There’s Something Special About Her Chapter 5 - (Illustration)

I knew this feeling.

This was exactly what it felt like when a blade was pressed against your throat.

Gulp.

There had to be at least ten steps between Killian Knox and me.

Yet a chilling sense of danger crawled down my spine, as if the sharp tip of a knife were pressing against the soft skin beneath my chin.

“Stop.”

Damn it.

Clenching my teeth, I slowly turned around.

Once again, my eyes met Killian Knox’s.

Ever since the day my entire family died, thirteen years of surviving inside Wickers had honed my instincts enough to recognize the man before me as the apex predator.

My blood ran cold.

In an instant, every one of my senses sharpened.

The loose strand of hair swaying across Killian Knox’s forehead seemed to move in slow motion.

Tap. Tap.

The lazy sound of him undoing the buttons of his blood-soaked shirt thundered in my ears.

His long, powerfully built legs shifted, the tips of his shoes turning toward me.

Even the tightening air between us felt tangible against my skin.

“I…”

I forced the words out while lowering my head respectfully.

“Is there… anything else you require of me, Your Grace?”

Thankfully, my voice came out calm and steady.

For a moment, I felt his piercing gaze settle on the top of my head.

Then Killian Knox spoke in that slow, unhurried tone.

“Pour in the bath oil.”

You’ve got to be kidding me…

If it were up to me, I’d run straight out of this bathroom—

No, out of this entire manor.

“Yes, understood.”

Careful not to meet his eyes again, I kept my head lowered as I quietly walked over to the bathtub.

He… didn’t notice me, right?

If Killian Knox had suspected me, I’d have ended up like that spy the moment I stepped into the bathroom.

Which meant…

There was still hope.

I can survive this!

But that hope vanished the moment I found myself standing before dozens of bottles of bath oil.

How was I supposed to know which scent Killian Knox preferred?

Back in Wickers, gathering information on Killian Knox had been the hardest assignment of all.

No matter how thoroughly we squeezed our spies and informants for information, the only answer we ever got was:

“He has no interests. Nothing he particularly likes.”

…Huh?

As I desperately searched for an answer, one familiar bottle caught my eye.

It held a pale green oil extracted from the Geltus plant, commonly used to treat sore muscles.

I used it myself all the time.

Nothing removed the smell of dried blood from the body better than Geltus oil.

It wasn’t normally used for bathing.

Still…

I poured a generous amount into the tub and stirred it with the large wooden paddle resting beside it.

The cloudy oil quickly dissolved into the water.

Fortunately, Killian Knox had already stopped paying attention to me.

The only sound now was the occasional rustle of fabric as he continued removing his clothes.

Then another person entered the bathroom.

“Hm? You’re still here?”

It was Dupont Clansher—the one who’d ordered me to prepare the bath.

He glanced between Killian and me before casually waving a hand.

“That’s enough. You can leave now.”

Yes!

Dupont, I could kiss you!

“Understood.”

I hurriedly bowed toward Killian before practically running out of the bathroom.

 

 

***

 

 

 

By the time I finally made it back to my room, I collapsed against the closed door and slowly slid to the floor.

I didn’t even have the strength to crawl to my bed.

“…Insane.”

A groan slipped through the fingers covering my mouth.

My heart was pounding so violently it actually hurt.

“I… I almost died.”

So this was what it felt like to stick your head inside the jaws of a beast and somehow come back alive.

I repeatedly rubbed my face with both hands before letting out another deep sigh.

“…I survived.”

For some reason, Killian Knox’s decadent golden eyes and pale skin kept flashing through my mind like scenes from a lurid romance novel.

But considering I’d nearly been killed…

Those thoughts disappeared soon enough.

Killian’s gaze lingered on the small action squad recruit as he scurried out of the room like his tail was on fire.

Only for a moment.

He casually tore away the blood-soaked clothing clinging unpleasantly to his body as though ripping wet paper.

Cracking his neck from side to side, he walked toward the bathtub.

Every slow stride sent the muscles across his body shifting beneath his skin.

There were two kinds of men in this world.

Those who looked bigger with clothes on…

And those who looked bigger without them.

Duke Killian Knox, Dupont’s master, unquestionably belonged to the latter.

On Killian, clothing served little more than camouflage.

