The Villainous Male Supporting Character Courts Death Every Day : Chapter 14: Shadow

Charlotte sat poised at the piano, her fingers tentatively landing on a few notes, clear and light, carrying a young girl’s shyness and longing. Kyle silently followed, his hands spreading out beside hers, as deep and bright melodies wove together and merged. The hall was immediately filled with a lingering, graceful sound of music.

Black and white keys danced up and down. One thread of melody was light as a whisper, lively and playful. Another thread was calm and composed, distant yet near. One cold, one warm; one steady, one free. Unexpectedly, they fit together perfectly, like twin stars sharing an orbit, each with its own path. Harmony lurked with underlying differences, yet together they formed something naturally whole.

Milo watched the two of them playing the four-hand piece with great interest, his gaze landing on Kyle’s straight back, his smile bold and unrestrained.

That smile was entirely the look of someone watching a good show, like watching a buddy on a date with his girlfriend. Even though this buddy’s girlfriend was a bit cold toward him, which annoyed him, that didn’t stop him from teasing his buddy about the awkwardness of his date.

While he was enjoying the spectacle, Victor had somehow moved to Milo’s side, deliberately lowering his posture so that the young man was enveloped in his shadow, his voice pressed extremely low: “What does the young master think of this piano music, compared to the Zabert piano?”

Milo secretly clicked his tongue. With his ordinary ears and ordinary taste, how could he possibly tell the difference? He didn’t panic, though. He picked up his teacup and put on an air of deep wisdom: “If we’re talking about piano music, it depends on the person playing. How could it be about the piano itself?”

“Well said. More than the piano, the greater key is the person playing it. Rare treasures only show their true value when placed in the right hands. Just as the Zabert piano belongs to Miss Charlotte, so too does The Fall of Icarus…” Victor paused slightly, the corner of his mouth curving up, his gaze cutting like a knife: “…belong to you, Young Master Milo.”

Milo was stunned. His first reaction was: Who wants to buy it?!

This old fox was up to no good. He wasn’t some fool with more money than sense. Well, no, he did have plenty of money and was pretty foolish, but he wasn’t the type to throw cash around on art pieces.

Milo spread his brows into a smile and said: “Mr. Victor cherishes art so dearly. Every piece in your collection resonates with you, a perfect match made in heaven. I wouldn’t dream of taking what you love.”

Victor laughed softly, that laughter carrying a few layers of deeper meaning, his gaze lingering boldly on Milo’s face as if he were looking at a rare collectible: “Young Master Milo gave Charlotte a piano, a gesture of true and deep feeling that everyone envies. Since that painting is fated to be with the young master today, I would gladly give it to you as a small token of my regard.”

His long fingertips tapped slowly against the wall of the teacup, like a hunter’s final draw of the bowstring. Victor leaned in close, every word a hook: “If one day, the painting could hang alongside the piano in the duke’s residence, that would truly be a match made in heaven.”

Milo returned to the mansion in a daze. Through dinner, washing up, changing clothes, and getting into bed, he was still immersed in shock.

This shock was a mix of surprise, delight, pride, worry, and plain bewilderment. A jumble of flavors, a hundred feelings all at once.

What was going on? Had the wingman misfired his big move and buffed the wrong target? Was he actually trying to set Milo up with Charlotte?

He snuck a glance up at Kyle, who was holding a towel and drying his hair, and thought to himself: Had he stolen the protagonist’s girl over a single cup of tea? Well, he was pretty impressive then.

He narrowed his eyes, studying Kyle’s expression. That handsome face was cold as carved stone, his features sharp as if cut by a blade, his brows pressed low, his thin lips pressed into a fierce line. Without a word, anyone could tell he was in a foul mood.

This guy had been wearing a scowl ever since he got in the carriage. It was like a layer of frost had settled over him, radiating cold air, afraid that people wouldn’t know he was unhappy. He completely disregarded his own master.

Still, seeing Kyle in a bad mood put Milo in a great mood. He wished he could cup Kyle’s face and admire it up close. The male lead was upset that the heroine and the villainous supporting male character were being pushed together, brooding and sulking all on his own.

The candle flame went out, and the room sank into darkness. Milo burrowed under the covers and rolled over, only to see Kyle’s figure faintly standing by the bedside in the moonlight from the window, showing no sign of leaving. Milo was startled, then suddenly understood. A mischievous smile curved his lips, and he waved his hand: “You don’t need to entertain me today. You may go.”

Partly because he felt a bit weak and wasn’t in the mood. Partly because today’s mission had already been completed back when they left Rothwell Castle, in that little performance of polite refusal by the carriage.

