The bed was all Soleil had to look forward to. The interior of the house, apart from the certainty that she needed something from Archihilles, offered no interesting trifles except hideous paintings and overpriced art that she could do nothing with.

The only bright spot was actually in getting out of the dress and taking a breath. The soft fabric of the sheets had whisked her away to the realm of dreams barely a blink later – did it again and again as the days passed – and the journey of her daredevil imaginings ended only when someone else's snoring made her sit up with a distant groan.

After two miserable weeks in the golden cage, it was a change she noticed with heart palpitations. The light reached into the room only dimly, but it was easy to make out the contours of the furniture and other minor details. However, instead of turning her attention to the room, her gaze slid sideways, straight to a man lying belly-down at her side.

His face was handsome, flawless, worth a second look, while the blond hair stood apart in all directions due to sleep. Soleil's fatigue hung so heavily on her body, though, that there was no room for amazement. The man at her side looked like Pariston Hill, but the mere certainty that he wasn't made her sigh. The only man who would come to see her in this room was Archihilles. Anything else was too far-fetched, and although she didn't want to lie by his side, the will to sleep prevailed.

Nimbly, she reached for one pillow to press it to his face until he turned his head the other way and stopped snoring. Then she fell back into the wrapped feathers herself and let the scene pass.

Half asleep, it seemed okay.

But when consciousness broke through the fragile glow of her dreams a few hours later, it was just a poor joke. The heart pounded, the breath caught on the lips and even before the blackness had disappeared, Soleil snapped her eyes open and listened. Archihilles was still silent.

Had she accidentally smothered him under the pillow?

The palms of her hands became sticky as she clawed at the sheet, hoping for some sound that wasn't hers. But nothing was to be heard. So she overcame herself and glanced over her shoulder, only to discover Archihilles' half-naked body, on which not a single muscle seemed to exist.

His upper body was scrawny, haggard, and only Pariston's handsome face forced her to take a second look. This head didn't match the rest of the body and yet this strange puzzle of a man lay beside her.

Once more Soleil took a breath and caught herself. She ran a hand over her face, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, stretching the sluggishness from her muscles, before letting her gaze slide around the room again. Archihilles was wearing nothing but a pair of pants, which also meant that the key had to be somewhere in his clothes.

Fundamentally, it was quite simple. She would rummage through his things, get dressed and pretend that nothing had ever happened.

The rustle of the duvet felt treacherous, however, and Soleil only made it to the edge of the bed before warm fingers wrapped around her wrist. The pressure on her skin shook her shoulders, attention chased to Archihilles, and the result surrendered to a kiss pressed firmly to her lips.

Don't. Vomit.

She couldn't, under any circumstances, throw up. Not in this trivial situation, where the stale smell of sleep was being forced into her nostrils and she was greeted with a hot-soft kiss, squeezing her throat so tightly that breathing through a straw would have been easier. Simultaneously, bile burned in her throat and her fingers dug into the mattress.

"Good morning, dear." The first thing he breathed towards her was the foul smell of fish and champagne. His business must have been good if he had drowned himself in expensive treats.

"G-good morning." Breathing was difficult, and goosebumps reached to her fingertips. But the striking disgust didn't stay alone, growing along with ice-cold revulsion as Archihilles' hand settled on one of her breasts and tightened. Just like that. As if her body was a relic to be felt because nothing else could be touched. His fingers pressed into her flesh, the uncomfortable sensation of alien warmth spreading and the twitching in Soleil's hands literally screamed for a punch in the face.

But she had to play along.

Quick as a flash, she pushed herself out of bed, escaping his grip more easily than she expected. "We should have breakfast. I suppose the table should be set in a minute."

"We can put that off if you like." The smile on his features was almost as smug as his demeanour. Obnoxious and purposeful all in one. One of the endless problems that the rich all carried with them as if it were some kind of perfume.

"I ... pass." Involuntarily, she wrinkled her nose before turning away and disappearing into the bathroom. A few splashes of water and the snarky thoughts as she brushed her teeth made it easier to see the circumstances. She was his wife. Of course, he expected the services that came with marriage.

Something she had never consented to.

At least not directly.

