Please Grant Me a Glorious Regret [Novel] Chapter 1

It was that dream again.

A room so dim the deep green wallpaper bordered on black.

A dark brown wooden floor, covered by an ornately patterned Persian rug.

A door barricaded with a chair, as if terrified someone might walk in.

Beside it, canvases of various sizes stacked in thick layers.

After sweeping over the scenery of this small room, which was a sight she could paint with her eyes closed by now, her gaze would inevitably fall upon a hand tightly gripping a faded cream-colored curtain.

This dream, which returned just as she was about to forget it, always followed the exact same sequence.

The path her eyes traced, the order in which her senses awakened… everything was predetermined.

Vision returned as she scanned the room, followed by touch as she felt the coarse texture of the curtain.

Her awakened senses caught every single texture brushing against her skin.

The warmth of the sunlight seeping through the gap in the drawn curtains, or the dry, cracked air inside the room.

But the most intense sensation of all was, undeniably, the burning heat between her legs.

Goosebumps erupted across her entire body.

Every strand of hair stood on end, and her toes curled tight.

Only after enduring this inexplicable bombardment of the senses did the specific details of the situation begin to take shape.

She saw her left hand, trembling violently as it hitched up the hem of a crimson dress.

She saw her left leg, draped over a pair of broad shoulders clad in a black uniform.

After squeezing her eyes shut and reopening them, jarred by the sight of white underwear dangling from her ankle, she spotted fine black hair peeking through the gap of the dress hem she clutched.

And once she finally confirmed the undeniable reality that someone had buried his face between her legs, a flood of questions washed over her.

Where is this? Is it a place I've been? Or just my imagination?

Who is this man? A fabricated illusion? Or someone I’ve actually crossed paths with?

More importantly, why do I keep having this dream?

But as always, the questions dissolved into the air, unanswered.

And yet, she wanted this stimulation to last just a little longer.

It was a contradiction.

She knew that perfectly well, but she secretly craved it.

Whenever her hidden desires deepened to the point of finally exposing themselves, the flesh that had been moving with a teasing lightness suddenly grew intensely heavy and intimate.

No matter how many times she experienced it, the catharsis was overwhelming.

All she could do was throw her head back and tremble from head to toe.

"Haa…"

Unable to rein in her senses, she lay shivering until, belatedly, her hearing returned.

A low, wet voice, like the purr of a predatory beast, drew her eyes toward the man.

"…"

It wasn't exactly a face she was seeing for the first time.

Yet the man's face, framed between her legs, was breathtakingly beautiful every single time she looked at him.

Fine black hair swept back from his forehead, thick and defined eyebrows, long, deep-set eyes housing irises the pale green of spring, a straight, high nose bridge, and a gorgeous curve that completed his firm jawline.

His appearance was so utterly flawless that it was impossible to guess how much effort God had poured into sculpting him.

As she admired his face like someone bewitched, the man would lift his head and meet her gaze.

His slightly unfocused light green eyes were so brimming with lust that merely locking eyes made her fingertips tingle.

"…Lia."

His lips, glistening with her slickness, didn't fully articulate the name.

She wanted to ask if it even was a name, and why he was calling it out.

She wanted to ask every time this dream repeated.

But the dream never permitted questions.

"Hah, hah…"

"Oh my goodness, My Lady! Did you have a nightmare?"

Whenever she tried to voice her question aloud, she would jolt awake, gasping for air.

This erotic dream starring a picture-perfect man always fled in the face of the morning light.

"Ah…"

Leaving behind an Arte who was so drenched she couldn't even bear to let her maid see.

"Smile, Arte."

Countess Tian whispered to her.

Swallowing a leaking sigh, Arte looked at her mother.

Even as she told her daughter to smile, the Countess's own face was indescribably gloomy.

In truth, that went for everyone currently lined up before the mansion's main gates.

Count Tian, the Countess, her older brother Peter, her older sister Lisa, and all the servants, including the butler, they all wore the same expression.

They were gathered to welcome someone, yet no one was smiling.

It was only natural.

They were waiting for a wealthy man who was going to buy their estate.

The turmoil caused by that embarrassing, unspeakable dream was as light as a feather compared to the crushing weight of the reality Arte currently faced.

It was an era of upheaval.

