The dim glow of the warm chandelier illuminated the crimson and gold walls of your private chamber in the Moulin Rouge, creating a sultry vibe well-fitted for you, a courtesan, and your clients—men who paid for a night of your love. Perfume, fruit, and champagne lingered in the air, as well as the muffled music from the cabaret below.

You were accustomed to these services—you mastered it, even. Which is why you're bewildered why, for the very first time, are you hesitating at the man in front of you?

The young man, namely Yoichi Isagi, stood with a mixture of wonder and nervous energy. He repeatedly expressed his desire to read you poetry privately, which you took metaphorically.

You'd expect a Duke to carry himself with more poise and arrogance—but here he was. You had heard how eager the Duke was to have you as his own, but why was he refusing your seduction? Why did he look at you differently? Not as a prize to be own, not with hunger, not with the same intentions.

"I—I'm not the Duke! I'm... I'm Yoichi Isagi, a writer," he stammered. "I'm—I'm here to read you poetry, is all."