Confirming to a rich snob that you would play wife was probably the free pass to anything. Even for "romantic nights" for two. On top, he had mentioned it rather vaguely. He had said that she had to fulfil her duties in everything.

Shaking her head, Soleil tried to dispel the thought. He was just a man. One of those idiots who could be stalled if she made enough excuses.

Sorry darling, I've got my period.

Today is bad, dear. I think I have a migraine.

Please, honey, you can't wear that face. The most you can do with that is go on a cruise in the desert.

There was definitely no shortage of bad excuses. But she had to win his trust, get him to tell her everything, even if he held back his arrogance and tried to teach her better. There was no way he had survived this long to let a woman steal information off his tongue.

No sooner had Soleil left the bathroom – dressed up and caught in a dress of black silk – than she noticed that Archihilles had also slipped into his clothes. He was adjusting his tie when he glanced in her direction and gave a sardonic smile. "Don't tell me you're still a virgin?"

"What?"

"Virgin. You practically fled when I touched you. I'm surprised." His hands loosened from the striped fabric. "Dancing on the pole as a whore, but you haven't had a man between your legs. I don't know if that's remarkable or a waste of such a well-shaped body." With a dismissive wave of his hand, he strode past her. "At least I don't have to worry about disease with this."

He disappeared behind the door in the same breath, leaving Soleil merely thrusting her hands on her hips and craning her neck. This useless idiot had actually managed to spout so much nonsense within so few sentences that it almost hurt. She was neither a virgin nor a whore. Dancing on the pole and stripping had nothing to do with sex, and having loved someone once was nothing special. But it gave her freedom. If she played hard to get like a virgin, she could stall for time. Precious hours she needed.

Enhancing him would be foolish.

So Soleil put the conversation aside with a shrug of her shoulders and set her sights on the exit. Waiting in the corridor, as every day, was one servant without a mask – in this case, a young boy who barely reached her chest. Still, he led her with long, gallant steps to the dining room where breakfast had already been served.

Soleil settled down in the same place as always, eyed each of the servants present and was enjoying a sip of juice when Archihilles also appeared. His appearance was flawless and his seat exactly opposite hers. It made the outlook for a relaxed breakfast grim.

"Don't you like the food?" As if she wore her thoughts on her face, he leaned over a little. Maybe she needed to distract herself, get her mind off things. Talking to him would be a start.

"That's not it," Soleil explained tersely. "I was just thinking about something."

"And what is that thing you've been trying to think about without coming to any conclusion?"

How to get rid of you, it flashed through her mind before she struggled to smile. "As I was wandering around the house here alone, I stumbled across an old man called Hachibald. He guards a safe, and I wondered what was in that safe that needed guarding."

Archihilles' expression twisted. "This is private. Don't speak of it again, or I really will have to see someone come here and drill some intelligence into you."

With difficulty, Soleil kept the smile. She'd just have to start smaller then. Getting to know this jerk couldn't possibly be that hard. "Then tell me about the paintings here in the house. Almost all of them picture a guinea pig."

"Sherry!" Sudden enthusiasm spread through his voice. "Of course, you haven't missed my beloved Sherry."

"Sherry, then?"

"She's wonderful. If you like, I'll show her to you later. She is, in a way, the emblem of this house and my personal good luck charm."

"Gladly." She found no footing in this conversation.

"You'll like her. There's never been someone Sherry couldn't charm!"

Presumably, she would ask Chrollo for a raise when all this was over. No one had mentioned that information gathering could be so awful. Especially when you had to pretend to be interested in a guinea pig.

"S-she certainly seems to have captured your heart, as excited as you sound." Forlornly, she reached for the glass of juice she'd been poured.

"Of course she did! How could nine hundred grams of soft fur with huge, kind eyes not melt a man?" Her interlocutor snorted contemptuously. "From the first time I saw Sherry Claire Sunside de River, I knew she deserved only the best. She's so fragile in my hands with her twenty centimetres that I find it hard to believe she's long grown up at three years old." He sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if she doesn't eat all her carrots, even though they're her favourite. Maybe that's why she's so tiny."

Soleil's smile crumbled. In those seconds, a bribed mass murderer seemed better company than a man with a guinea pig obsession.

