Chapter 866: Date With Martha [III / Bonus - ]

Chapter 866: Date With Martha [III / Bonus Chapter]

The velvet curtain parted, and Martha stepped out onto the oak floor.

She simply walked forward in the charcoal cashmere wrap and the tailored black trousers with her hands loose at her sides and her brown eyes still carrying the faintest shimmer of moisture at their edges as Silas looked up from his phone.

“E-eh…?”

His thumb stopped mid-scroll.

For a full three seconds, he said nothing.

His dark blue eyes moved slowly over the outfit, over the way the smoky grey fabric followed the quiet curve of her waist, the way the cowl neckline framed her collarbones then his expression changed.

The lazy teasing smirk softened into a warm smile and the gold rings behind his iris flickered once, so faintly that only someone looking directly into his eyes would have caught it.

“This is good…” Silas said quietly.

Martha blinked, her damp lashes catching the soft boutique light.

“M-Master Silas…?”

“You look beautiful, Martha,” Silas said, and he meant every syllable. “That’s the one, don’t the rest of you agree…?”

The blonde clerk behind Martha pressed her fingertips to her chest.

“Stunning,” she agreed softly. “She’s absolutely stunning.”

The two younger clerks appeared at the edge of the curtain, clutching each other’s arms.

Martha stood on the fitting pedestal with her cheeks burning with a deep warmth that had nothing to do with embarrassment.

’He said beautiful,’ she thought, and the word settled into her ribs like a coal wrapped in velvet. ’I’m glad that Master thinks that this is beautiful…’

She ducked her head, pressing her palms flat against the soft cashmere over her thighs.

“Thank you, Master Silas,” she whispered, and the tremble in her voice was so small that only the clerk standing behind her caught it.

…Now that the cashmere had cracked the code, the montage tilted on its axis.

The blonde clerk understood Martha’s palette.

Warm neutrals, understated textures, grown-up cuts that honored her petite frame.

She pulled pieces from the quieter corners with certain hands, and Martha tried them on one after another though with some complaints.

A soft oatmeal sweater-dress with a wide belt that cinched at her waist.

Martha stepped out, and Silas gave a slow approving nod.

“…That one works.”

’It does?’ Martha thought, turning to the mirror with startled hopeful eyes. ’It… it actually suits me?’

An emerald silk blouse with a graceful necktie, paired with high-waisted charcoal trousers and the green made her brown eyes glow.

“Keep it…” Silas said from the armchair, not even looking up from his phone this time.

He’d already decided.

A navy fleece cardigan with sturdy canvas pockets, the kind of thing she could throw on over her uniform on cold mornings when she walked Kaede to the garden.

Martha held it against her chest and felt something dangerously close to joy.

She was starting, shyly, to enjoy this.

’I look…’ Martha thought, turning in front of the mirror in the emerald blouse, watching the silk catch the light. ’I look like a woman who goes places. Who has dinners, and evenings, and… and a life outside the kitchen.’

The thought made her chest ache in the sweetest strangest way as the blonde clerk brought out shoes next.

Martha’s eyes went wide at the burnished chestnut leather ankle boots with the low elegant heel.

“These are hand-lasted,” the clerk murmured, kneeling to guide Martha’s foot into the right boot. “The leather will mold to your arch within a week…”

Martha wiggled her toes inside the boot, her lips parting with quiet wonder.

’They’re so soft…’ she thought. ’Like wearing warm butter.’

She looked down at her feet, at the sleek leather catching the ambient light, and a tiny breathless laugh escaped her lips.

“They’re lovely,” Martha admitted, and the confession came out so quietly it was almost a secret.

Silas heard it from the armchair and he smiled.

Fifteen minutes later, the shopping spree reached its staggering conclusion.

Stacked upon the white marble counter were seven glossy black shopping bags embossed with Weaver’s Spire’s gold-leaf crest, each filled with tailored trousers, cashmere tunics, silk blouses, and leather shoeboxes.

Martha desperately tried to lean over to see the glowing numbers on the clerk’s digital ledger.

“Just the subtotal…” she pleaded. “How many thousands of credits are we…”

Silas stepped smoothly between her and the terminal, producing his card and flicking it against the contactless sensor before she could read a single digit.

BWIP!

“Master Silas!” Martha wailed, tugging at his sleeve. “You didn’t even look at the total! You’ve spent enough to purchase a small farming estate!”

