Episode 2

#2. Marcus Hanger

Marcus Hanger adored women.

The Hanger family, their wealth rooted in over three centuries of quiet influence, held an almost mythic standing in society. Yet to everyone’s bewilderment, none of that legacy seemed to anchor itself within the family’s sole heir.

Marcus had no interest in the family’s vast enterprises nor in the title his father so desperately tried to thrust upon him. His one enduring pursuit was 'love'.

Unfortunately, Marcus Hanger’s so-called 'love' rarely bore fruit.

Not due to a lack of charm—he was anything but unattractive. His face was striking, his intelligence unmistakable, and his manners unerringly elegant. Women flocked to him. Society leaned in whenever he entered a room.

But Marcus bore a fatal flaw: he fell in love swiftly—and just as swiftly, he fell out of it.

He courted countless women. His surname alone was enticing, but paired with his sharp jawline, tailored suits, and the kind of height that made others unconsciously stand taller—he was irresistible at first glance.

And yet, each romance ended before it could bloom. Some women left furious, others felt played with.

But many—especially the more pragmatic ones—were amused. Love, after all, was no longer sacred topic in the capital. A fleeting affair with a man like Marcus was a fashionable indulgence, a harmless reprieve from futures already arranged by their respective households.

He never crossed boundaries, never disrespected, never demanded more than what was offered. He remained courteous until the very end.

He simply never stayed.

By his early thirties, his reputation had caught up with him. There wasn’t a single eligible woman in the capital who hadn’t heard the stories—of fleeting glances, gifts given then forgotten, and silences that stretched into endings.

And so, his father finally intervened.

Marcus was exiled—though politely—to a quieter place. A resort town by the sea called Cliff, where his aunt still held sway among the remaining nobility. The mission was simple: clean up his image and settle down. Meet someone respectable. Make an effort.

His aunt, a social queen, agreed without hesitation. After all, the arrival of the heir to none other than the Hanger estate promised a surge of excitement within the sleepy circles of Cliff.

Cliff was a coastal town suspended between time and tide.

Once a haven for aging aristocrats, it had since evolved into a discreet retreat for the country’s upper nobility. When the former king and a prominent duke built summer homes along its cliffs, the town began to awaken. Soon, a railway was carved through hills, and ships made regular passage into its gray-hued port.

On this rainy morning, despite the fog and drizzle, Cliff’s harbor remained animated with sailboats rocking against the docks. The train station, though modest and far removed from the port, stood with surprising grandeur—two stories tall, a testament to the ambition of a long-forgotten mayor who’d lobbied for its construction.

Marcus stood on the upper balcony of the station, hands folded behind his back, watching the shifting horizon. Smoke spiraled from the approaching train. Somewhere out there was the gem he’d ordered. Somewhere out there was whatever came next.

A pipe was suddenly extended toward him.

“Care for a smoke?”

“I never asked.”

It was Logan, Marcus’s secretary. Logan shrugged and flicked the tobacco from the pipe. Marcus raised an eyebrow.

“You're wasting expensive tobacco.”

“I didn't know you were the type to care about the price of tobacco.”

It was sarcastic. Logan stuffed the empty pipe into his coat and added,

“I knew you quit smoking recently, but I packed it just in case.”

“Just in case?”

“I had a feeling you’d need it. I also figured you were dumped by Duchess Bellona.”

“I did not.” Marcus snapped, loud enough that nearby passerby's turned.

Logan clicked his tongue and adjusted his glasses.

“Your father must be thrilled. He sends you to a remote mountain village to get yourself together, and now you're shouting on balconies.”

“That’s rich coming from a secretary offering me cigarettes.”

“If it calms you, then it's worth it,” Logan replied, not missing a beat.

Marcus clicked his tongue. “She didn’t dump me.”

“Mm-hm.” Logan feigned belief, then leaned in, stage whispering: “Should I inform Duchess Bellona that the young master flees the moment a relationship becomes real?"

“Keep going and I’ll dock your pay.”

“You couldn't afford me anyway. Your father signs my checks.”

“While we’re in Cliff, I sign them.”

“For the Hanger family heir, that’s impressively petty. Fine. I’ll assume my day’s not over yet and stay.”

The whistle of the train interrupted them—a long, echoing cry that rippled across the cliffs.

They both looked toward the tracks. Rain streaked the glass. The train hissed into the station, trailing mist.

Logan squinted. “All this… for a gem?”

“It’s not just any gem,” Marcus replied, arms folded.

“Oh yes. A diamond the size of a knuckle. Very compelling.”

“She might blink.”

“You bought it just to watch her blink?”

