While Arman sat in his office, wondering if he'd said something wrong, Evelia, who had looked "kind of lonely," wasn't actually as hurt as he'd imagined. As usual, she walked out of the manor's main building with barely any change in either her expression or her heart.

...Was there a flaw in the plan?

After Arman had asked her to leave, she hadn't resentfully blamed him like he'd expected. Instead, she started reflecting on whether she'd done something wrong.

Ever since arriving at the manor, Evelia felt she might not have been perfectly obedient, but whenever Arman needed something, she did it. Wasn't that enough to please him?

At first, Arman had been fairly proactive with her. He'd talk to her too. But now, why had he started distancing himself?

Why?

Had her objective been exposed? Had he found out she was one of the Second Prince's people?

That didn't seem right either... If he knew, he should've found a way to get rid of her long ago. Why would he keep her around until now?

Evelia returned to the tree where she often went to think, trying to recall when exactly Arman had started deliberately avoiding her.

"...The carriage."

Evelia murmured those two words under her breath.

When she'd first entered the manor, she could clearly feel Arman taking the initiative to get close to her. Evelia herself had even been extremely cautious, afraid of exposing a flaw. In the kitchen, she'd chosen to take the offensive to test Arman's attitude. Back then, he hadn't resisted much. He'd just joked around like usual. He'd tried to deflect a little, but at least he hadn't pushed back.

But in the carriage, Evelia had sensed something strange in Arman's emotions. The red mark on her wrist had faded that very afternoon, but she still remembered the force of that tight grip vividly.

"...I clearly followed the book."

Even though it no longer hurt, Evelia still subconsciously twisted her wrist a little.

She had clearly followed the novel, so why did Arman seem to start disliking it instead?

"I didn't get to see his expression that day..."

Thinking of that, Evelia felt a little annoyed.

The wind had been far too strong. Her skirt had flown up too high. While Arman hadn't seen the "gentle expression" Evelia had spent so long carefully preparing, Evelia also hadn't seen the look on Arman's face in that instant. She only knew he'd rushed over and draped his coat over her.

Did he not like it? Was that why he'd resisted so much? Did Arman dislike that kind of breeze-blown scene?

The carriage had been the same. Evelia had noticed Arman didn't seem to like the underwear she'd carefully prepared. He hadn't looked at it properly even once, and had hurriedly stuffed it back to her.

This route... could it be a dead end...?

Evelia hesitated. Even now, under her maid outfit, she was still wearing that set of sexy underwear she could rotate through. She'd thought it might come in handy at any moment.

"This won't do..."

For the first time, Evelia was this troubled, because her plan had failed so easily.

"Looks like I'll have to spend some time observing him properly."

—She had to understand what kind of person Arman really was.

Evelia felt that only by knowing what he actually liked could she prescribe the right remedy.

So after thinking for a long time, Evelia chose the same approach Arman had also arrived at after much thought earlier—

Wait and see.

Probably only when it came to strange things like this did the two of them have such perfect tacit understanding.

"For now, everything should proceed according to the original rhythm..."

After sketching out a simple plan, Evelia stepped out from beneath the tree. As usual, she made a round through the manor and arranged everything within her duties. Then she headed to the back kitchen, the place she visited every day.

"Miss Evelia, what are you planning to make today?"

Evelia had become a regular in the kitchen, and gradually grew familiar with the chefs there.

Though her personality was a little cold, the veteran cooks were still moved by her enthusiasm for cooking. Those old masters with decades of skill treated her like a daughter, while the younger ones treated her like a little sister. Whatever she needed, they were always willing to help.

"Today I want to try an orange cake."

Evelia walked to her little stove station and took out the oranges she'd prepared in a cardboard box, along with the ketchup she drank as a beverage.

Even though she'd told herself, "I can't keep degenerating like this, drinking ketchup!" in the end, she still couldn't let it go.

For her, this ketchup wasn't just something whose flavor suited her tastes. It was also her first attempt at choosing something for herself.

Back at Nightingale House, what she ate and used had all been prescribed. Even travel rations were prepared in advance. Only this time, this ketchup was something she had chosen to taste on her own, not something the Second Prince had ordered her to consume. To her, it felt like the first time she'd ever had a choice of her own. That was why Evelia was so obsessed with this ketchup.

What she liked wasn't only that sweet-and-sour taste. More than that, it was the first glimpse of freedom at the edge of her world.

Still, she thought, one day this so-called freedom would probably be confiscated by the Second Prince as well. But at least she had touched it once.

—If you want to do it, then do it. If you don't want to care, then don't. That's how it should be!

Arman's words had remained etched in Evelia's mind. In over ten years of life, this was the first time anyone had ever said something like that to her. Even the word "running away," which she'd once dismissed as cowardly, had also carved itself into her heart.

But if she really wanted to run away, that was impossible, wasn't it?

Evelia cut off that train of thought. With a hard thunk, she brought the knife down against the cutting board and split the orange in two, as if that vicious blade had severed the longing that should never have existed in her emotions.

"Ah... not enough."

As she prepared the ketchup she always needed when cooking, Evelia realized the last half-packet had just gone into her stomach. Even after squeezing hard twice, only one or two useless drops came out.

"What is it, Miss Evelia?"

One of the chefs nearby noticed Evelia nearly crushing the ketchup packet in her hand and walked over.

"There's no ketchup left."

"I see..." The man glanced at the cardboard box beside her. "That was the last of it. The buyer just went out, so they won't be back until tonight..."

"Tonight..." Evelia looked at the ingredients she'd already mostly prepared. If she waited until tonight, they wouldn't be fresh anymore. But... making another batch tonight wasn't impossible either.

"How about this, Miss Evelia? Maybe don't make ketchup-flavored food today. You should give the master a little novelty once in a while."

Just as Evelia was about to give up, the chef's words gave her an idea. She was supposed to wait and observe, but changing her strategy a little might also help her understand Arman better.

"Mm, okay."

So this time, in a truly unprecedented move, Evelia followed the cookbook's proper steps and the chef's guidance, and made a delicate orange cake served in a bowl made from orange peel, with absolutely no ketchup in it.

When the dessert was finished, that chef couldn't help muttering inwardly that Evelia had finally made some normal food without ketchup.

After plating the cake with Arman's lunch, Evelia untied her apron and asked one of the kitchen aunties to deliver the meal. Then she went out to buy some backup ketchup for herself. She planned to separate her own supply from the kitchen's, so she wouldn't have to worry about running out again later.

And with Evelia out, Arman's lunch was naturally brought in by his old butler.

Arman was still cooped up in his room. He'd been stewing all morning and still hadn't figured out what was going on.

He kept wondering whether Evelia had really been hurt by what he'd said. But he clearly hadn't said anything, had he?

He'd even planned to ask how she was doing when she brought lunch at noon, maybe see if she wanted to talk. But when the person who pushed open the door was the old butler, Arman's heart sank halfway on the spot.

When he started eating, he couldn't find Evelia's classic ketchup-flavored little dessert anywhere. Under the old butler's strange gaze, he looked left and right, trying to figure out which seemingly normal food Evelia had hidden the ketchup in this time.

"Ahhh—"

He set down his knife and fork without taking a single bite, covered his face with both hands, and let out a muffled groan of distress through his fingers.

—That girl Evelia isn't even making my meals anymore. She really is mad at me, huh?