The air in the Bartfort barony was different. It lacked the cloying perfume of political intrigue and the metallic tang of ambition that so thoroughly saturated the capital. Here, the world smelled of damp earth after a spring rain, of pine needles warming in the afternoon sun, and of the distant, clean scent of the sea. For Angelica Rapha Redgrave, daughter of a duke and the former fiancée of a prince, this rustic simplicity was both an affront and a strange, unsettling comfort. She stood on the balcony of the modest manor, her crimson dress a slash of defiance against the verdant landscape, her silver-blonde hair braided with a precision that belied the turmoil in her heart.

Her official reason for visiting was to inspect the burgeoning trade agreements between her family's domain and this new, upstart territory. A flimsy pretext, and they both knew it. The true reason was far more complicated, a tangled knot of gratitude, irritation, and a deep, resonant curiosity that had plagued her sleepless nights for months. The reason was Leon Fou Bartfort. The mob. The audacious, infuriating man who had shattered her world only to rebuild it on a foundation she was still struggling to understand.

She heard his footsteps behind her, heavier and less refined than the courtly glides she was accustomed to. He didn't speak immediately, merely came to stand beside her, leaning his forearms on the stone balustrade. He wore simple trousers and a loose linen shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a sliver of his sun-kissed chest. It was an improper state of dress for entertaining a duke's daughter, yet another of his countless small rebellions. Annoyingly, the sight sent a faint, treacherous heat coiling in her belly.

“It’s a far cry from the royal gardens, isn’t it, Lady Angelica?” he finally said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the stone between them. There was no mockery in it, only a quiet statement of fact.

“It is… untamed,” Angelica Rapha Redgrave replied, her tone clipped and cool, a carefully constructed fortress around her emotions. “One might even say primitive.”

He chuckled, a warm, genuine sound that made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. “That’s one word for it. I prefer ‘honest’. The land doesn’t lie or flatter. It just is.” He turned his head to look at her, his gaze direct and unnervingly perceptive. “Something I think you, of all people, can appreciate.”

Her breath hitched. He had a damnable habit of seeing right through her. In the world of the Holfort Kingdom, a world that often felt like a poorly written otome game script, Angelica Rapha Redgrave had always played her part to perfection: the proud, impeccable villainess. But Leon… Leon had seen the girl beneath the role, the one who was fiercely loyal and desperately lonely. He had fought for her honor when no one else would, not even the prince who had sworn his love to her.

“Do not presume to know what I appreciate, Bartfort,” she snapped, turning her face away, letting her pristine braid swing like a defensive pendulum. But the retort lacked its usual venom. It was a reflex, the last bastion of a pride that was slowly, terrifyingly eroding under his steady gaze.

They stood in silence for a long moment, the only sounds the chirping of insects and the sighing of the wind through the trees. The sun began its slow descent, painting the clouds in hues of orange and violet. The beauty of it was raw and overwhelming, so different from the manicured sunsets of the capital. It made her feel small, and the carefully constructed walls around her heart feel thin as glass.

“I had Cook prepare a special dinner,” Leon said, his voice softer now. “I know it won’t compare to what you’re used to, but… I hoped you would like it.”

Her stomach fluttered. It was the simple, earnest effort that disarmed her. Not grand gestures or flowery poetry, but the quiet consideration of a man who, despite his common birth, possessed a nobility of spirit that put princes to shame. “That is… acceptable,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper. She finally turned back to him, her violet eyes meeting his. In their dark depths, she saw not the arrogance of an upstart, but a reflection of her own loneliness, her own longing for something real in this world of facades.

The dinner was, as he’d predicted, simple. A roasted fowl, fresh vegetables from his own gardens, and a robust, earthy wine. But it was prepared with care, and they ate not in a grand dining hall surrounded by servants, but at a small wooden table before a crackling hearth. The firelight danced across his strong features, casting flickering shadows that made him seem both dangerous and achingly vulnerable. The conversation was stilted at first, a polite dance of inquiries about crop yields and court gossip. But as the wine warmed their blood, the pretenses began to fall away.

“Why did you really come here, Angelica?” Leon asked, his voice low and serious as he refilled her glass. He had dropped the formal ‘Lady’, and the use of her given name was a soft caress against her ears.

Angelica Rapha Redgrave set her goblet down, the crystal ringing softly against the wood. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Honesty. He had spoken of honesty. Could she afford it? “I… I am not certain,” she admitted, the words tasting foreign on her tongue. “The capital is… suffocating. Everyone looks at me with pity, or with scorn. They whisper about the disgraced fiancée. Here… no one knows me. Or they know me only as your guest.”

