Chapter 3: A Profitable Loss of Shame

Violetta left the bookstore with a lighter purse and significantly heavier luggage—now stuffed with materials she would later put to… deeply questionable use.

“….”

Her cheeks burned just thinking about it.

She adjusted her grip on her luggage and set off toward a clothing shop—one that catered to common folk rather than high society. After picking out a few practical sets, she made her way to an inn and secured a room for five nights, two meals included, for a total of one hundred liras.

A good deal, all things considered.

The inn, The Laughing Mare, sat in a decent part of town and carried a solid reputation. The doors were sturdy, the floors clean, and the atmosphere comfortable.

Everything the average traveler would want.

The innkeeper seemed equally reliable—a no-nonsense woman named Patricia. Short, broad-figured, with copper-colored hair and a sharp eye.

She had looked Violetta up and down once before snorting.

“Well, at least you didn’t burn all your coins in a fancy hotel.”

Violetta’s cheeks had flushed.

A flicker of indignation rose—who was this woman to comment on her situation?—but Patricia didn’t give it room to grow.

“Twenty-five liras a night,” she continued briskly. “Two meals included. Book five nights, I knock five off each. One hundred total. Rooms get cleaned daily—make a mess, you pay extra or clean it yourself. Food’s not fancy, but it’ll keep you full.”

“Five nights, ma’am.”

In the end, Violetta saw no reason to argue. Judgy or not, the inn was good, and so was the price.

After paying for the room, she got the keys, and Patricia led her to it.

“Come on, then,” Patricia said, already turning.

Violetta gathered her things and followed her upstairs.

Once inside her room, Violetta wasted no time.

The first thing she did was change out of her ridiculously expensive fencing attire—something she might sell later if needed—and into clothes that didn’t scream rich. Black pants, a white shirt, a vest, and a long black coat. Around her neck hung a leather cord strung with wolf teeth; she’d bought it simply because it looked cool. All things considered, she looked like a stylish adventurer.

She spent an embarrassing amount of time deciding her hairstyle before settling on two side braids tied at the back, leaving the rest loose.

“…No more delaying it.”

She sat at the small table in the corner, pulled out a blank sheet of paper and a pencil, and got to work.

It was only a theory—for now. If she could earn XP without directly interacting with people, then she could exploit the system without sacrificing her dignity in the process. Since nothing had been proven yet, there was no need for perfection. Just… effectiveness.

That was what she told herself.

Hours later, she leaned back in her chair, spine stiff, fingers smudged with graphite. More than a dozen drawings lay scattered across the table. She stared at them.

Her soul tried to crawl out of her body.

“…I hate this.”

She forced herself to look anyway.

A woman kneels before a man with his cock half in her mouth, and her hand touches one of her boobs, and the other is fingering herself. Another scene, a man holding a woman against a wall, her legs around his waist, and his cock deep inside her vagina.

Different positions, different arrangements, all sketched with enough detail to make their intent painfully, embarrassingly clear.

Too much detail, a part of her mind screamed.

Violetta dropped her face into her hands.

“No backing out now.”

She left the room wrapped in a cloak, a leather satchel slung tightly at her side.

For the next few hours, she moved through town like a shadow.

Inns. Taverns. Narrow alleyways where the lamplight barely reached. Anywhere people gathered—or passed through. She worked quickly, slipping drawings onto walls, doors, notice boards, any surface that would hold them. Always watching, always listening, pulling away before anyone could catch more than a glimpse of her presence.

It was absolutely mortifying.

It probably wasn’t illegal—strictly speaking—to carry around indecent drawings. But being caught distributing them? That was another matter entirely.

The consequences wouldn’t be written in law.

They’d be written in reputation.

She could already imagine it. Whispers. Stares. Laughter behind fans and sleeves.

Being the disgraced noble, the one who ruined her engagement to the crown prince and got herself exiled, was one thing.

But this?

This would be unforgivable.

She could survive exile.

She could survive poverty.

But being known as that noble?

No.

Absolutely not.

And just as she was finishing pinning a drawing to the alley wall, she heard footsteps closing in.

“Hey!”

Violetta didn’t wait to think—she bolted.

A quick glance over her shoulder caught only pieces: a tall man in a finer version of a guard’s uniform, likely an officer. Black hair, red eyes, annoyingly fast. Handsome, too, which was completely irrelevant considering he was chasing her.

