Please Lend Me 50 Million - Chapter 3

He had opened the topic of business first, and Asha snapped at the bait.

“T-that… Harriet! Have you heard any news about my business?”

“Hm… only briefly, that things are not going well.”

There was no way he, who held all trade and commerce in his grip, knew only that much. He must be feigning ignorance to spare his wife’s dignity as she faced ruin. He likely already knew everything—that the finances had collapsed and there was fifty million Rublangs of debt attached.

The tension was so extreme her knuckles had gone numb, but Asha could not run. She was their employer, after all! Throughout their exchange, she’d been peculiarly staring at the floor, and then she shut her eyes tight—and the next moment, as if having made her decision, she dropped to her knees before him.

“Harriet! Please lend me some money!”

Whether startled by her considerably bold energy, Harriet’s eyes widened slightly—then immediately creased into curved lines at the corners.

“For the reason related to your business, just now?”

“Yes… as you know, this business venture—!”

“With the compound debt and all the complications, it seems the debt has snowballed.”

“Y-yes. That’s exactly right. So—Harriet’s help is desperately needed. If I can just get through this, a windfall is right around the corner, Harriet! I’m going to bring in an enormous amount of money, I promise. Please believe me.”

Afraid he might say the words but not actually lend the money, she pressed close to his feet, casting aside all noble dignity. She didn’t forget to grab the hem of his trousers either.

Harriet, with his eye for business value, would surely know everything Asha said was bluster. But if she approached it like this, he would lend the money if only to avoid embarrassing his wife—it was a rather carefully calculated move on her part.

Asha’s sky-blue eyes looked up at Harriet pitifully. Reading that gaze, Harriet curved the corners of his mouth gently upward.

“Do you truly, desperately need it? Enough to do anything?”

“Yes! It’s a matter of saving my business—what couldn’t I do!”

“Anything at all?”

“Yes!”

His smile deepened.

“To think my lady would come to me asking for help—I am simply overjoyed. How much do you need?”

Before he had even finished speaking, fireworks went off inside Asha’s head. Trying not to let her voice shake, she murmured an amount that would have sent anyone else into shock.

“F-fifty million Rublangs.”

“Consider it done.”

Despite the enormous sum, the hand filling out the bank draft showed not a moment’s hesitation. The stamp of Bankxi, the largest bank, along with his name—it was unmistakably his draft.

From this moment, the smile spreading across Asha’s face showed no sign of fading. She simply beamed and beamed at the promissory note written in elegant script, scrawling her name without even glancing at the contents. She felt she could do anything he asked of her right now—even feign death if he demanded it.

Of course, if he were to use the loan as leverage to demand a divorce down the line, that would be heartbreaking—but given the harmony of their daily life together, she was confident that wasn’t in the cards.

Perhaps it was because of her hair, so fair it was nearly platinum—in her elated, bouncing state she looked just like a golden retriever. It was the sort of scene where you’d expect a tail that wasn’t there to be wagging furiously at her hips.

Harriet rang a bell and ushered in his aide. The aide couldn’t quite hide his considerable shock at seeing her kneeling at his feet.

“…The staff will need retraining.”

His cold words jolted the aide back to his senses. Harriet held the bank draft right up to the aide’s face, blocking his line of sight. The green eyes meeting his were so cold and piercing that the aide went pale and fled the study as if escaping. Only then did Asha notice, catching sight of the silent power struggle between the two, that she had been sitting on the carpet in a rather undignified manner—and flushed.

“Ah, I was far too improper—”

She tried to rise. If only it hadn’t been for that hand.

Thud—

“Hm?”

“And where do you think you’re going, my lady? Did you not promise to do anything for me?”

“Pardon?”

The hand that pressed down on her white shoulder belonged to Harriet—a Harriet who had never once been forceful with her. Though his features were sharp, what had always seemed a gentle face now wore a thin, vicious smile.

Had his eyes always held this much heat? This much hunger?

Courteous as befitted a gentleman of Peliche—as befitted Asha’s gentle husband—he spoke with perfect decorum.

“Get down like a dog, Asha.”