A Butterfly Through the Mist - Chapter 118

“Everyone, please say hello. This is Secretary Tilia Ambrose. She spent the last three years at the diplomatic office in Ontaroa and will be working with us starting today.”

“Nice to meet you.”

After the department head’s introduction, Tilia offered a simple greeting and, trying not to show it, slowly looked around the office.

As expected, the scale of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in the homeland was incomparable to that of a mere consulate.

Unlike in Ontaroa, where administrative staff and counselors all worked in the same office, here the Foreign Ministry divided spaces by function. Just seeing the neatly segmented layout made it clear how systematically everything operated here.

“Since this is your first time handling foreign trade affairs, you’ll need a mentor. Here—if there’s anything you don’t know, ask Secretary Emily Burgess.”

“Nice to meet you, Secretary Ambrose.”

Tilia, who had just been gazing toward the far corner, quickly turned her head at the sound of the voice to see her assigned mentor. The woman with reddish-brown hair and unusually large eyes smiled kindly at her.

“Likewise. I look forward to working with you.”

Feeling reassured by the mentor’s gaze, which held neither annoyance nor hostility, Tilia brought her hands together and bowed even more politely than she had during the group greeting. Seeing this, the woman waved her hands as if to say, “Oh no, I’m just your mentor, not your boss,” and laughed.

“What kind of work did you do in Ontaroa? I’ve only ever worked at the ministry, so I have no clue what goes on at a consulate.”

“I was in charge of civil services. Mostly issuing visas and certificates.”

“Oh my. That’s exactly the same as here, then?”

Emily Burgess, the mentor, was a woman with a generous smile. She found common ground in the smallest things and often asked Tilia questions unrelated to work.

But even as Tilia felt relieved knowing Emily was kindly disposed toward her, she couldn’t quite bring herself to feel the same toward Emily.

The reason was simple: Emily’s occasional sharp looks toward the corner of the office.

“So annoying, I’m telling you…”

The gloomy corner untouched even by the bright ceiling lights. Muttering as if she wanted to be heard by the one diligently drawing lines over there, Emily’s voice carried a cold, familiar chill that only Tilia could sense.

“Can’t even write a proper report, honestly.”

Clicking her tongue, Emily looked at Tilia with a sweet smile, as if she’d never worn such a spiteful expression just moments before.

“By the way, did you buy that outfit in Ontaroa? Wow. The color suits you so well.”

“No, this was a gift… I think it was bought in Arkansis.”

“Ah, I see. It was so pretty, I just had to ask.”

Emily, who gently brushed the sleeve of Tilia’s jacket with her hand, smiled softly as if it truly had been a casual compliment.

“The person who gave it to you must really care for you. That designer’s pieces are hard to find.”

What kind of man would give her something so stylish?

With those teasing words, clearly meant to fish for details, Emily tried to subtly probe who had given the gift. But Tilia only smiled faintly, as if slightly troubled.

Behind that calm smile, however, was a heart already growing weary.

***

It was over.

After the supervisor’s announcement signaling the end of the workday and the group of employees who had eagerly awaited it had cleared out, Tilia—who hadn’t wanted to leave with the crowd—finally took her time packing up and left the office.

Her new workplace wasn’t as bad as she had feared. In fact, it wasn’t just “not bad”—it was quite good.

Her mentor was kind, her colleagues were friendly, and even the department head seemed like a reasonable person.

Yet despite the noticeably improved environment, Tilia couldn’t hide how drained she felt—just like she had at the consulate in Ontaroa.

The reason was simple. The corner of the office.

The woman sitting in that out-of-sight spot, excluded from everyone’s attention, had already taken root somewhere in Tilia’s heart.

Others might not notice, but Tilia understood. She knew exactly how cold and stifling that seat was. How terribly, absurdly lonely it felt to want so badly to join in on others’ conversations.

That woman, with her tightly curled hair and thick glasses, remained planted in her seat even as Tilia left. While everyone else bustled out excitedly for the weekend, she sat firm, unmoving.

She was probably working late again. Most likely on something that would end up credited to someone else.

Tilia’s footsteps, which had been descending the stairs with a tired rhythm, gradually slowed—then came to a complete stop.

