Deborah furrowed her brows and tilted her head slightly as she asked,
“What?”
Zen crossed his long legs gracefully and opened his lips with an arrogant tone.
“I was thinking of hiring you—or rather, I already hired you.”
“You hired me out of nowhere?”
“Out of nowhere? I decided just a while ago. You must’ve seen that long line in the hallway suddenly disappear, right?”
Deborah stared at the corners of Zen’s smirking lips and calmed herself.
‘Stay calm. No need to get excited. Just speak slowly.’
Once she regained her composure, Deborah spoke.
“Mr. Baker. As you can see, I’m not suited to be a dressing maid.”
A proper dressing maid was supposed to be fashionable and exceptionally beautiful.
The best ones were usually older, with experience, connections, and plenty of gossip to amuse or trouble nobles.
If you weren’t at that level, it was better to hire a younger dressing maid who could adapt to trends quickly especially in times like now, when fashion changed faster than ever.
But Deborah didn’t fit into either category. Her looks might be passable, but that was it.
She wasn’t a veteran maid familiar with noble society, nor was she a young woman who could react quickly to fashion trends.
On top of that, she was a widow who would have to wear mourning clothes for the next year.
So was there any reason to choose someone like her?
‘None at all.’
Organizing her thoughts again, Deborah said,
“There must be better candidates than me. Are you really willing to let them go?”
“Hah. None of the ones I’ve seen so far were better.”
“There could be someone among those you didn’t interview yet who would satisfy you, Mr. Baker.”
“I doubt it. From what I saw, they were all more or less the same.”
Zen answered without avoiding Deborah’s calm and shining eyes. He even smiled as if amused.
“…Once again, I’m really not suitable—”
“Whether you’re suitable or not, I’ll be the one to decide that.”
His golden eyes gleamed brightly. Like a predator staring down its prey.
Deborah swallowed a sigh.
“Mr. Baker. Please try to understand how I feel.”
“I’m not sure I know what that is.”
“I lack many things.”
“The letter from Marchioness Forea was full of praise for you. If you belittle yourself like this, aren’t you insulting her… no, your ‘Lady Saint’s’ judgment? Are you okay with that?”
Deborah’s lips parted for a moment, then closed.
Zen glanced briefly at her lips before turning his gaze to the teacup. He continued.
“Anyway…”
Zen took a sip of tea—maybe to soothe his heart as well.
“You had an interview. I picked someone I liked. So, I cleared all the interview schedules. But now you say you don’t want to work? Then I’ll have to gather candidates again, and waste my precious time. Who’s going to bear that loss?”
Zen spoke coldly.
Not wanting to lose, Deborah made a troubled face on purpose, trying to look pitiful.
Deep down, she wanted to shout:
‘You sent everyone away before the interview even ended, so isn’t that your fault?’
‘I didn’t expect him to be this pushy. Am I really someone worth forcing to hire? I don’t think so.’
Zen always chose the best in everything.
Even Dia, though she lacked skills, had the most beautiful face in the kingdom. And her bloodline was excellent too.
‘So why is he so obsessed with someone like me, full of flaws?’
Deborah’s head was in chaos, but she couldn’t just stay quiet.
“Mr. Baker.”
“Go ahead.”
Deborah belonged to a weaker class in this world, but she was also smart.
She knew too well that in most situations, it was easier to bow your head, even if it was unfair.
But that didn’t mean she’d stay silent when things got too frustrating. She had to at least try to push back.
“Regardless of the interview result, I still need to return to Lady Saint.”
Her eyes were unwavering as she said this.
If Deborah had truly passed, she would still need to return home to pack her things and hand over her current job. That was common sense.
Of course, once back, she planned to beg Lady Saint not to make her do this job—or even run away if needed.
‘Hopefully, it won’t come to that.’
The reason she was being so dramatic was because Zen and Dia’s story was just too horrifying.
And to watch it all unfold up close? Deborah couldn’t handle that.
Then Zen raised one beautiful eyebrow and asked,
“Is there a reason you have to go so far away?”
“Well, I need to pack my things, don’t I?”