The moment he unbuttoned his shirt, he revealed himself like a beast freed from its chains.

Even Dupont—born into the Clansher family, which had served Knox for generations, and raised at Killian’s side—still occasionally found himself startled by the sight.

Without clothes, Killian was terrifying.

Every muscle fit together with flawless precision, like the intricate gears of a perfectly crafted machine.

And Dupont knew all too well the monstrous strength contained within that body.

To Killian, tearing someone apart with his bare hands—as he had done moments earlier—was no more difficult than lifting an empty teacup.

“Dupont.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Killian sat inside the enormous bathtub, his eyes closed beneath long lashes casting shadows across his face.

Quietly, he asked,

“How many is this now?”

Dupont stiffened.

“…The third.”

Recently, spies had been appearing within Knox with alarming frequency.

The Intelligence Department had done everything possible to filter them out.

Yet three had still been personally discovered by the Duke himself.

Finding the source of those infiltrators and sealing the security breach had been Grair Knox’s responsibility.

He had failed.

Again.

Dupont lowered his head.

So… today is finally the day Grair Knox dies.

Being related to the Duke by blood meant nothing.

Under the name of Knox, everyone ultimately knelt beneath Killian.

“…”

But no order came.

No sentence condemning Grair Knox to death.

Only the quiet sound of water rippling as Killian lazily brushed back his damp silver hair.

He looked less like the man who had torn someone in half with his bare hands moments ago…

And more like an exquisite work of art.

Dupont realized Grair Knox had already vanished completely from Killian’s thoughts.

I thought this time he wouldn’t spare him.

Though puzzled, Dupont stopped trying to understand what his master was thinking.

Even after growing up beside him like a brother, Killian remained impossible to read.

Moments like these were best handled by simply assuming:

His Grace must already have a plan.

Then waiting for orders.

“What became of the investigation?”

“Ah… you mean Helena Morton?”

“Yes.”

Killian’s golden eyes shimmered faintly through the rising steam.

“That woman is no ordinary person.”

Dupont shook his head.

“Who would’ve imagined the last survivor of the Morton family had been hiding inside Wickers?”

It had happened roughly a year ago.

The greatest incident in Wickers’ history.

The central figure was Helena, once known as the trusted lieutenant of Edward Wickers.

An orphan who had begun as nothing more than a street pickpocket within Wickers.

She climbed the organization’s ladder at astonishing speed.

She first made a name for herself as an assassin.

Then gathered intelligence from her missions to establish Wickers’ own Intelligence Division.

Three years.

That was all it took.

In only three years, she built the division, completely disrupted Knox’s intelligence network, and rose to become one of Wickers’ new power figures.

Edward Wickers valued her so highly that he kept her constantly at his side.

Rumors even spread that the relationship between heir and subordinate had become something more.

Then, one year ago…

Helena suddenly murdered Count Benedict Wickers…

And disappeared.

“She was even about to be granted the Wickers family name.”

Within Wickers, exceptional members were bestowed the ruling family’s surname.

Receiving the name “Wickers” marked someone as part of the bloodline itself.

It was both a symbol of immense authority…

And a warning.

Anyone who harmed them would become the target of Wickers’ infamous Blood Revenge.

“She’s hidden herself so completely that we can’t find a single trace. Perhaps… this is beyond even my abilities, Your Grace.”

Dupont sighed, rubbing the deep crease between his brows.

Helena of Wickers had been absurdly capable.

Many within Knox—Grair Knox especially, after suffering repeated defeats in their intelligence war—ground their teeth whenever her name came up.

When news spread that she’d killed Benedict Wickers and fled, Grair had reportedly held celebrations for days.

After all, anyone hunted by Wickers’ wolves was as good as dead.

At least…

Until an urgent report reached Knox Intelligence.

Edward Wickers is searching for “Helena Morton.”

Within House Knox, the surname Morton carried a special meaning.

“She’s a woman who spent thirteen years sharpening her blade for revenge. When the Morton family was massacred… Helena Morton was only ten years old.”

Dupont spoke quietly.

“That means she’d already begun planning her revenge at that age…”

Honestly…

It was frightening.

What kind of eyes would someone with that much hatred possess?

But Killian gave only one order.

“Find her.”

Just one sentence.

“Find Helena Morton.”

“And bring her before me.”