She knew the sorrow that seat held. And she also understood why she herself had managed to escape from it.

The sky caught between spring and summer lingered uncertainly, the sun wavering between retreat and return—trapped in a sliver of the day that was neither fully day nor fully night.

Bathed in the light slowly turning fluorescent, Tilia looked down at her soft blue jacket.

This was the reason. It was because of this expensive jacket that Ilex had dressed her in.

But that was just the finishing blow. The real reason they had made their judgment was likely from earlier that morning.

The curtain that had briefly looked her way before snapping shut hadn’t been her imagination. One of them must’ve seen her getting out of that fine carriage and reported it.

So the kindness and the benefits she had received were nothing more than… the byproducts of what Ilex Davenport had given her.

Of course. That was only natural. Thinking so, Tilia stood there, unable to make herself go down the stairs.

It wasn’t that she suddenly felt indignant about how rotten the world was, or overwhelmed with sorrow.

To be honest, she had hoped—just a little—that she might run into a colleague on her way in while riding the elegant, crestless carriage Ilex had sent.

In that sense, this was a situation she had partly predicted, and maybe even wanted. Had she been treated with coldness and disregard, like back in Ontaroa, she would’ve been far more irritated and depressed.

But now that she was ‘full,’ was she trying to seek justice or something?

Tilia mocked herself, and still couldn’t shake off the thoughts enough to head down the stairs.

It was then.

“Tilia.”

From below came a voice calling her name.

The main administrative building, home to various government offices from the Tax Office to the Ministry of Education, was enormous—easily visible even from a distance.

It had been built even more grandly to visually embody the majesty of the kingdom, with lion statues—the symbol of Arkansis—standing at either end of the central staircase. The place was so grand, even first-time politicians took commemorative portraits here.

At the foot of that ostentatious staircase stood Ilex.

The moment her gaze met his beautiful gray-blue eyes, a strange memory rose in her mind.

A long time ago, back when she was struggling and scraping by at the academy. When she was drowning in inferiority and hated him deeply.

There was a time when Ilex Davenport had looked up at her from below the library steps, just like this.

Back then, all she could think about was the pressure of passing the exams, so she hadn’t seen anything—not even his expression. All she’d wondered was what book he was holding.

But now it was different. It wasn’t what he held—she could see him.

She didn’t know how long he had been waiting. Watching her hesitate and slowly descend, he seemed unable to help himself as he called out to her, the worry beneath his eyes like a shadow.

Unlike in their youth, when he would just glance up at the flutter of her skirt, he now strode up the steps toward her.

It was strange. The closer he came, the more it felt like the heavy weight crushing her chest all day began to melt away.

In truth, this feeling could’ve easily turned back into that same inferiority again. She, who understood it was easier to hurt someone who loved her than to hate the world, could have twisted it into malice and turned it toxic.

“…Let’s go home.”

And yet, for some reason, she didn’t feel the urge to lash out or question him.

All she could see was the hand he offered.

The large hand extended to her without a hint of hesitation dulled the sharpest edge of her heart.

As the jagged thorns inside her gently laid themselves down, Tilia slowly reached out and took his hand.

“…Mm.”

At that simple affirmation, Ilex sighed quietly in relief and interlaced his fingers with hers.

His grip firm, their hands tightly entwined, she quietly followed where he led.

That was when it happened. Just as Tilia had been trying to make sense of the baffling feelings she’d been experiencing, her eyes caught sight of a Davenport family carriage not far away.

“…By the way.”

Tilia’s gaze, now narrowed with subtle suspicion, landed squarely on the man who had clearly arrived in a carriage marked with the family crest.

“Why are you here? I told you not to come pick me up.”

“I’m not here to pick you up.”

Ilex answered smoothly, raising a document envelope in his other hand as if it was nothing.

“I just happened to be nearby. I had business with the Ministry of Land.”

Ah. Of course. He just so happened to have business in the government building that houses the Foreign Ministry…

Yeah, right.

Even so, Tilia didn’t loosen her grip on Ilex’s hand, holding her tightly as if afraid she might blow away in the wind.