“I’ll have someone bring them.”
“I have many important belongings. It’s hard to entrust them to others…”
“I’ll send someone even pickier than you. They’ll bring every last speck of dust, so don’t worry.”
Deborah was shocked. She didn’t expect the conversation to go so poorly.
‘How can he be so unreasonable!’
Her head throbbed, but she didn’t show it.
“But shouldn’t I at least say goodbye to Lady Saint?”
Following her smile, Zen also smiled—though his smile was far from pleasant.
“That will be taken care of too.”
Deborah, who had been answering calmly until now, finally frowned.
Zen stared into her eyes and thought.
Deborah Johnson. Or Deborah Barker.
Her name was common, her cursed surname was common, but her black hair and eyes were not.
If they were brown, maybe. But jet-black hair like that was rare—and captivating.
Her husband probably used to affectionately run his hands through that black hair and kiss her lips.
And each time, Deborah probably smiled awkwardly, lowering her brows in discomfort.
“…”
Zen gripped his hand tightly.
If he had been holding a teacup, it would’ve shattered to pieces.
“…Deborah.”
Though his face looked fierce, his voice as he called her name was beautiful.
Looking at her quietly blinking eyes, Zen spoke firmly.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t leave. Absolutely not.”
Recalling Zen’s intense gaze, Deborah shuddered like she had eaten something sour and shook her head.
“Seriously.”
Why was Zen so obsessed with her?
If she had done anything wrong, it was simply attending the interview. And she didn’t even think she did well.
‘Maybe it’s because of Lady Saint?’
Could it be that rejecting someone recommended by the Marchioness of Forea was difficult?
Her recommendation certainly carried weight.
‘But didn’t he mock me during the interview, saying I was unlucky?’
Her head started to ache.
Was it okay for life to suddenly throw her into a storm like this?
As she held her forehead and groaned, someone knocked on the door.
“Miss, may I come in?”
“Oh, of course.”
The person who visited Deborah’s room was a maid. Maybe around twenty?
She was young, but not too young-looking.
She must have done this job for a while, as she knew how to greet guests with a gentle smile.
Deborah returned her smile with one of her own.
“Good evening, miss. We’re about to prepare dinner. If you have any favorite foods or ingredients you dislike, please let us know.”
“Oh! I’m fine. I don’t need to eat.”
The maid looked troubled at her refusal.
“Before he went out, the master instructed us again and again to take good care of your meals and everything else.”
‘Zen?’
Deborah imagined his face giving strict orders, probably warning them not to shame the Baker name.
“I’m sorry. I’m just really full.”
Deborah gave a troubled smile as she declined again.
She wasn’t lying. She really felt like she would explode.
That afternoon, Zen, who had unilaterally made the decision, told her:
“So first, eat.”
He placed a slice of cake in front of her covered in luxurious whipped cream and shiny fruits.
Deborah didn’t even pick up her fork. She just stared at the cake.
Eat? Now?
“Do you not like whipped cream cake? I’ll bring something else if you prefer.”
“No, that’s not it…”
Deborah wasn’t a huge fan of desserts, but she liked them enough.
One bite of something so indulgent could bring a moment of happiness.
But this was not the time for cake.
She had no appetite, and her mind was a mess.
“Do I make you uncomfortable, so you can’t eat?”
Caught off guard by his question, Deborah widened her eyes.
Zen, reflected in those large eyes, said,
“Unfortunately, I don’t plan to leave until you finish eating. So give up and eat.”
What kind of nonsense was that? Deborah blinked in disbelief.
Yes, Zen made her uncomfortable but she couldn’t say that out loud.
“No, it’s not that—”
“If it were me, I’d move the fork before making excuses.”
He cut off her words and gestured with his chin toward the table, piled high with desserts and sandwiches.
“You’d better eat quickly if you plan to finish all that.”
Zen truly didn’t look like he’d leave unless she ate.
‘I guess I have no choice.’
Deborah smiled awkwardly and said,
“Thank you for the food.”
She swallowed the discomfort filling her throat and gave the cake the empty space it needed.
