"You—"

The teacup in Celicia's hand instantly shattered into icy shards, exploding with a crisp crack. Ethereal blue frost spread rapidly from the soles of Celicia's feet outward, encompassing the room in its terrifying chill within a breath.

The aura of death brushed palpably against Moen's heart.

Moen gritted his teeth, suppressing the impulse to let his body tremble uncontrollably.

Thankfully, for once, fortune seemed to favor Moen.

Celicia suddenly staggered.

The frost that could have instantly frozen Moen into an ice sculpture was now only a step away from him, but it could extend no further.

"Despicable."

Celicia's icy, hate-filled eyes glared at Moen, revealing a trace of unwillingness. However, she had no time to react further. Under the effects of the drug, her body went limp, and she collapsed onto the ground.

"Ah..."

As the killing intent dissipated, Moen was finally able to let out a long sigh of relief, though his eyes still retained a trace of lingering fear.

"That's exactly who Celicia is."

Had the drug taken effect two or three seconds later, she might have delivered a fatal strike without a hint of hesitation.

"But no matter what, I won this game."

Surviving such a close brush with death, Moen can't help but rejoice.

"Do you understand what it means to be a conniving workhorse? Don't you get the brilliance of my table-turning stratagem? Deception upon deception, a masterpiece!"

Indeed, just moments ago, Moen had almost been cornered by Celicia, who had been more cautious than he had thought. Yet Celicia would never have anticipated that both cups of tea contained the drug.

Moen had gambled—gambled that Celicia, upon seeing Moen drink the tea first, would temporarily lower her guard.

Fortunately, his gamble paid off.

"A big thanks to the shopkeeper for their potent drug—it’s truly as advertised: one touch, and it's lights out!"

Expensive things often prove their worth, and the price tag of 130,000 Amelia was no joke!

If the need ever arises again, Moen decided he'd definitely patronize the shop in the future.

"Now then, it's time for the main event."

Looking at the unconscious and completely defenseless Celicia, Moen couldn't help but feel a surge of nervousness again.

But at this stage, there was no turning back—the bow was strung, the arrow fired, and the path ahead left no room for retreat.

...

The flames in the fireplace flickered, gradually warming the room again.

Moen bent down and gently lifted Celicia, placing her on the sofa.

Why not the bed, you might ask? Because inviting Celicia to a room with a bed for a private conversation would raise suspicions even in the dullest minds.

Thankfully, the sofas in the Duke's mansion were large enough.

"Now, what should I do next?"

"As I recall, in the original story, Moen Campbell was caught by the protagonist while unzipping Celicia's gown..."

Moen glanced at the door.

In the original tale, that idiot Moen didn’t even think to lock the door before engaging in such an act.

As a result, when the protagonist, Ariel, stumbled onto the scene, they just casually opened the door and caught Moen Campbell red-handed, attempting to violate Celicia.

"If that's how the original plot goes..."

"Then I have to play my part to the fullest… Damn it, I'm going all in!"

Gazing at the sleeping Celicia, Moen couldn't help but feel an unusual dryness in his throat.

This might very well be Celicia's most vulnerable moment. The haunting chill around her had dissipated, replaced by a faint fragrance that teased Moen's senses, threatening to shatter his wavering self-control.

Celisia's simple yet elegant white gown accented her icy radiance, making her beauty even more breathtaking.

"See no evil, touch no evil—but desperate times call for desperate measures, my apologies."

Murmuring words of repentance, Moen slowly extended his trembling hands. Carefully, he lifted Celicia's light body and began to fumble for the zipper on the back of her gown.

His hands seemed disobedient, fumbling several times before finally locating the zipper.

Zzzrip—

The sound of the zipper sliding down echoed crisp and clear, causing Moen's heartbeat to quicken by several paces.

He swallowed a non-existent lump in his throat. With still-trembling fingers, he grasped the straps of Celicia's gown on her pale shoulders.

Slowly, carefully, he slid them down along her arms.

Her skin was smooth, reminiscent of a ribbon floating atop a bowl of milk.

Even as both straps slipped down completely, Celicia's voluptuous figure held her gown stubbornly in place, safeguarding the critical areas.

Unwilling to be thwarted, Moen extended a finger once more, easing it onto the front neckline of her gown. Gently, he tugged downward.

Gradually, an alluring valley came into view, followed by the soft silhouette of a crescent moon.

Not until the white mist of fabric covering her further was halfway unveiled did Moen finally withdraw his hands, albeit reluctantly.

"This... should suffice, right?"

With her disheveled dress and exposed curves, it was undeniably inappropriate for two people to have a normal conversation.

Moen cast another glance at the tightly closed door.

But the protagonist had yet to arrive.

"Could it be that it's still not enough?"

After a momentary pause, Moen stripped off his own thirty-kilogram bespoke jacket, baring his decently toned upper torso. He then propped up his two hands on the sofa, letting Celicia lie underneath him.

Though their bodies didn’t actually touch, the posture alone would appear extremely ambiguous no matter who was watching.

In a typical female-lead protagonist story, the mere sight of such a scenario would surely have incited readers to flood forums with angry comments, marking it as one of the most scandalous revelations ever.

Surely, someone was overdue to barge in.

And yet...

The protagonist still didn’t show up.

"Maybe I'm off on the timing and should just wait a little longer?"

With that thought, Moen froze in place, holding the pose as time ticked away second by second.

Three minutes…

Ten minutes…

Half an hour!

"What the hell!"

,Moen muttered in frustration, with his arms already sore to the bone, "Protagonist, where the hell are you? The female lead is lying defenseless beneath me! I've had all the time in the world to do... well, anything. Can you please just show up? This is getting ridiculous!"

And yet, Ariel—the revered Savior of Celicia—remained nowhere in sight.

"Am I doing anything wrong?"

Moen began retracing today's events in his mind.

First, he invited Celicia to a private meeting in this specific room. The room was unquestionably correct; that detail was an integral part of Moen Campbell's original plan, prepared well in advance to align with the events of the story.

Next, he drugged Celicia.

That also went off without a hitch—after all, Celicia was currently lying on the sofa as clear evidence of the plan's success.

Finally...

The protagonist was supposed to stumble upon the situation while looking for a restroom. In the original story, Ariel entered the room by accident after a maid spilled wine on her dress accidentally.

But why hadn’t Ariel arrived yet? Could it be she'd gotten lost on the way?

Wait…

The clumsy maid?

Moen’s epiphany hit like lightning.

The Duke’s maids were famously well-trained. A single misstep while balancing glasses on a tightrope was unheard of, let alone carelessly spilling red wine on a guest! Such negligence could even result in the head maid’s resignation.

Unless...

The so-called accident wasn’t due to clumsiness.

But illness.

Yes, in the original narrative, the maid who caused the mishap might have been unwell.

And the maid who should’ve triggered the protagonist’s accidental intrusion tonight—where was she?

She was resting.

On Moen’s orders, she was taking the night off.

She wouldn’t be attending the banquet tonight, nor would she be spilling red wine on anyone’s dress.

Which meant…

The protagonist might never come.