At that time, the massive oil painting had already been wrapped up in canvas, and the servants were scrambling to stuff it into the carriage. Milo stood blocking the carriage door, stretching out his arm to stop them, just like back when he had tried to stop a coworker from treating everyone to a meal, wearing a full smile on his face while secretly pushing back: “No, no, I really can’t accept this.”

Victor stood not far away and laughed aloud: “If the young master can’t even bear this much, then how will he protect Charlotte’s smile?”

The moment the words fell, the system notification sounded in his mind: “Today’s mission: torment Kyle. Completed.”

Milo was stunned. He stole a sideways glance at Kyle, who was standing by the carriage, one hand on the door, keeping it open, yet looking as if he might close it at any moment. The sunset glow reflected on his face, half in the shadow of the carriage, half in the light of the sunset. His eyes were lowered, as if none of this concerned him, standing apart from the commotion of the scene.

Milo immediately let go of his grip and half-reluctantly accepted Victor’s gift.

Torment missions were different from the punishment missions that involved fabricating charges. They had to genuinely hit the male lead to count as complete. This meant that Victor’s attitude toward the marriage alliance had affected Kyle to a certain degree.

Based on his experience, getting the male lead, whose mental fortitude was practically monstrous, to lose his temper with just a few words was nearly impossible. So it was most likely that Kyle was lovesick, drowning in a sea of jealousy.

Milo nuzzled his pillow, adjusting to a comfortable position in bed, secretly delighted.

It seemed that on the surface the two of them didn’t show much, but their affection was actually progressing quite smoothly. In that case, he had nothing to worry about.

As for the marriage alliance, he trusted that the male lead would stop it. Kyle’s sullen anger actually gave him an infinite sense of security. His hardships were finally over. All he had to do now was lie back and win. The project was nearing its end, and he felt a little wistful about it.

“I’m tired,” Milo hugged his blanket, his eyes glinting slyly as he let out a scoff: “I’ll settle accounts with you later.” Then he rolled over and buried his face in the pillow.

“Yes, good night, young master.” Kyle’s voice was deep. He bowed deeply in the shadows and quietly withdrew. Closing the door, he turned down the long corridor and ran head-on into several servants who were carrying the painting.

“Butler Kyle, where should we put this painting?” The servants at the front asked carefully as they worked together to carry it. “Should we hang it up in Young Master Milo’s room for display?”

The massive painting, taller than a person, cast a huge black shadow on the carpet, stretching out at a sharp angle like a silent invasion, quietly encroaching into territory that belonged to him.

Kyle’s eyes darkened. He stepped forward, the toe of his boot firmly planted on that shadow: “Put it in the storeroom. Keep it well guarded.”

His voice was not loud, but it was cold and left no room for argument. He was not anxious. Having a deep understanding of the old duke’s mind, he knew the grand duke would never agree to this marriage alliance.

“It is not worthy yet.” Staring at the painting, Kyle let out a deep breath, his dark eyes deep as ink, cold and resolute, like a dark tide that could not be suppressed in the dead of night.

He turned to leave, but Victor’s provocative smile suddenly flashed through his mind, and Kyle stopped in his tracks.

“Please bring Sophie here,” Kyle instructed his trusted subordinate, his tone light, though his hand was gripping his pocket watch so tightly that the chain let out a sharp “clink.” “I need to see her.”

In the bedroom, candlelight flickered. Victor reclined on the sofa, his luxurious silk robe hanging open casually, revealing a perfect chest line, a few drops of water from his bath scattered across the muscles of his neck and shoulders.

He tilted his head back slightly, gazing at the oil painting on the wall. In the painting, an angel lay curled in sleep, wings slightly spread, the feather details exquisite, each one lifelike. The angel’s expression carried laziness and a subtle allure, as if it might crumble at any moment, yet stubborn and proud.

Victor’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze sharp as a hunter staring at prey.

What Milo did not know was that the Kyle whom Victor had admired in the original story was Sir Kyle Ashfield, a man who would later distinguish himself with glorious military achievements amid the devastation of war and famine, a man of towering reputation. Not the butler Kyle of this current time of peace and prosperity.

From his perspective at this moment, an alliance with the duke’s household was tempting. More precisely, the value of Young Master Milo himself was mouthwatering.

The heir of an imperial grand duke, the son of a foreign princess, wielding considerable influence both within the empire and abroad. If such an alliance could be brought about, his business empire would take an enormous and impossible-to-ignore leap forward, with gains beyond calculation.

Although right now there was nothing concrete between those two, seizing fleeting opportunities and biting down on prey in one go was the nature of a businessman.

The corner of his mouth curved into a smile of certain victory. He poured himself a glass of red wine, raised it to his nose, and savored it slowly, as if savoring the wine itself, yet also as if savoring the hunt, entirely at his leisure.