“And every credit was worth it,” Silas said firmly as he handed her old outfit to the clerk. “Box those up… She’s wearing this out.”

“Certainly, Lord Graves,” the lead clerk smiled. “Miss Martha… you are a vision.”

Silas stowed the mountain of bags into the Zenith’s luggage compartment, helped Martha into the passenger seat, and took the wheel.

As the supercar pulled onto the Silverleaf avenue, Martha sat with her hands clasped over her new cashmere lap, running her thumb along the impossibly soft weave.

’I’m wearing clothes that cost more than a year of my old wages,’ she thought. ’And they feel like they belong on me… That’s allowed, right?’

“Where to now, Master Silas?” Martha asked softly, looking out the tinted glass. “Surely we need to return home… The girls will be waking soon, and…”

“The girls are dead to the world, Martha,” Silas interrupted with a chuckle, shifting into drive. “And we haven’t had dinner yet…”

Martha’s stomach chose that exact moment to betray her.

GURGLE!

An un-ladylike rumble echoed through the quiet interior, vibrating against the leather bucket seat.

Martha gasped, slamming both hands over her stomach.

“I… oh, heavens! Forgive me, Master Silas! I’ve forgotten to eat since morning tea!”

Even the dinner she made, she hadn’t taken a bite out of it.

Silas burst out laughing, steering the Zenith smoothly through the commercial intersections.

He’d considered a high-end bistro, but after the price-tag meltdowns at Weaver’s Spire, he knew better… Martha under crystal chandeliers with four sets of silverware would lock up in pure terror.

He needed somewhere alive.

’I really have to put a lot of thought into where I want to take her next…’ Silas thought. ’Before she gets a meltdown and faints mid-way…’

Ten minutes later, the Zenith glided to a stop in a parking terrace on the perimeter of the Mid-Ward.

Silas led Martha down a wide stairwell, and they emerged into an explosion of light and noise.

The Lantern Walk Night Market stretched six blocks along a stone-paved canal, a vibrant artery of street food, artisan stalls, and glowing lanterns strung between weeping willows.

The air was thick with sizzling fat, roasted sesame, crushed garlic, and spiced broth.

…Couples, academy students, and local workers crowded the narrow avenues, devouring skewered meats from paper trays.

Martha stopped at the entrance with her eyes widening.

“A… a street market, Master Silas?”

“Best food in the city,” Silas smiled, stepping close and naturally taking her small hand in his. “I came here a few times when I was still a student.”

His warm fingers curled around hers and Martha’s heart gave a wild flutter at the casual way he held her hand in public but she didn’t pull away.

“I-I see…”

She let him lead her through the crowd, her cheeks glowing with quiet warmth.

’This feels good… Master is putting all this thought into not overwhelming me.’ Martha thought, if he had taken her to a restaurant for dinner, she might as well have fainted right there. ’I need to repay him…’

Yet, as they passed the first row of vendor stalls, Martha’s professional instincts began to twitch.

She slowed, her sharp brown eyes darting toward a stall where a bald man tossed chunks of beef in an enormous iron wok.

“Look at that flame…” Martha whispered, leaning toward Silas’s shoulder. “His wok is far too crowded… The meat isn’t searing, it’s boiling in its own rendered moisture and the texture will be like wet leather within three minutes.”

Two stalls down, a woman deep-fried skewers of breaded river prawns.

“And her oil!” Martha hissed, tugging Silas’s sleeve. “It’s turned dark amber! She’s burning the outer starch before the interior prawn meat can properly coagulate!”

At the noodle stall across the lane, an older vendor ladled pork bone broth into paper bowls.

“He didn’t skim the scum before the rolling boil,” Martha whispered, shaking her head. “Three hours of simmering, ruined by sheer impatience…”

A loud booming laugh tore out of Silas’s chest, drawing amused glances from passing students.

He wrapped his arm around Martha’s waist, pulling her closer as he laughed until his ribs ached.

“Martha, you’re a menace alright?” Silas wheezed. “Five minutes in the market and you’ve already shut down half the vendors.”

Martha flushed pink, a guilty pout tugging at her lips.

“I can’t help it, Master Silas… Cooking is a science of sacred precision and careless hands offend my soul.”

“Then let’s see how your sacred precision handles this.”

He spotted a stall at the corner of the canal bridge, surrounded by fragrant smoke.

A metal vat of bubbling golden fat smelled of roasted garlic, dark soy, and five-spice powder.

