In Evelia’s mind, holding hands between a man and a woman was already intimate. So she tentatively hooked her pinky—the smallest finger on her palm—with Arman’s.

She thought this gesture showed restraint. But in truth, pinky-hooking carried a subtler intimacy than simply holding hands.

A hint of ambiguity bloomed between them—like leaning on each other, yet carefully keeping distance.

Her delicate skin brushed gently against Arman’s rough finger. Subconsciously, he curled his pinky slightly, chasing the faint warmth there.

Silently, the first round began.

They walked in quiet sync for a few seconds, steps steady, gazes missing each other. Sunlight draped them in soft warmth.

Had anyone passed by, they’d surely whisper: *Arman’s actually blooming?*

Yet neither Evelia nor Arman felt even a trace of tenderness as their pinkies linked toward the garden.

—What signal is she sending? Could lingering spies still be around?

Arman stayed guarded, seeing only risk in her gesture.

—Novels say this counts as contact? Feels more like walking a dog.

Evelia judged her move through fictional logic.

“Eve, what’s this mean?” Arman broke the silence, lifting their hooked hands.

“Pinky promise,” Evelia replied flatly.

“I know it’s a pinky promise.” He chuckled, then shifted—keeping the pinky hook while pressing his thumb gently to the pad of hers.

Round two commenced.

Fingers now fully aligned, knuckles touching. For the first time, real warmth passed between palms.

“A pinky promise demands a vow, Eve. What do you want from me?”

“…”

Evelia met his gaze silently, mind racing.

*First: earn his trust.

Then: make him fall.

Next: make him need me.

If I hold his heart completely, obedience follows.

Control him → control the Royal Knights Order → grip the Crown Prince’s lifeline.

Extract secrets. Tempt betrayal.

When the time comes… eliminate them both.*

*In short: use and discard.*

By any name, she was a heartbreaker. But to her? It meant nothing.

“The kitchen.”

“Could you let me use the kitchen?”

She’d heard his probing questions twice now. Last time, she made him remember her name. This time—kitchen access. After all, the *Complete Family Cookbook* she bought declared on its cover: *“To win a man’s heart, win his stomach.”*

(Though makeup books claimed *“…capture his eyes,”* massage guides said *“…target his pressure points,”* adult novels winked *“…grasp his—”*, and self-defense manuals joked *“…grab his skull.”*)

She’d bought seasonings, studied recipes—all to please him.

“The kitchen?” Arman laughed, crisp refusal. “No.”

Poison resistance was one thing. Torturing taste buds? Another.

He saw her effort—but not the “blood-soaked battlefield” omelet rice, the chaotic spice stew, or that unforgettable soup resembling ancient vengeful spirits.

Nor her deadpan delivery: *“Master~ Your little maid brought your meal! Shall I feed you?~♡”*

Blank face. Stiff tone. Mental pollution. Arman wasn’t masochistic. He refused to eat under her disgusted stare—like he was garbage—worsening his already poor appetite.

“The head chef says you’re picky.”

“Not really. I eat what he makes.”

“What about others’ cooking?”

“Knights bring snacks sometimes… I manage.”

“So you just won’t eat *mine*.”

“Ah… well…”

*Thud.*

A distant arrow struck true—echoing how her words hit his thoughts.

“You disdain me.”

Her bluntness flustered him.

“Not exactly.”

“Then let me into the kitchen.”

Stubbornness ignited. Evelia never quit halfway.

“I’ll satisfy you.”

Unnoticed by her, the pinky hook had become a full handhold.

“You’re persistent,” Arman murmured, reversing the grip. Her eyes dropped to their clasped palms, warmed by his touch. In one smooth motion, he pulled her toward a new path.

“Where are we going?”

“The kitchen. You wanted to go. I’ll come with you.”

“Mm…”

Spring breeze brushed her cheek. She didn’t pull away—instead, laced her fingers tightly with his.

He didn’t resist.

Round three had begun.

His escort held no sincerity—only curiosity.

Her cooking held no affection—only calculation.

Smiles on the surface. Schemes beneath.

A hypocritical man. A woman set to discard him.

Yet for now… this battle remained bloodless.