Several days had passed since Philip's attempt to recruit him.
Had Philip been acting strangely lately?
Whenever Cui Ciyou happened to run into him in the estate's corridors, courtyard, or dining room,
he would notice that on the mayor's face, which always wore a gentle, refined smile, or along his sharply defined neck,
there would inexplicably be fresh red marks of a suggestive shape, as though a mischievous kitten had accidentally scratched him.
Even Cui Ciyou, with his meager experience with women across two lifetimes, could tell at a glance.
Those were clearly marks some woman's fingernails had left, either "accidentally" or "deliberately."
(That's right, I did it. Philip, you bastard!-the silent fury of Hilda Boreas Greyrat.)
And so, for quite some time, an utterly comical scene played out within the estate.
Whenever Cui Ciyou spotted Philip, Philip would avert his eyes and look flustered, as though he had seen a ghost.
Then he would offer some flimsy excuse, such as, "Ah, I just remembered some urgent official business I need to attend to," or simply cover his face with a handkerchief and flee, coughing.
His bedraggled appearance was so unlike his usual image as an elegant, composed noble gentleman that it was genuinely hard not to laugh.
The attitude of the other person involved, Lady Hilda, was even more dramatic.
Her attitude toward Ghislaine had taken a complete reversal.
Her former respect and gratitude had turned into a certain coldness, even carrying a trace of barely perceptible hostility.
Whenever they crossed paths in the corridor, she would deliberately give a snort, neither loud nor soft but just loud enough for Ghislaine to hear, then turn her head haughtily and walk briskly away.
She was just like Sauros when he had learned that Cui Ciyou had eaten his treasured magic