Gimme votes!
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The days after the open-window encounter in the library settled back into Buena Village's gentle rhythm, but something in the air had shifted for Lilia Greyrat.
She moved through the household with her usual quiet efficiency—sweeping the floors, preparing meals, folding laundry with the same precise, almost mechanical care she had maintained since becoming the family maid.
Her light brown hair was tied back neatly in a simple bun, her maid uniform crisp and modest, her belly still flat (the child she carried—Paul's child—had not yet begun to show).
Outwardly, nothing had changed. Inwardly, however, Lilia's sharp, observant mind had begun to notice patterns that refused to be ignored.
It started small.
Zenith had always been the warm, composed heart of the household.
Her gentle voice, the way she hummed while tending the garden, the soft smiles she gave Rudeus when he showed her a new water-ball spell—those things remained. But lately there were… inconsistencies.
On the morning after the forest incident, Zenith had returned from "checking on old Mrs. Gerd" later than usual.
Her cheeks carried a faint, healthy flush that could have been from the walk, but Lilia noticed the tiny leaf caught in the blonde ponytail and the faint scent of pine and forest earth clinging to her skirt.
Zenith had laughed it off softly—"The path was a bit overgrown today"—and brushed it away with her usual airy grace before kissing Rudeus's light brown hair and helping with dinner.
Lilia said nothing. She simply filed it away.
Then there were the visits from Mike.
The hunter had begun appearing at the Greyrat house more often—always with a plausible reason.
Fresh pelts for winter repairs. A haunch of boar "too big for one man." Once, a bundle of rare medicinal herbs he claimed were "for the village healer," though he delivered them straight to Zenith's hands.
Each time, Lilia watched from the corner of her eye as Zenith greeted him with that same warm, welcoming smile she gave everyone.
But the smiles lingered a fraction longer. Their eyes met a little too easily. And once, when Lilia had stepped into the hallway to fetch a broom, she had seen Mike's large hand brush the small of Zenith's back as he passed her in the narrow space—innocent enough to any casual observer, but Lilia had seen the way Zenith's breath hitched, the way her fingers had brushed his wrist in return for the briefest instant.
Lilia's own past weighed on her during those moments. She still carried the guilt of her night with Paul, the child growing inside her a living reminder of her own weakness.
She had no right to judge. Yet loyalty to the family—to the home she had helped build after the Black Wolf Fangs disbanded—made her watchful.
The real suspicion crystallized on a warm afternoon three days later.
Paul was out on patrol again. Rudeus had gone to play by the river with Sylphiette and the other children.
Lilia was in the kitchen kneading dough for evening bread when she heard the familiar knock. Mike again, this time carrying a small crate of smoked fish "for the family stores."
Zenith welcomed him inside with her gentle smile. "Mike, you're too kind. Come, set it in the pantry."
Lilia stayed in the kitchen, but the house was small. She could hear them moving down the hall toward the library—the same room whose window had been left open so often lately.
A few minutes passed. Then the soft murmur of voices. Lilia wiped her hands on her apron and moved silently toward the hallway, telling herself she was only checking if they needed anything.
The library door was ajar.
She did not push it open. She simply stood just out of sight, listening.
Zenith's voice, soft and warm: "Mike… we must be quick. Rudeus could return any moment…"
A low, rough chuckle—Mike's. "Then we'll be very quiet."
The unmistakable rustle of fabric. A soft sigh. The faint creak of the heavy oak desk.
Lilia's heart beat faster. She knew that sound—the same soft, breathy sigh she had once heard from Zenith's bedroom in the earliest days of the marriage, before everything had fractured. But this was different. This was midday. This was with another man in the house.
She dared a single glance through the narrow gap.
Zenith was bent over the desk again, skirt bunched around her waist, blonde ponytail swaying as Mike thrust into her from behind with slow, deep strokes.
Her heavy breasts were free, pressed against the wood, nipples dragging with each movement. Mike's large hands gripped her hips, pulling her back onto his thick cock. The wet, rhythmic *schlick-schlick* was barely audible, but unmistakable.
Zenith's eyes were half-lidded, cheeks flushed, lips parted in quiet pleasure. She did not look ashamed.
She looked… content. Warm. Like she was simply enjoying a private, thrilling moment in her own home.
Mike leaned down, kissing the back of her neck. "So perfect," he murmured.
Zenith's soft reply, almost a sigh: "Just… don't finish inside me…"
Lilia stepped back before she could see more, pressing herself against the hallway wall, one hand over her mouth.
Her mind raced. The pieces fell into place with quiet, terrible clarity: the late returns, the forest scent, the lingering touches, the way Zenith's cheeks glowed after every "errand," the way Mike had begun appearing whenever Paul was away.
She was not angry. Not exactly. Lilia knew too well the taste of forbidden comfort. But concern coiled tight in her chest—concern for Zenith, for the family, for the fragile peace Rudeus had worked so hard to restore after Paul's own mistake with her.
She returned to the kitchen on silent feet, kneading the dough with renewed vigor. When Zenith emerged a short while later—cheeks still faintly pink, ponytail neatly re-tied, corset perfectly laced—Lilia greeted her with the same calm, respectful nod she always gave.
"Welcome back, Mistress. The bread will be ready soon."
Zenith smiled that same warm, motherly smile. "Thank you, Lilia. You're always so reliable."
Lilia lowered her eyes. "Of course."
But as Zenith turned to leave the kitchen, Lilia's gaze lingered on the faint red mark just below the collar of her blouse—a mark that had definitely not been there that morning.
That night, after Rudeus was asleep and Paul had returned exhausted from patrol, Lilia lay in her small room off the kitchen. She stared at the ceiling, one hand resting lightly on her still-flat belly.
She would watch more carefully now. Not to destroy. Not to accuse. But to protect the family she had sworn herself to—the family she had already once endangered.
And if Zenith was truly walking the same dangerous path Lilia herself had taken… then perhaps, in time, she would find a quiet way to help her turn back.
Or perhaps, Lilia thought with a small, complicated twist in her chest, she would simply keep the secret. After all, who was she to judge?
The house slept peacefully around her. But Lilia's sharp eyes remained open long into the night, suspicion settling into quiet, watchful resolve.