He hadn’t seen what she’d been doing. Not in that darkness, not from that distance. But it didn’t matter. People didn’t sprint away from guards without reason, and he was following that instinct to its logical conclusion: she had done something fishy.

She cut through the streets at full speed, boots slipping against uneven cobblestones, cloak snapping behind her like a banner. Left, right, then into a narrow passage barely wide enough for her shoulders—she squeezed through without slowing, breath sharp, pulse louder than her footsteps. The town blurred into corners and shadows, every second counting.

Footsteps still followed.

Persistent.

Up ahead, a door stood ajar, a thin line of warm light spilling into the street.

Violetta didn’t hesitate. She slipped inside in one smooth motion, easing the door shut behind her just enough to muffle the sound. She pressed herself against the door, holding her breath.

The footsteps rushed past.

Only then did she let out a slow breath, heart still racing, a faint grin tugging at her lips.

“—Lady Violetta?”

Violetta froze, turning toward the familiar voice. Brown eyes met hers.

“Chloe?” Violetta sounded even more hesitant than Chloe, in whose house it seemed she had just broken in. A faint blush crept up her cheeks, deepening the color already there from the chase.

“What brings you here, my lady?” Chloe asked. Catching that blush seemed to give her a bit of confidence; a small and amused smile tugged at her lips.

“The door was open. I thought I should… warn the owner,” Violetta said, trying—and failing—to sound composed.

“Oh?” Chloe didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press. “Then, as thanks, please allow me to make you some tea.”

“I wouldn—”

“I insist.”

“It’s quite late—”

Violetta tried to refuse, but Chloe was surprisingly persistent. A moment later, she found herself seated at a small table, waiting.

The house was warm and inviting. Modest, but more spacious than she’d expected, with polished wooden floors and soft lamplight pooling in the corners. A well-kept rug lay beneath the table, and a few simple decorations—pressed flowers in frames, a neatly arranged shelf of books—gave the place a personal touch. It wasn’t extravagant, but it felt cozy.

From the adjoining room came the soft sounds of water being poured and cups being set down. Chloe moved with easy familiarity.

“You seem tense, my lady,” she said after a moment, glancing over her shoulder. “Did something happen?”

“N-No,” Violetta answered a bit too quickly, straightening in her seat.

Chloe hummed, unconvinced, and returned a moment later with a tray. She set it down with practiced care, pouring the tea with steady hands.

“Here.” She slid a cup toward Violetta, her fingers brushing hers just slightly longer than necessary.

Violetta flinched, clearing her throat abruptly.

“Th-Thank you,” she muttered, suddenly very interested in the steam rising from her cup.

Chloe took the seat across from her, chin resting lightly on her hand as she watched her. “It suits you.”

Violetta blinked. “Suit—what?”

“That style,” Chloe said after a moment, her gaze lingering. She nodded subtly toward Violetta’s outfit. “It’s… different from before.”

“It’s practical,” Violetta replied, clearing her throat again. “And it doesn’t draw attention.”

“Mhm.” Chloe leaned closer as she spoke, setting her cup down. “I think it does the opposite.”

Violetta frowned. “What?”

Chloe leaned in just a fraction more, just enough for her presence to feel close without quite crossing a line. “You look very good in it, my lady.”

Violetta opened her mouth, then closed it again. “…It’s just clothes.”

“Even so.”

“You are quite shy, my lady,” Chloe added after a moment. Her smile was soft—but there was something playful beneath it.

“I—” Violetta faltered, heat creeping back into her face. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Mm.” Chloe leaned back slightly, clearly unconvinced, but amused. “You’re easy to read, my lady.”

Violetta looked down at her cup, trying to regain some composure, but her thoughts were scattered, her heartbeat still hadn’t settled from the chase—and now it refused to settle for entirely different reasons.

She felt, quite suddenly, like a lamb that had wandered somewhere it didn’t quite understand.

How did tonight turn into this?

From sneaking around town, to running from a guard, to… this?

What is even my life right now?

As if in answer, the familiar notifications flickered into the corner of her vision.

[+10 XP Someone got aroused because of you]

[+10 XP Someone got aroused because of you]

[+50 XP Someone climaxed because of you]