to wait.
However, Zen just stared at Deborah like a statue. His expression was calm, as if he were dreaming.
‘This feels uncomfortable.’
Deborah kept her faint smile and waited for him to speak. It wouldn’t be proper for her to rush him.
Then, Zen suddenly turned his head sharply—so much that his back was now facing her—and said,
“Let’s talk somewhere else. Please follow me.”
Deborah didn’t really want to move. It felt like the conversation would just drag on longer. But she couldn’t exactly say they should talk in a place with broken cup pieces scattered everywhere.
“Understood.”
After hearing her answer, Zen took a deep breath and opened the door.
When Deborah stepped into the hallway and saw the empty waiting area, she thought:
‘Don’t tell me… he sent everyone back?’
Sending that many people away must have been a hassle. Some probably complained, and explaining the changed schedule must have been a pain.
Suddenly, Deborah felt uneasy.
What in the world was Zen going to say that he postponed the interview?
‘No matter how I go over the conversation, there was nothing wrong with my answer.’
Deborah hadn’t said anything rude to either the arrogant male lead or the interviewer.
The only thing that came to mind was whether Zen had some connection to the “Header couple.”
‘Zen reacted to the mention of the Header couple. Were they acquaintances?’
As far as Deborah knew, the Header couple didn’t appear in the story.
‘Well, just because they weren’t mentioned doesn’t mean they didn’t know each other.’
Come to think of it, the story hardly described Zen at all. The only background revealed was that he had been abandoned by his father, lived as a vagrant, and later started a business thanks to a noble’s help.
‘Yeah, there wasn’t much information. Even if Dia is the main character, Zen is still the male lead.’
Zen in the story seemed like someone born to hate.
A flame that looked like it could burn down a mountain but flickered weakly with a single breath—that was Zen.
That unstable flame was deeply hated in the world beyond the pages. And it was natural—he had committed terrible sins.
Deborah herself probably didn’t like Zen back then.
‘Maybe.’
That’s why she was so shocked when she found out this new world she was thrown into was the one with Zen and Dia as the main characters.
To think she had to live in such a terrible world.
‘Still, I thought I could live a life unrelated to the main characters, like I had been. But now, things are leading me to them again.’
Truthfully, current Deborah didn’t hate Zen.
Even though she wanted to keep her distance, she didn’t feel hatred.
She clearly separated those two feelings.
‘Zen hasn’t done anything wrong to me. And he hasn’t been cruel to Dia either… at least not yet.’
Sure, he probably treated Dia like a product and spoke arrogantly.
And if left alone, things Deborah remembered would eventually happen.
‘But right now, those sins don’t exist yet.’
So she had no reason to hate or judge him.
Click, clack.
Footsteps echoed through the hallway. Then, the heavier steps stopped.
When the back that had been guiding her stopped moving, Deborah also came to a halt.
“What’s wrong?” she asked Zen, who glanced back at her.
“I just… wondered if you were keeping up.”
Zen quickly turned his head forward again as he answered.
Deborah smiled softly.
Who would’ve thought he’d worry about something like that?
‘Well, with those long legs, he might outpace others without noticing.’
But Zen was walking with short, slow steps.
There was no way anyone could fall behind—not even a child.
“I’m keeping up just fine.”
Hearing that, Zen resumed walking slowly. Deborah also started moving again.
As she walked, watching Zen’s back—close enough to reach if she stretched out her arm—Deborah imagined something.
‘If I suddenly turned and ran, would he catch me right away?’
Most likely.
Even if she ran until she was out of breath, he’d probably catch her.
Though she wasn’t sure if Zen would even bother to catch her.
Maybe he’d just send a letter full of complaints to Madam Saint.
‘Ah… I really do want to run away.’
If it weren’t for Madam Saint, Deborah would’ve pretended to be crazy and escaped from this obsessive male lead.
Through her 28 years in this world, and even in her hazy memories from before, she had learned one thing—
Even if you try to live a quiet life, you can still get caught in a storm at any time.
‘A person who was smiling just a moment ago could suddenly disappear from this world…’
No matter how careful you are, life can be dangerous.
So why should she get swept up in a storm a massive one at that?
Deborah wanted to avoid this storm at all costs.
The place Zen led her to was an elegant drawing room—too fancy for a simple interviewee.
Of course, a drawing room is meant for receiving guests.
But this one was filled with expensive artwork and fresh flowers, clearly not prepared for someone like Deborah, a commoner guest.
‘They even lit the fireplace.’
