Wrong Script, Right Love Chapter 78: The Grand Duke Takes Over

[Leif’s POV — So Days Later—ThorenVald Estate—Spa Room]

As the days passed, the Trivium Core Stone jewelry skyrocketed in popularity.

Just as I dreamt... money kept flowing in—no, flooding in—and I was swimming through gold coins like a morally questionable duck in a royal bathtub.

We even opened our own showroom—fancy glass doors, glowing displays, the works. People lined up just to stare at the jewelry like it was divine art. On top of that, I’d sent sample dicines to every top physician in the capital, and guess what? Orders. So many orders. My greedy dreams were finally coming true.

anwhile, the entire empire were still losing their collective minds over the Divine Dragon Awakening.

But ? Nope. Not getting involved. Not reacting. I decided to behave like a sane, responsible adult and focus on work. (Translation: pretend nothing’s happening while praying no one notices the "divine furball" napping on my shoulder at ho.)

Right now, however, work was the last thing on my mind.

I was about to lie face-down in my private spa room—soft petals scattered around, candles flickering, the air slling like I’d just bathed in an expensive forest.

Nick, currently my nervous attendant, stood beside , holding a bottle of oil like it was a cursed relic.

"My lord..." he said, voice trembling.

"Yes?" I asked, removing my shirt and stretching luxuriously.

He hesitated. "...The Grand Duke won’t kill , right?"

"Huh?" I blinked. "...Why would he kill you, Nick?"

Nick gulped, glancing at the bottle in his hand like it was a weapon of mass destruction. "Because... I’m about to touch you. And if His Grace finds out I was the one who touched you and was massaging you, he might hang my head on the Empire’s border as a warning sign."

. . .

. . .

"Pfft—HAHAHAHAHA!" I rolled halfway over, clutching my stomach. "C’mon, Nick! It’s a massage, not an affair!"

"Still," he muttered, eyes wide. "Every ti I’m near you, he gives that death stare. Like he’s telepathically listing all the ways he’ll kill ."

"Nick," I said, wiping a tear of laughter from my eye. "That’s called paranoia. He looks at everyone like that. It’s the ’I-own-your-soul’ stare. Very fashionable among possessive n."

Nick still didn’t look convinced. "But my lord, I like my head where it is."

I sighed dramatically, flipping back onto my stomach. "Fine, fine. If he bursts through the door with a sword, I’ll personally say I forced you."

Nick whimpered. "That doesn’t make feel better."

"Now," I said, resting my chin on my folded arms. "Oil up, soldier. lt my stress away. I’ve earned this level of luxury."

He hesitated only for a mont before pouring the oil, and I let out a blissful sigh.

"Ahhh... yes... that’s the sound of capitalism working in my favor."

Nick mumbled under his breath, "More like impending doom."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, my lord."

I closed my eyes, sinking into the heavenly warmth. For the first ti in days, my mind went quiet. No business. No dragons. No screaming nobles. Just peace.

"Mmmh... you’re really good at this, Nick," I muttered, my voice lting into the cushions. "Feels like I’m drowning in heaven."

I couldn’t see his reaction, but I heard his nervous voice. "T-Thank you, my lord. And... did you decide what to wear for the Grand Duke’s birthday event?"

"Hmm?" I mumbled, half-asleep. "No, but Alvar’s mother called her tailor, I think. She invited to dinner today. We’ll decide then."

"Alright, my lord—" He froze mid-sentence. Then, after a heartbeat too long, resud in a stilted voice. "Alright... my lord."

Weird.

Still, I didn’t bother opening my eyes. The massage was too good to interrupt. His hands—warm, firm, practiced—moved along my shoulders and down my spine. I sighed contentedly, feeling the tension lt away.

Until... sothing changed.

The pressure deepened, slower... heavier. The air suddenly felt thicker—warr.

My brows furrowed. "Oh... it feels like you’ve got larger hands, Nick."

A tiny, nervous laugh. "Y-Yes... my lord."

Strange. But hey, who was I to complain about upgraded massage quality? I sank deeper into bliss—until those hands drifted lower.

Too low.

My relaxed expression twitched. "...Not the butt part, Nick. Keep massaging up."

Silence.

No reply. Just... quiet breathing near my ear.

"Nick?" I said again, voice half-suspicious, half-sleepy. "I said up, not—"

The hands stilled for a second. Then, deliberately, a thumb traced the edge of my lower back. A jolt of awareness shot through . My eyes snapped open. "Nick, what the hell are you—"

I turned my head—

—and nearly choked on my own soul.

