Kwon Hye-yul, her long hair neatly braided into two plaits, was dressed in beige overalls and a loose T-shirt. On her feet—smaller than the palm of my hand—she wore tiny children’s slippers. She was certainly an alpha, but since she hadn’t manifested yet, there was no trace of pheromones from her.
“...Uh... hi.”
I reflexively greeted her with a warm smile. So she was already here. That fact alone caught off guard. If we hadn’t crossed paths now, I might have spent the whole ti in my room without even knowing she was around.
“We’ve t before, do you rember?”
When I stepped onto the second floor, her gaze followed . She looked a lot like her mother, Kwon Ikyung, and just from her eyes I could see a resemblance to Kwon Yido as well. Yet with that sa face, she simply stared at silently, saying nothing.
“....”
“...What?”
Maybe she was upset because I spoke informally? That thought made ask again, but Hye-yul didn’t answer. She simply pressed her lips together, turned her back to , and before I could stop her, hurried up the stairs to the third floor.
***
I already knew from Yido that Hye-yul was shy around strangers. At the engagent ceremony, hadn’t she turned her head away the mont our eyes t? It wasn’t my first ti eting a shy child, so I thought I was prepared.
“....”
“....”
But I hadn’t expected her to keep her head down the entire al without saying a single word. Even while eating hamburger steak drizzled with sweet sauce, she didn’t so much as glance my way. The way she quietly chewed and swallowed made think she might be more comfortable if I simply left the table.
“Uh... Hye-yul-ah.”
I set my fork down and cautiously started. She lifted her head slowly, her posture perfectly straight. The resemblance to Kwon Ikyung was clear, and perhaps because of it, she looked sharp and clever for her age.
“Your uncle will be here around five.”
At seven years old, did children have a clear sense of ti? Assistant Manager Yoon’s son couldn’t read a clock with hands, but Hye-yul probably understood. Even if she didn’t, it didn’t really matter.
“So what will you do until your uncle gets here?”
She frowned slightly, glancing between and the table. My attempt at conversation seed to make her uncomfortable, but she wasn’t about to leave her food unfinished. I felt a little guilty, but my desire to at least make my face known was stronger.
“Your uncle says you like looking at paintings.”
“...Yes. I’m going to look at paintings again.”
Finally, her young voice replied. Thinking of the paintings said to belong to Yido, I deliberately nad another artist.
“Paintings... like Van Gogh?”
“No.”
She shook her head and lowered her gaze back to the table, answering softly while spearing the remaining half of her hamburger steak.
“Not Van Gogh. Monet’s.”
The so-called Kwon Yido collection included works by famous painters from all over the world—Gauguin, Chagall, Picasso, and the just-ntioned Monet.
Most were stored in a museum owned by the Seonho Foundation, but three carefully chosen pieces were displayed in his ho. Hye-yul had probably co to see those.
“Do you like Monet’s paintings best?”
“Yes, they’re the coolest.”
Once we got onto the topic of her favorite art, her answers ca easily. The mont she said it, a particular painting ca to mind—a dense oil painting of water lilies floating on a blue-green pond.
“....”
Nothing strange about that. Monet’s most iconic works were the water lilies. But why was it that, out of so many in the series, only one specific painting appeared in my mind as if I’d seen it before?
“Then, when you go to see it later, can I look with you?”
I pushed away that odd sense of familiarity and asked her lightly. At my suggestion, she hesitated briefly, then nodded with a firm, decided expression.
“But you can’t talk.”
“Okay, I got it.”
“If you’re noisy, it’ll ruin the experience, so you have to be quiet.”
“Mm, I’ll be quiet.”
Adorably, she kept listing rules for until the al ended, even fixing with mock sternness in her eyes. She must really love art. I had to promise her five tis that I understood, and when the al was over, I even hooked my pinky with hers to swear I’d behave.
“Don’t run, Hye-yul-ah. You’ll fall.”
After brushing her teeth, she bounded up the stairs with a light step, her braids bouncing like rabbit ears with every movent. Why were children even cute when they moved? Before I knew it, we were at the door of the room with the paintings.
“Shh.”