Marcus didn’t answer. His silence confirmed the absurdity.

Logan groaned. “So I’m signing for it?”

“You’re the secretary.”

“Which makes you the face of this foolishness.”

“That's exactly why I’m going to the carriage,” Marcus said, already turning.

Logan groaned behind him.

The jewel he’d ordered could buy a mansion in the capital with room to spare. It would take a team of five or six to carry, and the retrieval process was long and complicated. Hence the rented VIP waiting room today.

Logan would now need to meet the merchants and guards, prove his identity as Marcus Hanger’s representative, and endure the tedious handover process. Meanwhile, Marcus…

I’ll buy a newspaper and loaf in the carriage.

Marcus grinned wickedly.

Sure, everything would go faster if he simply showed his face—but after that sarcasm, Logan could suffer alone. Marcus left the balcony and headed down to the first floor.

The area buzzed with activity. A stall stood near the entrance, selling sugared peanuts, yesterday’s newspaper, small apples, and candy. Today’s paper wouldn’t arrive until evening. Marcus, hoping for a distraction, stepped into the short queue for a paper. The line moved slowly.

Ahead, a woman struggled with a girl at her side.

“Julie, no peanuts. We’ll eat properly later.”

The girl clutched a paper bag with frightening conviction. Her limbs were long, seemingly more developed than her behavior, and her expression remained stubborn.

“No. Let go,” the woman repeated. “What happens if you don’t listen to Mommy?”

The girl paused.

“Julie... bad person.”

“And what happens when you’re bad?”

“…Mommy cries.”

Her tight grip on the bag loosened.

Marcus blinked. The exchange was oddly robotic. The stall keeper glanced at them with confusion.

“I’m sorry,” the woman spoke gently, offering a smile. “Just the paper.”

“Ten shings.”

She rummaged through her coat pockets, parasol, and a suitcase that appeared far too large for a single woman with a child to carry. Her fingers trembled slightly.

“I spent my change on the train… Just a moment.”

Her voice was soft, elegant. The stallkeeper nodded, but time dragged on. Behind Marcus, others in line began murmuring.

The woman, apologizing again, stepped aside with a vague smile.

“I’m sorry. I think I’ll be a while—please, go ahead.”

Marcus exhaled through his nose and stepped forward.

“Two newspapers, a bag of peanuts, and an apple.”

“Forty shings.”

An outrageous price. But Marcus paid it without complaint, handing over a 100-shing note. It seemed rumors regarding the "great son of the Hanger family" had already spread throughout this small town. “Keep the change,” he replied.

He took one newspaper, then handed the rest in a paper bag to the woman still fumbling through her belongings.

“Oh—thank you, but that’s not necessary—”

“You seemed occupied. Consider it a kindness.”

A moment passed. Then her shoulders softened, and she offered him a proper smile.

“You’re very kind.”

“No need for thanks.”

He turned, but paused as she bent to speak to the girl.

“Juliet, what do we say to the gentleman?”

“…”

The girl pressed her face into her mother’s sleeve. Marcus waited patiently.

Wasn't it normal for a young child to at least show interest towards their object of attraction? She wouldn't even glance towards the peanuts.

However, the young girl remained fiercely adamant in rejecting him.

“She’s shy,” Elouise explained. “Still adjusting. This is all quite new.”

He nodded. “Understandable. Children do typically find strangers odd.”

She smiled faintly. “I’m Elouise Starwood.”

“Marcus Hanger.”

She showed no reaction.

Usually, people gasped at the surname. Their eyes would flick to the anchor on his cravat, then they would smile and say something like, “Oh, the famous Hanger family…”

Then Marcus would offer a half-hearted smile and reply, “Yes, that is me.”

But Elouise just blinked.

Nothing. No flicker of recognition. No shift in posture. Just a polite nod.

He was almost disappointed.

“What brings you to Cliff?” he asked.

“A small personal matter.”

“I see. Perhaps we’ll cross paths again.”

“I’d like that.”

Marcus tipped his hat. The girl—Juliet—still hadn’t looked at him. Strange child.

But he dismissed the thought and made his way back to the carriage.

Starwood… a noble name, but likely a fallen family.

Their clothes were modest. There were no servants in sight. They were likely visiting some distant relative or managing family affairs in private. They’d vanish into Cliff as quietly as they had arrived.

It's unlikely we’ll meet again, he thought as he stepped into the waiting carriage.

The driver bowed. Marcus unfolded the paper, glancing over the headlines.

Ah, I should’ve gotten Logan some peanuts too.

Marcus chuckled, the mother and daughter already beginning to fade from his memory.

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