“Two mega-skewers of the crispy crackling pork belly,” Silas told the vendor. “Extra spicy glaze, heavy on the scallions.”

The vendor pulled two massive foot-long skewers from the oil, doused them in sticky dark sauce and crushed chili flakes.

Thick slabs of rich, marbled pork encased in blistered, hyper-crispy golden crackling that hissed with rendered fat.

Silas extended one before Martha’s nose.

Martha recoiled.

“Master Silas, no! That is pure cholesterol… If Lady Lia attempted to bring such a monstrosity into my kitchen, I would banish her to the garden with a bowl of raw celery!”

“You’re not in your kitchen, Martha,” Silas said smoothly. “You’re on a date with me so take a bite.”

Martha shut up immediately.

“O-ok…” She said as she took it with a blush, did he have to be throwing the word up and down…? It made her shy.

“One bite,” Silas commanded, leaning the skewer closer. “If you hate it, you can lecture the vendor on his oil temperature.”

CRUNCH!

The crackling shattered beneath her teeth… Blistered skin gave way to melt-in-your-mouth pork dissolving in garlic-infused sweetness, balanced by the fiery snap of chili flakes.

“Oh…” Martha whispered with her eyes fluttering half-shut. “Oh, sweet heavens…”

“Told you,” Silas smirked.

“The marinade…” she breathed, taking another bite. “Fermented rice wine and roasted ginger to cut the tallow… shockingly well-balanced…”

A fat glistening drop of dark soy glaze slipped from the pork belly.

DRIP!

It landed with cruel pinpoint accuracy on the front of her brand-new charcoal cashmere wrap, leaving a dark oily stain against the soft weave.

Martha stopped chewing as her eyes traveled down to her chest.

“NO!”

The shriek was filled with such raw agony that the vendor nearly dropped his tongs.

“The cashmere…!” Martha wailed, tears springing to her eyes as she patted the oil with a thin napkin, only smearing it wider. “I’ve ruined it! Not thirty minutes after leaving the salon! All those credits, destroyed by street-pork grease! Please deduct my wages for the next two years!”

Silas looked at the tiny stain then at her frantic face.

A dazzling grin spread across his lips as he took another bite of his own skewer before pointing it at the stain.

“You know, Martha,” Silas drawled, “if you wanted to mark your territory on my clothes, you could’ve just asked for a hug.”

SMACK!

She playfully swatted his leather-clad bicep with the back of her knuckles.

“Master Silas, you are terrible!” she scolded, half-laughing and half-sobbing. “So hopeless… Why make a joke like that he—”

The words died in her throat as her hand remained on his arm.

’I hit him…’

She stared at her trembling hand on his jacket with her knees threatening to buckle.

Silas looked down at her hand and then at her terrified face before laughing once more.

’What a mean man… He’s laughing at my misery.’

Silas wrapped his fingers around her trembling wrist, pulling her gently against his side.

“Look at that,” Silas teased, his baritone rumbling against her hair. “The quiet little maid has claws after all… I guess I’ll have to behave myself, or my girlfriend is going to beat me up in front of the noodle carts.”

Martha let out a shuddering breath, her forehead dropping helplessly against his bicep as a soft relieved giggle escaped her lips.

“You’re impossible, Master Silas…” she murmured, letting her hand rest against his arm as they began walking again. “Sure, if you don’t behave yourself, as your girlfriend… I’ll beat you up.”

They wandered further along the canal, finishing their skewers while the evening breeze rustled the willow branches.

The market was thinning with loud food stalls giving way to quiet artisan kiosks and retro entertainment booths and Martha’s footsteps slowed as her grip on Silas’s arm tightened.

In the far corner, nestled beneath the stone bridge, a towering retro-style glass cabinet pulsed with neon pink, electric blue, and golden-yellow LEDs.

…Inside the gleaming cube, piled three feet deep, were dozens of plush dolls and sitting at the very peak of the mountain, directly beneath the three-pronged mechanical crane, was an oversized plush toy.

A plump white duck wearing a tiny black maid’s apron, a ruffled white bonnet, and holding a plush wooden spoon in its wing.

’So cool…’

The soft motherly housekeeper vanished entirely and deep within Martha’s brown irises, a terrifyingly focused fire ignited.

“I want it.”

Martha stopped in front of the glowing claw machine and she grinned quite dangerously.

[Author’s Note]

I’ll be stopping here and mass releasing tomorrow! Thanks for all the support with castles and golden tickets! Hehe, send me more of your golden tickets though.