She shushed again. I didn’t want to laugh at such a serious mont, but the finger pressed to her lips was so cute I felt my mouth twitch. She grasped the doorknob with her small hand, eased the door open, and slipped inside.
“....”
It was a gallery-like space with a glass ceiling. Monet’s painting was in the center, flanked by two others. I stepped forward blankly, my eyes locked on the painting before .
“Really...”
It really was water lilies.
“This is Monet’s.”
The canvas was ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) wider than my outstretched arms. In a blue-green pond, lily pads and flowers floated serenely.
I had never seen it before, and it had never been shown in the dia. Even soone as indifferent to art as Yido must have recognized its value instantly to have bought it.
So why did it feel familiar to ? Why could I picture it so clearly, as though I had once seen it with my own eyes?
“...Why?”
Perhaps my dazed expression seed odd, because Hye-yul asked quietly. When I didn’t answer, she looked at with round eyes and repeated, curious,
“Do you like Monet too, oppa?”
“...Huh?”
I suppose I should be grateful—that question snapped out of my thoughts. Oppa? What a strangely guilt-inducing form of address. I glanced down at her, scratching my cheek awkwardly.
“Not oppa, you should call uncle.”
“But... I only have one uncle.”
She pouted—not whining, but as if deep in thought. After a long, serious mont, she suddenly looked up at again.
“So, do you like Monet?”
“...Yeah, I guess I do.”
I wasn’t much of an art lover, but it was hard to ignore that bright, expectant gaze. When I nodded, her eyes widened in genuine delight.
“Really?”
“....”
I shouldn’t lie to kids, but now I’d have to start liking Monet—or at least this particular painting.
“When I was little, I went to a museum in Paris, and there were water lilies hanging on a round wall there.”
Though she’d told to be quiet, she started her story in an excited voice. The image of her being “little” at her current age of seven was amusing—what, maybe six years old?
“In a room bigger than this one, it was all water lilies from over there to here.”
That must have been the Musée de l’Orangerie in Paris. I’d never been, but I’d heard of it many tis.
“....”
Or... had I never heard of it?
“It was so cool that I asked Mom to buy it for , but she said she couldn’t.”
“You asked her to buy that?”
“Yes. When I go to galleries with Mom, she buys one painting I pick.”
She spoke clearly, though the word “gallery” ca out in perfect native pronunciation. Then she rolled her eyes and carefully tugged at my collar.
“If you like water lilies, can’t you buy the one there?”
“...Mm.”
If Kwon Ikyung couldn’t, I probably couldn’t either—not just because of the price, but for ethical reasons. Even if I did bring it ho, I wouldn’t be able to take proper care of it.
“If we brought it here, other people wouldn’t be able to see it, right?”
I kept my tone gentle, wanting to give her a reason she could accept rather than just refusing.
“We can go to Paris and see it whenever we want, but for a beautiful painting like that, isn’t it better to leave it in a museum so others can enjoy it too?”
“Then we can put it in the Hye-yul Museum.”
“....”
That stopped short. She looked at steadily as she explained,
“Paris is too far, and flying is hard, so if it’s in the Hye-yul Museum, we can see it and other people can too.”
I had clearly underestimated a seven-year-old. There was no counterargunt to such tidy logic. So, knowing it wasn’t right, I gently shifted the responsibility.
“Then, when your uncle gets here, should we talk to him about it?”
“With Uncle?”
“Yeah. Let’s hear what he thinks, and then you can tell him your idea. How’s that?”
My apologies, Kwon Yido. I offered the thought silently. As soone who regularly played with his niece, he’d surely know how to navigate this without trouble. I couldn’t bring myself to flatly refuse her.
“Uncle’s coming at five, so there are four hours left.”
Thankfully, she nodded without complaint. Apparently, she did have a solid sense of ti—and could even calculate the remaining hours.
“Hye-yul, when you visit, do you just look at paintings until your uncle cos?”
“No. I go to the study to read, eat snacks, and take naps in Uncle’s room.”
She ticked each activity off on her fingers, looking adorable. She spent her ti well enough alone, though she didn’t look particularly happy about it. Likely, she got bored waiting for Yido to arrive.
“What about you? What do you do until Uncle cos ho?”
“Told you, not oppa...”