Was even that for her? Or was it for Zen, who didn’t feel the cold but hated it deeply?
‘Even if the fireplace is for Zen… the rest of this…’
Looking at the luxurious wool blanket on her lap and the extravagant tea set, Deborah started sweating.
On a three-tier tray, desserts glittered like jewels.
The porcelain dishes were from Royal Road—a brand supplied to the royal family—and the teaspoons and forks were all silver.
‘This is too much. Way too much.’
Smiling politely while enjoying hospitality was part of etiquette, but this was so over the top she didn’t even want to touch anything.
‘And the most excessive thing here is him.’
Deborah looked at Zen, who had just been busy bringing her a blanket and pouring tea himself.
The soft couch didn’t seem to suit him. He kept crossing and uncrossing his legs before finally planting both feet on the floor.
“Why aren’t you eating? Do you not like this kind of thing?”
Zen leaned forward as he spoke. His movements were restless, but his voice was calm.
“Oh, no.”
“Then why not eat? You must be hungry after waiting so long.”
“These are all too precious. I’m just hesitant to touch them.”
As Deborah replied with a gentle smile, Zen raised one eyebrow.
Seeing his displeased expression—though it wasn’t a full frown—Deborah added,
“I’ll eat slowly.”
“…Please do.”
After that, Zen stared at Deborah’s hand.
His eyes were intense, as if hoping she’d pick something up.
With a bitter smile, Deborah lifted the teacup.
‘If I drop this, I’ll lose three months’ salary.’
Just the thought made her heart race, but her movements while drinking were steady and graceful.
Zen quietly watched her lift the cup and take a sip, not even blinking.
After taking just one sip, Deborah looked at him again. Only then did Zen hurriedly look away.
Did Deborah not notice?
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Sensing Deborah’s stare, Zen glanced back at her and asked.
By the end of the short question, his eyes were staring off into the air.
‘I should be asking you that.’
Deborah didn’t understand why Zen was avoiding her gaze—when she was the one who should want to avoid him.
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
Her voice was soft and steady. Zen frowned slightly and finally spoke.
“Why are you in such a rush? If you don’t get back quickly, will your ‘Madam Saint’ get mad?”
Deborah had always thought the “Zen” in the novel was scary—not just irritable, but sharp and cold like a blade.
But right now, Zen looked more like a sulky child.
‘So, he’s not scary… but those eyes—’
The way he glanced at her while pretending to avoid her gaze—that was very “Zen-like.”
Persistent and intense, like fire.
“I have plenty of questions for you, even if you don’t rush me.”
“Feel free to ask.”
“First, ten years ago. Why did you leave the Header household?”
Deborah froze, still smiling.
Ten years.
A long time.
Long enough for a child to become an adult, or for an elderly person to return to God.
Like anyone else’s ten years, Deborah’s life had been a storm.
Even so, thinking about “that time” still made her heart uneasy and her head spin.
“….”
Seeing her hesitate with her mouth open, Zen turned his head away and said,
“…Let me ask something else then. After you left the Header family, where have you been and what have you been doing?”
The new question pulled Deborah back a step from her dark past, but it also made her uneasy.
It was normal for an employer to ask about a candidate’s background.
But usually, they didn’t interrogate you like this.
‘Anyone hearing this would think I was dragged back after running away.’
Suppressing her discomfort, Deborah answered calmly,
“I believe I wrote my work history on my resume.”
“It only mentions working at Madam Saint’s house. That’s why I’m asking,” Zen pressed.
It was common practice to list only your most recent experience—unless you were interviewing for a royal or noble position.
‘Doesn’t Zen know that? No—he does. That’s why he didn’t complain earlier.’
But now he was picking a fight.
‘So arbitrary.’
Deborah let out a silent sigh and replied,
“I worked at a clothing factory in Northmartin.”
“Northmartin…? Which factory?”
“The Zermann Company.”
Zen’s expression had been tense, but now it darkened even more.
‘Why does he look so upset?’
What was so wrong about working at a factory?
“Zermann? Don’t lie. That factory was only completed five years ago.”
“You’re right. I only worked there for a few years. Before that, I worked at a restaurant, and also on a farm with lodging and meals…”
“Then why did you leave out all that and only mention the factory?”
Zen’s breathing became rough.
Only the area around his eyes turned red on his pale face.
Deborah unintentionally stared into his eyes.
Zen panted and covered his eyes with his large hand.
The troubled look on his face was like a painting, but this wasn’t the time to admire his beauty.
