Knock. Knock. Knock.
Gilbert knocked three times on the door to his father's study. Each strike echoed through the quiet hallway, like a harbinger of something significant.
A few moments passed before a deep, slightly rough male voice responded from behind the door:
"Come in."
Without a word, Gilbert turned the handle and opened the door slightly, gesturing for Leon to enter. Leon gave a nod of thanks and stepped inside.
The room exuded a sense of strictness, yet also grandeur. The interior was dominated by dark tones, adorned with antique paintings and shelves lined with books bound in rich leather. By the window, seated behind a massive wooden desk, was the head of the Redgrave household — Vince Rafa Redgrave.
He looked directly at Leon, his gaze unwavering. It was piercing, scrutinizing, as though he was trying to peer into the very soul of the young man standing before him.
Vince was a stately man, his silver hair carefully slicked back. His tall, well-built, and impeccably maintained appearance immediately marked him as a man of noble blood. His features were stern, and his eyes gleamed with a cold, calculating intelligence.
Rising from his chair, he slowly walked toward Leon. Once only a few steps separated them, Vince extended his hand for a handshake and spoke with a slight, measured smile:
"So, we finally meet, Viscount Leon Fou Bartfort. I'm pleased to see you in person at last. Even though I'm sure you already know who I am, allow me to formally introduce myself.
My name is Vince Rafa Redgrave, and I am the head of House Redgrave."
Leon politely shook the offered hand and gave a slight bow as he responded:
"It's a pleasure to meet you… Father."
The moment the word left his lips, Leon visibly paled, realizing his mistake. Behind him, Gilbert — whose face was usually composed and unreadable — raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, clearly intrigued by the slip.
Realizing what he'd just said, Leon hurried to correct himself:
"Ah—please forgive me. I got a little nervous and said that without thinking. I apologize, it was inappropriate."
Vince didn't dwell on the mistake. He gave a short, thoughtful grunt, as if weighing something in his mind, then spoke calmly:
"Hmph… Very well. Let's get down to business."
He returned to his seat behind the desk and gestured toward the chair across from him:
"Please, have a seat. We have much to discuss."
Once Leon had taken his seat, Vince regarded him with a hint of courtesy:
"Would you care for something to drink?"
He clapped his hands once, summoning the butler, who appeared almost instantly.
"I'll have tea," Leon replied, doing his best to sound confident.
The butler gave a silent nod and disappeared through the door. A few minutes later, he returned, carrying a silver tray with a full tea set. The air was immediately filled with a subtle, pleasant aroma of freshly brewed tea — a scent that danced lightly through the room, soothing and refined.
Leon accepted the cup, gave a polite thanks, and took his first sip.
Hmph… quite good, he thought to himself.
Vince let out a heavy sigh and laced his fingers together on the desk.
"Well then…" he began, his voice low and deliberate. "Initially, I intended for our meeting to focus on completely different matters. However, in light of recent events, I believe it would be more prudent to first address what has transpired over the past few days."
He paused for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully, then continued, locking eyes with Leon:
"First and foremost, allow me to express my sincere gratitude. Regardless of the fact that everything that happened was sparked by my daughter's actions — actions taken in a moment of emotional weakness when she chose to challenge the prince himself — the fault lies with her. It was a grave, dangerous misstep. But at the same time, His Highness must also bear responsibility. He took actions that effectively shattered the marriage pact between the royal family and House Redgrave."
Vince's tone was slow and measured, as if each word had been weighed and tested before being spoken.
"Had you not intervened in her duel with the prince… frankly, I dare not imagine what might have become of Angelica. That is why, truly, I am grateful to you, Leon."
He looked like he was about to continue, but was unexpectedly interrupted by Leon's steady, resolute voice:
"There's no need to thank me. What I did doesn't deserve special recognition. Any man with a shred of decency would have done the same. I simply did what I believed was right. She's my friend — and as her friend, I couldn't stand by and do nothing."
Vince raised an eyebrow, clearly catching on to a particular word, and looked at Leon with keen interest.
"Friend, you say?"
"Yes," Leon replied firmly, meeting his gaze. "Angelica and I started becoming friends… perhaps a few months ago. I wouldn't say we were close from the beginning, but over time, I came to see her in a new light. She's… someone worthy of respect."
"I see…" Vince murmured, leaning back in his chair. His expression turned thoughtful, and his fingers began tapping lightly against the armrest in a quiet, rhythmic pattern.
A short pause settled between them — a silence that spoke volumes.
Finally, gathering his resolve, Leon was the first to speak:
"I'd like to ask for your help."
"Help?" Vince echoed, narrowing his eyes, a genuine flicker of interest in his gaze.
"Yes," Leon said with determination. "Given everything that's happened, I suspect many of the noble factions — especially those who were never particularly fond of me to begin with — will be looking for an excuse to see me punished. They'll use this situation as leverage, claiming I overstepped my bounds by challenging the prince, and in doing so, endangered the delicate balance between the royal court and the aristocracy. That's exactly why I've come to you. I want your help… to fix this situation."
With those words, Leon slowly reached for the bag he had been carrying with him the entire time. He drew it out — a small pouch, but one that clearly had weight to it — and placed it gently on the desk in front of Vince. Then, deliberately and without rushing, he untied the cord and opened the pouch wide, revealing its contents.
Inside, dozens of platinum coins gleamed in the light. There were enough of them to impress even someone well-acquainted with wealth. For an earl — let alone a viscount — this was a staggering amount.
A faint expression of surprise flickered across Vince's face, but it was quickly replaced by his usual stoic composure. He stared at the coins in silence for a moment, then slowly looked up at Leon.
"This amount… is more than sufficient," he said in a measured tone. "But do you understand what it means to accept help from me?"
There was a slight edge to his voice — a tone of warning, or perhaps of testing — and his gaze sharpened.
"Do you realize what you're getting yourself into?"
Leon didn't look away. He simply nodded.
"I do. And even so, I'm asking."
For the briefest of moments, a subtle, cunning smile tugged at the corner of Vince's lips. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared — like a shadow passing across the earth beneath a drifting cloud.
"Very well," he said after a short pause. "I'll clean up this mess for you. You can rest easy — this matter will be taken care of."
He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands, and added in a slower, more deliberate tone:
"However, since you've come to me with a favor… I'll be expecting one in return."