Chapter 71.2

Chapter 71.2

Miran could draw a response from him without even trying. It wasn’t something he could control—it was raw, instinctual. To borrow Park Doo-shik’s words: Just looking at her was enough to turn him on.

She shook his composure far too easily. She made him act on impulse like an idiot, and not even regret it after. Yet even the faint scent of her shampoo, drifting from her gently swaying hair, was enough to lift the weight that had been pressing down on his chest for so long. His heart beat faster, and instead of the cold blue blood that usually ran in his veins, it felt like something hot and red was finally coursing through him again.

When André led her into the formal dining hall, he was so focused on her that he didn’t even notice the footsteps following behind. Only when he heard them did his jaw tighten—he’d completely forgotten about the interruption.

He walked to the head of the long table and gestured to the seat on the right for Miran. He didn’t particularly enjoy sitting at the head, but the last thing he wanted was to see her sitting side by side with Seunghyuk. After offering Seunghyuk the seat to the left, he stepped over to Miran and pulled out her chair. She blushed again as she sat down quietly.

No sooner had the three of them taken their seats than Higgins entered, pushing in a wine cart. With graceful movements, he began setting the glasses. André immediately understood why he’d come himself instead of sending a kitchen maid.

As always, Higgins was quietly judging what kind of guests his master had brought home.

[I’ll do it.]

The moment Higgins popped the cork, Andre reached out his hand. Higgins hesitated, caught off guard, but eventually handed the bottle over. His master, pouring wine for someone else? That was something he’d never witnessed—not once in his life.

“Oh—wait, is that…!”

Miran squinted at the label on the bottle and suddenly recognized it.

“Yeah. Just your average grape wine. Not even as good as Majuang. So relax and have some tonight too.”

He threw her words right back at her—something she’d once said, flustered, trying to imitate him sipping wine in a hotel room. Her face turned pink. She gave him a sharp side-eye, clearly embarrassed, while Andre chuckled quietly as he poured.

Higgins, watching from nearby, stiffened. The gesture wasn’t lost on him.

Andre extended the bottle to the side, and Higgins accepted it smoothly. Without missing a beat, he poured first into the guest Seunghyuk’s glass, and then into Andre’s.

Of course he understood. Higgins was no ordinary butler—he was sharp, observant. If Andre had intended to send a message, Higgins had definitely received it.

[Mr. Lafayette. Chef Noel would like to know how the guests would like their steaks cooked.]

[The lady will have it well done. And the gentleman…]

Andre gave Seunghyuk a small nod. Seunghyuk caught the cue and responded in careful, but confident English:

[Medium, please.]

The moment Higgins stepped out, Andre turned to Miran, who was sniffing her wine like a curious cat.

“So… when did you get to New York? And why?”

She blinked, startled by the sudden question, and looked up.

“Yesterday afternoon. I’m here for, um… language school. To learn English,” she said, fumbling a little. “I sent you a letter before I came. Didn’t you get it? I’ve been trying to—”

“How long are you staying.”

He cut her off, calm but direct.

“Six months.”

While Andre sat silently, lost in thought, the appetizers arrived: a salad and seared scallops, golden with butter.

She said she’d only gotten in yesterday—so when did she even meet that guy, and how had they gotten close enough for her to be clinging to him like that?

He told himself not to care, but honestly, it had been bothering him the most since they walked in.

“So, how do you two know each other? Did you meet here?”

Miran had just sliced into a plump, glistening scallop, halfway to putting it in her mouth, when she froze. Her eyes darted toward Seunghyuk.

“Ah, well, Oppa and I—”

“You don’t have an ‘Oppa.’”

Andre cut in, his voice curt.

He already knew about the curious Korean custom of calling any older male “Oppa,” even if they weren’t blood-related. Still, hearing it come out of Miran’s mouth scratched at his nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard.

“We’ve known each other since Korea,” Seunghyuk interjected smoothly, stepping in before Miran could fumble her way through a reply. “We were in the same university club back then.”

He turned to Andre and added, “And in Korea, the term ‘Oppa’ is used broadly for older men, even if they’re not family.”

Andre’s brows twitched ever so slightly. The way Seunghyuk answered in her place—like her personal spokesperson—irked him. It made the hair on the back of his neck bristle, like a beast whose territory had been stepped on.

And then, to make it worse, Miran poured oil on the fire.

“Yeah! I moved into my dorm yesterday, and it turns out my roommate’s cousin is Seunghyuk Oppa. He even gave me a little tour of Manhattan today, bought me a souvenir, and brought me here…”

Her eyebrows dipped apologetically as she offered Seunghyuk an awkward smile.

“Oppa, I should’ve treated you to dinner instead.”