“And is that all?” he pressed gently, his eyes holding hers, refusing to let her hide.

No, it wasn’t all. The truth was a wild, terrifying bird beating its wings inside her chest. She had come for him. She had come because his presence in her life was a constant, disruptive force that had upended all her certainties. She had come because when he looked at her, she felt seen, not as a political pawn or a duke’s daughter, but as Angelica. And that feeling was more intoxicating than any wine, more terrifying than any duel.

Instead of answering, she rose from the table and walked to the large window overlooking the darkened valley. The moon was rising, a perfect silver disc in an indigo sky. She felt him come up behind her, his presence a palpable warmth at her back. He did not touch her, yet she could feel him as if he were. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint, masculine scent of wine and woodsmoke on his skin. Her entire being yearned for him to close the distance.

“You are not disgraced, Angelica,” he said, his voice a murmur near her ear. “You were honorable. You were loyal. They were the ones who were disgraced.”

A single tear, hot and traitorous, escaped her eye and traced a path down her cheek. She was Angelica Rapha Redgrave; she did not cry. But here, in the quiet darkness of his home, the iron control she had maintained for a lifetime was beginning to buckle. She felt his hand, hesitant at first, settle on her shoulder. His touch was not forceful or possessive, but gentle, questioning. It was a simple gesture of comfort, but it shattered the last of her defenses.

She turned, her movements stiff with unshed emotion. Her violet eyes, shimmering with tears, met his. The air thickened, charged with unspoken words and simmering desires that had been building since the day he’d crashed his sky-bike into the school courtyard. In this moment, she was not the villainess of an otome game, nor the proud daughter of a duke. She was a woman, raw and vulnerable, standing before the only man who had ever truly seen her.

“Leon…” she breathed, his name a prayer and a plea. And it was all the invitation he needed.

He closed the small gap between them, one hand sliding from her shoulder to cup her jaw, his thumb stroking the damp path of her tear. His other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against his hard body. The shock of the contact, of the unyielding strength of him pressed against her formal gown, sent a jolt of pure electricity through her. He lowered his head, his gaze never leaving hers, and his lips claimed hers.

The kiss was not gentle. It was a torrent, a release of all the pent-up tension, all the frustration and longing they had both held in check for so long. It was fierce and demanding, yet underneath it all, there was a current of profound tenderness. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she gasped, parting them for him. He deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth with a possessive heat that made her knees weak. Her hands, which had been pressed uselessly against his chest, crept up to tangle in his dark, unruly hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more.

She, Angelica Rapha Redgrave, who had only ever shared chaste, courtly pecks with her former fiancé, was being kissed with a raw, carnal hunger that should have scandalized her. Instead, it ignited a fire within her she never knew she possessed. A deep, primal need rose up to meet his, and she kissed him back with equal fervor, her pride and propriety dissolving into pure, unadulterated sensation. The world of otome games, with its predictable routes and shallow princes, faded away, leaving only this man, this moment, this earth-shattering kiss.

When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless, their chests heaving. His forehead rested against hers, his eyes dark with a desire that mirrored her own. “Angelica,” he rasped, his voice thick with emotion. He didn't need to say more. His name for her was a vow, a promise of what was to come.

Without another word, he swept her into his arms. She gave a small, startled cry but wrapped her arms around his neck without protest. He carried her from the dining room, through the quiet halls of his manor, and into his bedchamber. It was a spartan room, dominated by a large wooden bed and a window that looked out onto the moonlit forest. He laid her gently on the covers, the soft mattress yielding beneath her weight.

He stood over her for a moment, his silhouette framed by the moonlight pouring into the room. Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs, a mix of fear and exhilarating anticipation. He began to unbutton his shirt, his eyes never leaving hers. The linen parted to reveal a broad, well-muscled chest, crisscrossed with the faint white lines of old scars. This was the body of a warrior, a survivor, a man who had fought for everything he had. The sight was so intensely masculine, so real, that it made her ache.

He came to sit on the edge of the bed, his weight making the mattress dip. He reached for her, not with haste, but with a reverence that took her breath away. His fingers, calloused from wielding a shovel and a sword, went to the intricate buttons and laces of her gown. It was a formidable garment, designed to project an image of untouchable nobility. Under his patient, skillful hands, it came undone with shocking ease, the armor of Angelica Rapha Redgrave being gently dismantled piece by piece.