"Or maybe she's just wearing herself out. You need to know, Sherry is very talented at running on little balls. In fact, I'd say she loves nothing more than little balls." Half in thought, he leaned back. "Maybe I should buy her a new ball for her birthday. Preferably with her date carved on it. Imagine a beautiful ball with '24.6' engraved on it. No birth year, of course, so she won't feel old when she looks at the ball."

"Sounds ... Very thoughtful." Within ten minutes, she had learned more about the pig than she had about the man she was supposed to be spying on. That was a strange achievement. But it was better than nothing. A start. If she pretended to be interested, she would be more trustworthy than in any other plan she could think of.

"So, what do you say?" His words took her by surprise, dragging the back to the table and into the conversation in which she had blanked him.

"About what?"

"You weren't listening again?" His enthusiasm sank.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about what kind of ball Sherry would enjoy the most."

Archihilles' mood instantly brightened again, but he waved it off. "We can think about that when the time comes. But we should move on to more important matters now."

"Like what?" Cautiously, Soleil shoved a fork of scrambled eggs into her mouth.

"Children!"

And she choked.

The cough burned in her throat and only subsided when she was handed a glass of water.

"Children?!" Her voice sounded stricken, rough and pained as she raised her brows in disbelief. "You want to adopt some?"

"No, silly." The gleam in his eyes was real. "It's time we had a child. Offspring is important for a man of my standing. And there's nothing better than bringing a little life into this house, is there?" He took a sip of his coffee. "I'd be for three."

She could feel the blood draining from her face and her movements becoming sluggish. This man had already planned an entire family with her, and he seemed so convinced that he certainly wouldn't be discouraged. Not even when she had four knives stuck in her back.

Without further ado, her gaze rushed around the room. But apart from the guy who had led her to dinner, everyone else wore masks. She was alone in this room. Completely on her own with a man who would take her by surprise if she wasn't careful. But how could she get out of this?

Archihilles wouldn't just let her go and if Chrollo had really infiltrated several people into this mess, then he probably knew that the house was short of children. Any normal person knew rich people needed rich heirs who were best conceived with one's wife and raised perfectly to one's liking.

"You're not listening again. If you weren't so pale, I think my patience would have run out by now." Again Archihilles snapped her out of her thoughts. "What is it?"

"I'm ... not feeling so well right now," Soleil replied. "Must be the stuffy air in here."

"Oh, I know what you're talking about!" Instantly, her counterpart jumped to his feet. "I'm not a person who likes to be inside, either. You probably need some fresh air. Let's go into the garden."

With a nod, Soleil agreed. Escaping him was probably an impossibility. He didn't take his eyes off her even when she stood up and slowly approached the door – just as he did. Just before the exit, they came together, and he offered her his arm. A gesture she accepted. In those seconds, she was his wife, and he didn't let the moment pass to press another kiss to her lips before pulling her behind him with long strides.

The nausea burned like acid in her throat and didn't subside even as they approached the rear double doors, one of which burst open. The very next moment, fresh air hit her, infused with a floral note and freshly cut grass.

The first thing that revealed itself to Soleil was the endless greenery. Large bushes had been clipped into shape, servants watered the splendidly colourful flowerbeds and fruit trees beckoned with fresh berries. The path of white flagstones on which Archihilles led them straight between all this framed a fountain with a huge seahorse as a statue. Pebbles lined the flower beds, and no one paid them a glance. They were all so engrossed in their work that they hardly noticed.

"Isn't it gorgeous?" With a smile, Archihilles pulled her closer. The uncomfortable warmth he radiated and the awful smell of hot apricot stole her smile. It was impossible to fool him when he forced himself on her. This was unique from the pole. On stage, no one had been authorised to touch her unless it was to put money in a slip. This situation was the horrific opposite.

Everything in her wanted to push away from him, run away, beat the goosebumps and forget about the job along with the money. She had left all that behind once before – in a place where biting looks had also expected more from her than she had to give. But nothing moved. Her legs remained stiff and only walked beside Archihilles like those of an awkward doll. Past more greenery that suddenly seemed terribly unimportant, straight between two hedges that reminded her of the beginning of a labyrinth.

"This seems like the perfect place to me."

"For what?" produced Soleil weakly.

"Sex." He spoke it as casually as if he'd been waiting all morning for nothing else. "Looks romantic enough for your first time to me."

