The Villain's Sister - Chapter 96

After crying until my face was soaked with tears and snot, I finally felt like I could breathe again.

The weight on my chest had eased, and I could finally catch my breath.

It was unbelievable that I, of all people, had bawled my eyes out in Tristan’s arms, not Maria’s, with snot running down my face.

Overcome by belated embarrassment, I squirmed in place, unsure what to do.

“Giselle.”

Johan gently pulled me away from Tristan.

Before I realized it, he was beside me, wiping my tear-streaked face with his hand.

His eyebrows drooped lower than usual, and a faint crease formed around his eyes, filled with concern.

“Drink some water. You’ll get dehydrated like that.”

He handed me a glass of water. Our eyes met as his gaze carefully scanned my face.

‘No.’

This wasn’t right.

Being comforted by a man I was supposed to reject was wrong.

So I pushed him away and stood up.

“I’ll go wash my face.”

Why did I have to ask if he was nervous that day? I shouldn’t have….

Ignoring my racing heartbeat, I regretted it.

As always, regret tasted bitter.

***

After crying to the point of breaking down, Giselle must have been exhausted. She washed her face and locked herself in her room.

She hadn’t eaten or slept properly for days, so at this rate, she might collapse.

Johan decided to make her eat something for dinner, no matter what.

Clack, sizzle—

Tristan cracked open a beer can and leaned lazily against the counter, glaring at Johan as he cooked.

“What the hell are you thinking?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what it is you want.”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it does. The way you look at her is anything but pure, so yeah, it fucking matters.”

Seeing you next to her pisses me off in every possible way.

Johan raised an eyebrow, then snorted.

Not because he found it ridiculous, but because the situation itself was absurd.

“Your goal’s to catch Sunshine. What’s the reason you’ve suddenly grown so sentimental toward Giselle?”

“There’s no rule saying I can’t have more than one goal.”

Sharing the same house, there must have been something between them.

Back then, it hadn’t seemed like a big deal since it wasn’t his problem, but now that he thought about it….

Johan’s grip on the knife tightened.

Even if Giselle hated him for it, he should’ve told Raphael to move her somewhere else—a different house, a hotel, anywhere.

“I don’t know exactly what you want, but whatever it is, when it comes to Giselle, it’s impossible.”

“Because I’m a cop?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s too bad. I was planning to quit after catching Sunshine.”

“You’re quitting? You serious?”

“It’s not like I ever wanted this job. I’m done with the helmet, the night shifts—everything. It’s time I live my own life.”

Johan frowned.

It was almost natural that Black Pistols turned out to be a cop.

Even with his identity hidden behind a motorcycle helmet, he never lost his sense of justice.

For someone like that to say he was giving up his badge, it stirred something close to disappointment, maybe even disillusionment with the world.

And beyond that….

“Do you love her?”

He felt something beyond suspicion. Fear, perhaps.

Because the thought crept in, that Giselle was a good person, and Tristan Lindbergh was a good man. Maybe they really did suit each other.

After all, Giselle—or anyone—would naturally prefer someone calm and straightforward like Tristan Lindbergh over a sharp, irritable man like him.

Johan stopped chopping and waited for Tristan’s answer.

“I like her. Enough to want to get to know her better. She’s charming. Kind, funny, lovely….”

“Even though she’s Raphael Moltke’s sister?”

“Yeah. You’re the same, aren’t you? You wouldn’t be acting like this if you didn’t care.”

Crunch, crunch.

Tristan bit into a raw piece of the paprika Johan had sliced.

Johan poured the beer Tristan had set on the counter straight into the sink.

No matter what Giselle said, he shouldn’t have let this man into the house.

The empty can crumpled in his hand with a harsh crack.

He threw it roughly into the trash.

“You should keep quiet and go home.”

“Doesn’t suit you to say that.”

“Don’t eat that.”

With a flick of his gaze, the paprika in Tristan’s hand flew into the sink.

Ha.

Tristan let out a sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, glaring at him as he set the utensils down on the table.

The tension in the air was incomparable to when they’d been at the shopping mall that morning.

Johan was so on edge that it wouldn’t have been surprising if a single word from Tristan made him blow someone’s solar plexus apart with magic. Tristan, for his part, was equally irritated.

By the time dinner was ready, Tristan was the first to knock on the door.

“Hey. Dinner’s ready.”

When Giselle opened the door, her eyes were calmer, but she still looked weak.

“Want to eat and then work out? You should exercise a little.”

“Here?”

“There are tons of strength exercises you can do with just your body. I’ll—”

“Giselle. Sit down.”

Johan cut Tristan off and pulled out a chair.

His icy blue eyes checked the distance between Tristan and Giselle, then took in her dry hands and reddened eyes.

Watching the two of them talk made his stomach churn.

“It looks good.”

“Please eat plenty. I can’t force food into your mouth myself.”

Johan filled her plate and waited anxiously for her to take a bite.

Maybe crying like that had helped her sort through her thoughts, because for the first time, her eyes widened, and she nodded.

“Mmm. It’s good.”

Only then did the tension in Johan’s shoulders ease.

Giselle probably didn’t know that she always managed to make him feel pathetic.

She made him think like some lovesick teenager, forcing him into foolish worries and ridiculous decisions he would never make under normal circumstances.

“Yeah, it’s good. Not bad at all.”

“The paprika’s perfectly cooked. I like it.”

“I’m glad.”

“Where’d you learn to cook?”

“In the military. That’s where I realized I was a useless man who couldn’t do anything right.”

“You were in the military? I could kind of tell, but it still doesn’t suit you.”

“So you’ve been cooking for yourself since you got out?”

“Yes. Before that, I had staff, but afterward I had to do everything alone. I had to keep it secret that my body had recovered.”

“Oh… I see.”

“Anyone care to explain what that means?”

Johan decided ignoring Tristan any longer would only make Giselle uncomfortable, so he replied curtly.

“I was discharged after sustaining an incurable injury. White Hands healed me.”

“So that’s why you were looking for White Hands.”

“Yeah.”

For a brief moment, Giselle’s fork froze. Then she stabbed at an onion with it and changed the subject.

“I’m thinking of dyeing my hair. Tristan, want to do it too?”

“Out of nowhere?”

Giselle reached out and ran her fingers through Tristan’s hair.

His gray eyes trembled violently, and Johan pressed his lips together to stop himself from twisting them, but she didn’t seem to notice either of them.

“You’ll probably have to bleach it twice like me.”

“Am I a fugitive? Why the hell would I bleach my hair?”

“With that ordinary face, I doubt anyone would recognize you even without dyeing it.”

Johan caught her wrist and pulled her hand away, placing a fork in her empty hand instead.

“That’s hardly an ordinary face. And, well… with that build, it’s not like it’d make a difference anyway.”

When Giselle brushed his chest lightly, Tristan crossed his arms over his chest.

“Hey.”

“Don’t look. Pervert.”

“Do you think there are a lot of people built bigger than Raphael? I was just being polite.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Just saying my body’s impressive is proof you’ve been staring too much.”

“Are you complaining about being looked at?”

“Ha. Testing me again, are you? Want me to take it off right now? I’ve even got a new scar, makes me look extra rugged.”

“You’re insane….”

The joking lightened the tension in the air.

But that didn’t mean Johan’s nerves had relaxed.

If anything, he was even more on edge than before.

“Are you planning to leave the city?”

“Once Raphael’s transferred to the underground prison, there’s no reason for me to stay on Mist Island.”

“Which city do you want to go to?”

“I haven’t thought about it. Anywhere that’s not Mist Island would make me happy.”

Johan asked quietly, “Can I go with you?”