He slid the heavy crimson fabric from her shoulders, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin of her collarbone. She shivered, not from cold, but from the feather-light touch. The gown pooled at her waist, leaving her in her fine cambric chemise. The moonlight bathed her skin in a silvery glow, and Leon’s breath caught in his throat. He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the hollow of her throat, right above the frantic pulse point. The sensation shot straight to her core, a liquid heat that spread through her veins.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered against her skin, his voice husky. “So incredibly beautiful.”

No one had ever spoken to her like that. She had been called stately, elegant, dignified. But beautiful? In this raw, unguarded way? It was a balm to a part of her soul she hadn't known was wounded. Emboldened by his worship, she reached up and unfastened her own intricate braid, letting the cascade of silver-blonde hair spill across the pillows. It was a gesture of surrender, of ultimate trust.

His hands moved from her shoulders down her arms, his touch electric. He slipped the chemise straps down, baring her shoulders to the cool night air. His gaze was heated, appreciative, as he looked at the swell of her breasts, barely concealed by the fine fabric. He lowered his head again, his lips tracing a path from her shoulder to the delicate curve where her neck met her chest. His mouth was hot, his breath a tantalizing caress. Angelica arched her back, a soft, involuntary sound escaping her lips.

His exploration grew bolder. One hand slid down her ribcage, coming to rest on her hip. The other moved to the front of her chemise, his fingers tracing the lace trim over her heart. She was trembling now, a fine vibration that ran through her entire body. This was all new territory, a thrilling, terrifying world of sensation that the stilted courtship of the Holfort Kingdom had never prepared her for. This was the world of Angelica Rapha Redgrave, the woman, not the symbol.

He eased her back against the pillows, his body partially covering hers. He supported his weight on his elbows, looking down at her, his eyes burning with an intensity that made her feel cherished and consumed all at once. “Tell me to stop, Angelica,” he murmured, his voice a strained whisper. “Tell me now if this isn’t what you want.”

Her answer was not in words. Her answer was in the way she lifted her hips, a silent, desperate plea. It was in the way she reached up, her hands tangling in his hair once more, and pulled his mouth down to hers for another soul-searing kiss. This time, there was no hesitation. She met his passion with her own, her tongue dancing with his, her body alive with a need that eclipsed all thought, all pride, all fear. In the realm of Trapped in a Dating Sim, this was a secret route no one could have predicted, a treasure meant only for her.

His hands continued their exquisite torment, sliding under the thin chemise to find the bare skin of her waist. His thumbs drew lazy circles, sending shivers of delight through her. He broke the kiss to trail a line of open-mouthed kisses down her jaw, across her throat, and lower, to the swell of her breasts above the fabric. She gasped his name, her fingers tightening in his hair. The sound seemed to break the last of his restraint. With a low groan, he gathered the hem of her chemise in his hands and slowly, deliberately, drew it up and over her head, casting the final barrier aside.

She lay before him, bathed in moonlight, completely bare. Her skin felt hypersensitive, every nerve ending alight. She instinctively wanted to cover herself, the ingrained modesty of a lifetime warring with the raw desire he had ignited. But the look in his eyes stopped her. It was not a look of conquest, but of pure, unadulterated awe. He looked at her as if she were a masterpiece, a goddess revealed.

“Angelica…” he breathed, his voice thick with reverence. He lowered his head and captured a nipple with his mouth. The shock of it, the wet heat and gentle suction, was so intense that her back arched off the bed, a sharp cry of pleasure torn from her throat. She had never imagined such a sensation was possible. He suckled her gently, his tongue laving the sensitive peak, while his hand moved to her other breast, his thumb stroking its twin into a state of aching hardness. She was drowning in sensation, her mind a whirlwind of pleasure. All the rigidity, all the control that defined Angelica Rapha Redgrave, was melting away into a pool of liquid fire.

His hand began a slow descent from her breast, over her ribs, across the gentle curve of her stomach. She tensed, her breath held in anticipation. His fingers brushed against the soft curls between her legs, and she flinched, a jolt of nervous energy and intense excitement running through her. He paused, his lips leaving her breast to whisper against her ear. “It’s alright. Just feel. Let me show you.”

She forced herself to relax, to trust him. His fingers parted her gently, finding the slick, hidden heat of her. She gasped as his thumb found her most sensitive point, stroking it with an unbearable gentleness. The pleasure was instantaneous, sharp and electric. Her hips began to move of their own accord, a rocking, searching motion, pressing herself against his masterful touch. Her breaths came in ragged pants, the sounds she was making—soft moans and whimpers—shocking her. This was not the composed Angelica Rapha Redgrave. This was a wild, wanton creature she didn’t recognize, a woman utterly consumed by her own burgeoning passion.