Excuses. She needed excuses. Anything, as he put his hands on her shoulders and gently slid them down her arms.

"I can't." Her voice trembled more than her shoulders. "I am on ... my period..."

"It doesn't matter." Nothing about him betrayed disgust. "A little blood is no obstacle."

She opened her mouth in protest but closed it again without having said a single word. Instead, a pair of hedge clippers landed beside her.

The loud clang as the metal thundered to the ground made Archihilles wince. His hands disengaged from Soleil and she dared to breathe a sigh of relief when the very next moment a tall, slender man came around the corner, grabbing the back of his head apologetically. He wore his chest-length black hair loose and his face was covered by a white mask.

"Excuse me, sir!" His casual steps didn't suit someone who tended a garden under greedy hands. The loose grey uniform that hung down on him as a jumpsuit looked out of place. "My scissors slipped out of my hand."

"You stupid idiot! If your disgusting filthy fingers are too wet to hold on to a pair of fucking scissors, then you'd better put on some gloves." Archihilles didn't spare his anger. Pariston's face contorted, creased at the brow as he wrinkled his nose, and aged what felt like thirty years. "Well, that's the last time. Next time, you're fired." With a snort, he turned to Soleil. "I have to change my face and get some work done. You can stay in the garden a little longer if you like."

Only then did he turn away and stomp back the way he came, while Soleil's heart drummed against her chest.

She was saved.

"What an unpleasant fellow." Sighing, the stranger reached to remove the mask and raise a brow. The sparse moustache and goatee on his face, and the tired old eyes, gave him an air of trustworthiness. "Are you all right?"

"Y-yes." Unsure how to respond, Soleil paused rigidly at her post before her counterpart put on a friendly smile.

"Nobunaga." Suddenly, he held out his hand to her. "The boss sent me here."

All at once, assurance enveloped her. "Boss" was definitely Chrollo. She was no longer alone, even if this man was just a simple garden helper. In the garden, she could escape Archihilles.

Carefully, she accepted his hand and shook it once before glancing towards the entrance.

"Was that the real one?" Nobunaga also let his gaze wander to the entry.

"He was. Why?"

"Because he's been in the garden four times already today, each time with a different face and a woman at his side who looks like you." He sighed. "You find couples like that everywhere."

And they had never crossed Soleil's path before.

Simultaneously, questions formed in her mind. If Archihilles could change faces, then he could have easily conjured up a copy of Hiira. Instead, he searched for the right replacement. Up to this point, she hadn't even been surprised that he had worn a different face from the last time. She had simply believed his magic and blanked out how absurd the whole thing was.

"Is everything okay?" Slowly, Nobunaga moved back into view, so Soleil merely shook her head.

"I'm just a little confused. When I think about it more carefully, none of it makes sense. This guy could have just magically made his wife ... with that weird trick he uses to change his face, too."

"That would be possible," he admitted. "But if he died, his ability would dissolve and his wife would get nothing because no one would recognise her. And I think it would raise questions if the child they share doesn't look at least somewhat like the mother."

He was right. And he knew of her target's wishes. If he were to change the child's appearance as well, and his magic power actually disappeared after death, then he wouldn't even have an heir because no one would know who this child was. Of course, at this point, a genetic test would help, but the trouble and poor light it would cast on him definitely didn't match his arrogance. Everything had to be perfect.

And perhaps, between all the fakes, he also longed for something real.

"What is this magic power, anyway? Is that what Chrollo wants?"

"Huh?" Nobunaga's brow furrowed. "That-"

"We need to get back to work." Before her interlocutor could answer the question, a little girl interposed between them. The large, pink eyes made her flawless face resemble a doll, and the chin-length, pitch-black hair shimmered in the sunlight. The beauty mark on her chin line was the only thing that stood out on her face beside her eyes. She held the white mask tightly in both hands.

"I'm coming." Unwillingly, Nobunaga raised his hand, causing the girl in her gardener's uniform to nod and put the mask back on. Then she turned and left.

"She's pretty as a picture..." escaped Soleil breathlessly. "And still so young. Does she work for Chrollo too?"

