I AM NOT THE LOVE INTEREST!

Chapter 11: A Maiden’s Anger

—MATTHIAS SINCLAIR—

"They’re gone," the boy said. "I was sold... but I escaped."

For a moment, I did not move.

It was not because I had never heard such things before. I had. Reports of missing persons passed through official channels more often than most cared to acknowledge, and rumors of trafficking were not foreign to those who operated within the capital’s security structure.

It was information that usually came filtered, reduced into case numbers, stripped of voice and weight.

What stood out now was not the content itself.

It was the way it was said.

Plain, direct, without embellishment. Without the distance that paper usually imposed between the truth and the listener.

And more importantly...

It was said to her.

How will she respond?

I remained where I was, positioned slightly beyond their immediate circle. Close enough to hear every word, far enough not to interfere. That had been my intention from the beginning.

Nothing more.

And yet I had not left.

Lady Aria Valen did not respond immediately.

That alone was unusual.

Most nobles would have reacted with discomfort, or redirected the conversation toward safer ground. Some would have offered pity, followed by a quick withdrawal. Others would have dismissed it entirely, unwilling to acknowledge what did not belong in their world.

She did none of that.

Instead, she simply looked at him.

"...You were what?" she asked.

Her voice was no longer light in the way it had been earlier. The casual ease she had carried through the market had shifted, replaced by anger.

"Sold," the boy repeated. "To a trader. I ran when I could."

There was no attempt to make himself pitiable. No exaggeration to earn sympathy. Only a statement of fact, delivered with the exhaustion of someone who had already accepted too much.

That should have ended it.

That was where most conversations like this ended.

Instead, she said, "I am sorry, that should not happen to you or anyone."

The words were not loud.

But they were absolute.

The boy blinked at her, uncertain how to respond.

"It happens," he said after a pause. "To people like me."

Her expression tightened slightly.

"No," she said again.

The refusal was immediate.

"It should not."

The boy hesitated, as if trying to determine whether she was speaking from ignorance or defiance.

"I did not have a choice," he added.

"Do you think it’s your fault?" she asked.

The question landed differently than I expected.

The boy stiffened slightly. "Mine?"

"No," she said at once.

The answer was so immediate it cut through the hesitation before it could form.

"It is not yours."

Her gaze did not leave him, but it no longer felt limited to the space between them. It extended outward, as if the conversation had expanded beyond the individual in front of her.

"You should not have been placed in that position," she continued. "You should not have had to survive something that should never have existed in the first place."

Her voice remained steady, but the edge beneath it was unmistakable.

Not anger at him.

Not even personal anger in the usual sense.

It was directed at the reality that allowed such things to happen at all.

The boy looked uncertain, but he listened.

"I got out," he said quietly. "That is what matters."

But she did not accept that immediately.

"Ren."

She suddenly stepped closer and held the boy by his shoulders.

"You should have lived properly, like a child should," she said, her voice sharper now, not with anger at him, but at something far beyond him. "I am sorry. Truly, I am sorry for what you had to go through."

Her grip tightened slightly, steadying rather than restraining.

"And I will do everything I can," she continued, looking him straight in the eyes, "to save children like you. And to stop this nonsense from happening again."

I froze.

That was not what I expected, not even close.

Neither was he.

The boy stared at her like he did not quite understand what he was hearing, as if kindness itself had become unfamiliar enough to be suspicious.

And then...

Out of nowhere, he laughed.

It was not cruel laughter.

It was tired, almost disbelieving.

"Miss," he said between short breaths, shaking his head, "what can you do? We are both not capable of anything. I am a slave. You are a commoner."

The words landed heavily, not because they were loud, but because they were certain.

As if the world had already decided the limits of both their lives and there was no point arguing with it.

I saw her expression change.

A faint embarrassment flush rose across her cheeks, quick and unmistakable, as if reality had just slapped her mid-declaration.

"Y-you!" she said at once, pulling back slightly. Then, almost instinctively, she turned her face away. "Hmph!"

She crossed her arms in a defensive posture.

A very familiar one.

"I am not who you think I am," she added quickly. "I am the noblest lady you will ever meet."

Ah.

There it was.

That moment of pride.

That familiar edge.

For a second, it almost fit the image I had always carried.

Almost.

But then... instead of letting the conversation end there, she turned back to him again.

Her expression had shifted softer and gentler.

"Anyway," she said, voice steadier now, "do you wish your life to be better?"

The boy blinked.

She did not wait for an answer.

"If so, come with me," she continued with a smile.

"I promise no one will ever lay a hand on you again. I promise you will not lack anything."

The words were simple. Too simple for something so heavy.

I watched closely now with every detail sharp in my attention.

This was not noble speech.

Not carefully constructed persuasion meant for influence.

It was direct. Almost reckless in its sincerity.

The boy hesitated. That much was expected.

People like him did not accept promises easily.

I would not as well, especially not from people like her.

His fingers tightened slightly around what remained of his food.

His eyes searched her face, and for a moment, I thought he would refuse.

That logic would win.

That survival instinct would reject anything uncertain.

But then, he reached out slowly.

And took her hand.

"You will?" he asked.

Aria smiled sincerely as her eyes sparkled with genuine joy.

"I will," she said firmly.

And in that moment...I felt something settle in my chest that I could not immediately define.

Surely this moment, will be something I will never forget.