"Alvar!?"

Alvar stood over , sleeves rolled up, eyes dark and glinting with possessive irritation. His expression scread I have been patient enough, but now I’m going to commit a minor cri of passion.

"My love," he said smoothly, voice low enough to lt marble, "didn’t I tell you not to let anyone else touch you like this?"

. . .

I stared, dumbfounded, then let out a strangled laugh. "...And here I was thinking Nick suddenly developed pervert tendencies."

Alvar raised a brow, pretending to look deeply wounded. "Leif... are you calling your fiancé a pervert?"

"YES," I said flatly.

He blinked, lips twitching into a smirk. "Well, that’s... honest."

I sighed dramatically, peeking over my shoulder. "So you scared poor Nick away?"

"I didn’t have to," he said, his tone maddeningly calm. "He took one look at and fled like a man who just saw death wearing robes."

"...Great," I muttered. "My massage was ruined successfully."

I started to sit up, but Alvar’s hand pressed gently against my back, effortlessly pushing down. His voice dropped, smooth and warm like velvet.

"Stay still. I’ll take over."

I froze. "No. I don’t trust you."

He tilted his head, eyes glinting with amusent. "Why not?"

"Because you will end up putting your cock inside and I will end up against a wall rethinking all my life choices."

His smirk deepened. "But you survived. Thrived, even."

I shot him a narrow-eyed glare over my shoulder. "You’re impossible."

"And you’re tense," he countered softly. His hands slid to my shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into the knots there. "Let fix that."

I was about to protest again, but the warmth of his hands silenced . His touch was steady—firm, practiced, yet tender.

Damn it. He was good.

"Mmh..." I couldn’t stop the hum that escaped my throat. "Okay... maybe you’re not completely useless. Just massage like you did during your Frojnholm stay."

"High praise," he murmured, leaning closer. "Should I be flattered?"

"Moderately," I mumbled into the pillow. "Don’t get cocky."

He chuckled quietly, and I felt the vibrations through his chest as he leaned nearer, his breath brushing my ear. "Too late."

A shiver crawled down my spine. His hands moved lower—just enough to make my brain short-circuit—but then stopped right before the danger zone. Teasing. Testing.

"Relax," he whispered. "You’re safe. Mostly."

"Mostly!?" I squeaked, twisting around to glare at him.

He grinned, all mischief and charm. "I said I’d just massage you... but you’re making it very difficult to behave."

I turned away quickly, face burning. "Just—just focus on the massage, Grand Duke Alvar."

"As you wish, my love." His tone dripped with fake obedience and way too much amusent.

But as he started massaging... oh, saints above.

His fingers were warm, strong, and maddeningly precise. He kneaded the tension out of my shoulders, then glided down my arms in a rhythm that was way too slow—way too intimate.

"Alvar... are you doing this purposely?" I managed to ask, my voice wobbling sowhere between suspicion and surrender.

He blinked, all faux innocence. "What, my love?"

"You know what," I hissed, gripping the towel like it was my last shred of sanity.

He leaned closer, his breath brushing the back of my neck. "Hmm... perhaps your mind is the one wandering, not my hands."

"Wha—?! It’s not—you’re—!"

Gosh...I can’t with this man.

His palms slid lower, fingers tracing slow, teasing circles across my lower back. Every movent sent sparks running down my spine, and I let out a sharp, involuntary breath. "Mmh—!"

He humd softly, the sound low and sinful, before his hands moved lower—down to my thighs. His touch was warm, deliberate, and almost reverent, yet utterly shaless.

"Alvar..." I warned, though my voice ca out far too soft to be taken seriously.

"Yes, my love?" he murmured, his voice a dangerous purr.

And before I could even blink, he caught off guard—strong hands flipping over effortlessly. My breath hitched as I found myself on my back, flushed, exposed, and staring up at a man who looked every bit the predator cloaked in tenderness.

"We should start massaging the front side," he said, as if he hadn’t just sent my soul into orbit.

My cheeks burned crimson. "Y-you don’t have to—"

He silenced with a look—half mischief, half sothing that made my heart skip. His gaze traveled over , slow and deliberate, before returning to my eyes with a smirk that could lt steel.

"Let’s warm you more, my love," he whispered.

And the way he said it—like a promise and a threat wrapped in silk—made realize one very dangerous truth.

This... was definitely not going to end soon.