The world changed in the blink of an eye.

Dignity and prestige alone were no longer enough to maintain an estate, and Count Tian was paying a heavy price for realizing that fact too late.

They had slashed the number of servants to a quarter and tightened their belts as much as possible, but it was to no avail.

Selling the estate was the only way left to salvage whatever scrap of pride they had remaining.

The problem was that no one wanted to buy this rural estate.

Three counts whose names she couldn't even remember now.

A viscount who supposedly became filthy rich after stumbling upon a diamond mine.

Four barons who had clearly bought their titles with money.

They had lined up to greet guests and hosted welcome banquets a staggering eight times, yet they still hadn't managed to sell it.

It was no wonder everyone was drowning in despair.

"Did you say he was a Duke?"

Arte asked Peter quietly, to which he gave a solemn nod.

Bringing in this particular guest was largely thanks to Peter.

The man was reportedly a close friend and former comrade-in-arms of Marquis Lapsus, who was close with Peter.

Furthermore, he was an incredibly famous billionaire Duke.

Arte tried to recall the Duke’s name before abandoning the thought.

It was pointless anyway.

There was no way the Duke arriving today would actually buy this estate.

If he were that stupid, he would never have become a billionaire in the first place.

Arte swallowed her words, staring off into the distant sky.

The sky, blindingly blue, was exceptionally clear today.

It was spotless, without a single cloud.

Yet, unlike usual, the clear sky only brought about a deeper sense of bitterness.

The thought of having to say goodbye to this beautiful scenery she had cherished her whole life sent an endless wave of melancholy crashing over her.

"The car is approaching, My Lord."

Perhaps even pessimism was a luxury for Arte now.

Before she even had a moment to wallow in her sorrow, the butler announced the guest's arrival.

Gazes that had been scattered, lost in their own thoughts, converged on a single point.

Everyone stared at the bright red automobile speeding toward the mansion.

The open-top car, featuring a long front end resembling a dog's snout, boasted a roaring engine noise that perfectly matched the breakneck speed at which it approached.

Two men sat in the driver's and passenger's seats.

It seemed the Marquis who had introduced the Duke to Peter had tagged along, just as they said he would.

The car, which had been quite a distance away, reached the main gates in a flash.

At that moment, Arte dropped her head.

She had no desire to look at the face of the billionaire who might end up buying their estate.

If someone were actually willing to buy this rural estate, which was utterly useless by the world's standards, he would be nothing short of a savior.

Arte knew that well.

However, claiming it had no value was merely a devaluation made by a changed world that measured everything against the sole standard of money.

This was a place steeped in all the years Arte had spent growing up.

No matter what anyone said, to Arte, this place was paradise.

Therefore, the wealthy man before her was nothing more than an infuriating rich guy coming to steal her paradise.

"Welcome."

Because of this, Arte didn't raise her head.

Even as she heard the car doors shut, saw the dress shoes striding forward, and pictured her father, the Count, offering a polite bow, she stubbornly kept her eyes glued to the ground.

But it was a fleeting rebellion.

The wall of reality Arte faced was far too high for her to keep her nose in the air and give their guest the cold shoulder until the bitter end.

If they continued to fail at selling the estate, the future of the Count Tian family, with Arte included, wouldn't lie in this mansion, but out on the streets.

Eventually, swallowing a long, stifled sigh, Arte lifted her head stiffly.

Refusing to glance at the Duke as he approached, staring rigidly at the empty air straight ahead, that was the very last shred of pride Arte could muster.

Starting with the Count, the Duke greeted each family member one by one, drawing closer and closer to Arte.

"It's a pleasure to meet you."

As the distance closed, she heard his voice.

Even to a casual listener, it was a sweet, deep baritone.

For someone coming to snatch away their estate to have a voice like that…

She knew it was unreasonable, but a petty annoyance flared up inside her.

She wished he were a truly awful person instead.

If he were a mean, ugly Duke, she could hate him to her heart's content and justify her twisted feelings.

"…!"

However, when the Duke's steps finally reached Arte, she had no choice but to let go of the strange mix of hostility and defiance she had been harboring.

The man she met in her dreams every single night was standing right in front of her.

Exactly as she had seen him in her dreams… Just as beautiful, and just as breathtaking.