I chuckled helplessly. “Uncle” was far preferable to “mister,” but still. I let my eyes drift to the paintings on the wall as I replied slowly,
“Pretty much the sa as you. I read, eat, sotis go for walks.”
“That sounds boring...”
Even she, kind as she was, pitied for being alone here. I smiled faintly and asked,
“Hye-yul, do you like flowers?”
This ti, the greenhouse table was set for tea. It was usually flower tea, but today, perhaps for Hye-yul’s sake, there was a sweet fruit tea with strawberries, along with soft butter cookies fit for a child’s taste.
Lee Taeseong, who had followed us silently, stood with his hands clasped behind him at the greenhouse door. I’d wondered if Hye-yul might be intimidated, but she showed no discomfort around n in black suits. Then again, as the only child of that Kwon Ikyung, she’d probably seen her share of bodyguards.
“When did this get here?”
“The greenhouse?”
“Yes. It wasn’t here before...”
She cradled the teacup in both hands, rolling her eyes as she studied the flowers and the lights overhead. Then, in an unexpectedly serious tone,
“It must be hard to water all these flowers...”
“....”
Once again, I thought—seven was older than I gave it credit for. Sotis she seed more thoughtful than many adults, her speech and vocabulary not far off either.
“It slls like you in here.”
She sniffed the air and said this. I brought my hand to my nose, wondering what scent she ant, but she scrunched her brow and murmured,
“A flower sll... like white flowers.”
“...Flowers?”
Maybe it was from working with fragrance materials today. But the scent I’d been learning wasn’t floral. As I blinked in puzzlent, she nodded earnestly.
“Mom slls like sunlight, Dad slls like paint. And Uncle slls like wood.”
“....”
It was a simple description, but she was probably talking about pheromones. The scent she said Yido had certainly wasn’t perfu—he rarely wore any, and certainly not woody types.
Of course, as an alpha, it wasn’t strange for her to sense pheromones even before manifestation. I’d caught faint whiffs before my first heat, too. The problem was that she said I slled like flowers.
....
How long until my next heat? It was probably soon, but with the irregularity, I couldn’t be sure. I’d have to stay alert—I couldn’t let her see in a state like that.
“I’m going to read in the study after this.”
Soon enough, she seed to tire of the greenhouse. While she could gaze at paintings for half an hour straight, she lost interest in the flowers quickly. She drained her sweet strawberry tea and popped the unfinished butter cookie into her mouth.
Afterward, we went to the first-floor study together. I wondered if there’d be any books for a child, but she found one she liked on her own—a picture-heavy volu of East Asian paintings, conveniently shelved right at her eye level.
For soone who claid he wouldn’t make a good father, Yido had made sure every detail was set for her comfort—special slippers, a different nu, everything. Even if the staff had arranged it, I couldn’t help thinking it was all at his instruction.
....
About thirty minutes later, she began nodding off with the book on her lap. After a full al and dessert, it was no wonder she was sleepy. I carefully took the book from her hands and, lifting her into my arms, left the room.
I went straight to Yido’s room—she had said she napped there, so it should be fine. From what I knew of him, he wouldn’t mind.
“Shhh...”
I laid her on the bed and gently patted her chest. Her slightly parted lips and peaceful breathing brought a smile to my face. Children were so innocent and beautiful—her plump, soft cheeks were downright lovable.
“Two hours...”
Two hours until Yido arrived. I glanced at the clock on the wall, then blinked drowsily. His pheromones filled the room, making my head hazy as if I’d taken too many sleeping pills.
Drawn in, I crouched beside her. I told myself I’d just rest my eyes for a mont, but the mont my eyelids closed, sleep overtook . The warmth of a child and Yido’s unique pheromones loosened all my tension.
And so, I fell asleep beside Hye-yul. It was impossible to resist. At one point, I felt soone stroking my hair, but my consciousness never surfaced.
“When is oppa going to wake up?”
“...Oppa?”
A soft chuckle followed, then a careful touch against my cheek. I frowned slightly, and a familiar voice spoke firmly,
“No. He’s your uncle’s fiancé.”
That one sentence was steeped in indescribable affection. Warmth welled up from deep in my gut, and I drifted back into sleep. It was a mont of perfect peace.
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