"He does," Nobunaga replied, only to catch Soleil's horrified look. Not only was this young thing actually working for Chrollo, but it was a boy. Probably the prettiest one Soleil had ever seen, in fact.

"Good luck gathering the information." Briefly, Nobunaga placed another hand on her shoulder before he too turned away and put his mask back on.

Soleil did the same, simply turned around and headed for the entrance. Although she would have liked to talk to Nobunaga longer. He looked like someone who knew something about magic and was simultaneously willing to answer all the questions in the world for her. But they couldn't draw attention. Looking after him or stopping because thoughts were still racing wildly through her head was out of the question. It was much more important to elicit information from her husband.

Thanks to Nobunaga's intervention, Archihille's mood had probably soured, so Soleil strode back into the house and headed straight for their shared bedroom. The high heels of her shoes gave a dull thump as she stepped across carpeting that probably cost more than anything she had ever held in her hands. Faceless servants flitted past her, some bowing, others ignoring her presence.

It was only before the door to the bedchamber that Soleil paused and looked around on both sides. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, but no one was there. So she opened the door without knocking and entered.

The first thing that instantly came into view was Archihilles' naked torso. He didn't have many muscles, but his broad shoulders concealed most of it when he was wearing clothes

"I'm not in the mood, woman." With a shooing wave of his hand, he gestured for her to leave, but turning around and giving up tasted like a miserable waste of time. The sooner she got the information she needed, the quicker she would be rid of him. It was simple mathematics.

Still, Soleil's hands clenched into fists as she put on an effortful smile and swallowed the slight, disgusted tremor in her voice. "I'm not here for that. I'm sorry someone got in the way. But ... are you busy?"

"You seem awfully friendly for being rather defensive most of the time."

He wasn't wrong. He was an uber-rich creep who she would have loved to push out the window, but a job was a job. No matter how much she wanted to run away and give up. She had agreed to Chrollo's words. "That may be. But perhaps we can understand each other after all."

"And what makes you think so?"

"Sherry." Indifferently, Soleil shrugged her shoulders. "Guinea pigs are splendid animals and I think you might be a nice guy if you can talk about Sherry with such love."

For a moment, he just looked at her. Whatever was going on in his head, he either saw through her, or he actually believed her words. In fact, a thin smile settled on his lips as he reached for a snow-white shirt that shimmered in the sunlight.

"You have a good eye."

Presumably, he didn't believe she could tell a lie. After all, Soleil was nothing more than a dumb country bumpkin, with a lack of education. That simplified a lot, though not everything.

"You wanted to see her, didn't you?" Casually, he buttoned his shirt. "If you want, I'll show her to you."

"I'd love to." Probably, a real art exhibition was at least as interesting, but a guinea pig could still be petted. That was a slight consolation to hand Archihilles the lead and follow him barely a moment later.

This time, however, they followed the corridor further down instead of descending stairs, so that he stopped in front of the last door of the corridor. With a sweeping gesture, he opened the barrier and motioned inside – giving Soleil the honour of entering first.

The smell of straw and hay poked through the heavy scent of raspberry. The purple walls looked as if they were in a doll's house and the giant cage in the middle of the room was reminiscent of an entire hotel room. Running wheels were waiting to be used in various places, a shoebox-sized bed held a bit of cotton wool and next to food and water sat a small, overweight guinea pig. It didn't even look special. Classic brown and white, Sherry eyed her visitor out of cute button eyes as the ugly purple bow bobbed on her head.

The sigh on Soleil's lips was unavoidable as she averted her gaze and lingered on a stack of calendars neatly paving the wall behind her. "What's this?"

Archihilles followed her curiosity before waving it off. "As you just noticed, Sherry is beautiful as a picture. And as you've also noticed, I care a lot about her. There's nothing I await more than her birthday." A renewed smile curled on his lips and the unwillingness in Soleil grew. "Her birth was the best thing that could have happened to this world and I desperately want to celebrate that day with her – every year. If it wasn't so insane, even every day."

Fanatic.

Lips slightly pressed together, Soleil nodded in understanding. He was obsessed with Sherry, that much was certain. But it gave her a clue. She could gain his trust via this guinea pig, and then finally ask the right questions. Eventually, Archihilles would eat out of her hand.

For who expected an ambush at the hands of a bumpkin?