“Leon… please…” she begged, not even knowing what she was asking for, only that she needed more. The tension was building inside her, a tight, coiling knot of exquisite pleasure that was spiraling higher and higher.

“Soon,” he promised, his voice a low growl. He continued his relentless, perfect rhythm, watching her face, watching her unravel. He leaned down and kissed her again, his tongue plunging into her mouth in a perfect echo of what his fingers were doing to her below. The dual assault on her senses was too much. The world dissolved into a blinding white light. The tension shattered, and a wave of pure, unadulterated bliss crashed through her, making her cry out his name as her body convulsed around his touch.

As the waves of her climax subsided, she lay trembling, her skin dewy with a fine sheen of sweat. She felt boneless, utterly pliant, her mind blissfully empty. He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose, his touch full of a tenderness that made her want to weep all over again. He moved away from her only to quickly shed the rest of his own clothes. In the moonlight, his body was magnificent, a study in lean muscle and latent power. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of his thick, hard erection, a clear and potent testament to his desire for her.

He came back to her, settling himself between her legs. He parted her thighs with a gentle pressure of his knees, exposing her to his gaze, to the cool night air. She felt a flicker of her old modesty, but it was quickly overwhelmed by a fresh wave of need. She wanted him. She wanted to feel him inside her, to take all of him, to close this final, agonizing distance between them.

“Look at me, Angelica,” he commanded softly. She opened her eyes, which had fluttered shut, and met his gaze. His eyes were dark, almost black with passion. “I’m going to make you mine.”

The possessiveness in his voice should have angered the proud duke’s daughter. Instead, it thrilled the woman to her very core. She nodded, a single, decisive movement. He positioned himself at her entrance, the blunt tip of his cock pressing against her wet, sensitive flesh. She gasped at the intimate contact, the feeling of fullness and promise. He pushed forward slowly, stretching her, filling her. It was an intense pressure, a feeling of being claimed that was almost painful, yet deeply, fundamentally pleasurable. She wrapped her legs around his waist, instinctively trying to take him deeper.

He groaned, his control slipping as her tight, wet heat enveloped him. He pushed all the way in, seating himself to the hilt. They both froze for a moment, letting their bodies adjust to the profound intimacy of the connection. For Angelica Rapha Redgrave, who had lived her life at a careful distance from everyone, the feeling of being so completely joined with another person was staggering. It was more than physical; it felt as though their very souls were touching.

Then, he began to move. He started slowly, with long, deliberate strokes that were designed for her pleasure. He withdrew almost completely before sinking back into her, each thrust sending a fresh wave of delight crashing through her. Her initial peak had sensitized her entire body, and every movement he made was exquisitely amplified. She met his rhythm, her hips rising to meet his, her hands clutching at his broad, muscular back, her nails scraping lightly against his skin. The sounds in the room were raw and elemental: the slick sound of their bodies joining, their ragged breaths, and her own soft, continuous moans.

The pace quickened, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, deeper. Her pride was gone, her composure shattered. All that was left was a burning, desperate need. He was driving her toward another peak, a higher, more intense one than before. “Leon!” she cried out, her voice breaking. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a ravenous kiss as he drove into her with a final, powerful surge. Her world exploded again, a climax so powerful it felt like it was tearing her apart and putting her back together, brand new. At the same time, she felt him stiffen, his own guttural groan muffled against her mouth as he poured his release deep inside her.

They collapsed together, a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and heaving chests. He rolled onto his side, taking her with him, refusing to break their connection. He held her close, his arm possessively around her waist, her head tucked under his chin. She could feel the steady, calming beat of his heart against her ear. The silence that descended was comfortable, peaceful. The turmoil in her soul had finally been quelled. In the arms of this impossible man, in this quiet corner of the world, Angelica Rapha Redgrave had finally found a place where she belonged.

She lay awake for a long time, listening to his breathing even out as he drifted toward sleep. The moonlight illuminated the room, making everything seem surreal and magical. She had come here seeking… something. An escape, an answer. She never could have imagined she would find this. A passion so fierce it burned away all her defenses, and a tenderness so profound it healed cracks in her heart she hadn't known were there. This man, Leon Fou Bartfort, the thorn in the side of the aristocracy, the unlikely hero of this bizarre otome game world, was hers. And in a way that defied all logic and expectation, she, Angelica Rapha Redgrave, was irrevocably his.