My Xianxia Harem Life-Chapter 421 Versatile

Duchess Monique Flint studied Riley with a calm, discerning gaze, the kind that had unsettled countless nobles and generals alike.

She was well-versed in bravado—empty confidence was practically a currency among men of power—but this was different.

With Riley, there was no need for loud words or exaggerated gestures.

His presence alone spoke volumes.

This was no false bravado. Riley had proven himself time and time again.

Whether facing trained soldiers or hired killers lurking in the shadows, he always endured.

Numbers meant nothing to him. Ten men or a hundred, the result never changed.

His enemies had learned that lesson the hard way.

Assassins had been sent after him repeatedly, some renowned, others desperate enough to stake their lives on a slim chance at glory.

Yet every report that crossed Monique’s desk told the same unbelievable story.

Riley moved as if he possessed countless unseen eyes, reacting to danger before it even fully revealed itself.

Blades that should have found his back met only air. Ambushes collapsed before they could begin.

He did not merely survive—he walked away from each attempt practically unscathed, as though fate itself bent around him.

Such a man was terrifying.

And invaluable.

This was precisely why Monique wanted Riley by her side.

Power could be bought, armies could be raised, and loyalty could be coerced, but men like Riley could not be manufactured.

Ordinary men were a dime a dozen—replaceable, forgettable—but Riley was different.

He carried himself like a living weapon, a force of nature wrapped in human flesh.

At times, Monique found herself thinking that calling him a man was insufficient.

He felt more like the incarnation of the God of War, one who had chosen to walk among mortals.

Someone like that could not be ordered around.

He had to be won.

"It was good talking to you, Riley. Enjoy your meal," the duchess said at last, rising from her seat with practiced elegance.

Her retreat was deliberate and wise.

Monique desired Riley under her banner, not standing opposite her across a battlefield.

Pressing him further, attempting to dominate or corner him, would only invite resistance.

For now, restraint was the better play.

After all, even a god could be guided—so long as one was patient enough to let him move of his own will.

Riley looked at Monique, already feeling a dull headache forming behind his temples.

He didn’t need long to judge the kind of woman the duchess was—ambitious, persistent, and utterly unwilling to accept refusal.

She was the sort who would smile sweetly while plotting three moves ahead, the kind who would chase her desires until either she or her target broke. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Oddly enough, that realization didn’t irritate him as much as he expected.

Instead, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Women like her made life interesting, even if they were troublesome.

"I guess my wait will be more interesting with the duchess around," he muttered under his breath.

With that thought, he returned his attention to the food before him, eating with unabashed gusto.

The rich flavors and warm spices pulled him away from lingering thoughts of the beautiful duchess.

Soon enough, she vanished from his mind entirely as he focused on enjoying his time in the city and the rare moment of peace it offered.

***

The following morning, Riley wasted no time throwing himself into his agenda of helping the poor of White Bone City.

Unlike the nobles who donated coin from a distance to ease their conscience, Riley walked the streets himself.

He spoke to the hungry, listened to their stories, and learned their names.

Among all of them, the beggars held his attention the most.

Many of them—especially the children—had once been tools of the gangs.

Small hands were useful for slipping into pockets, nimble feet good for running from guards.

Now, with every major gang slaughtered by Riley, those children were left behind like discarded tools, their masters gone and their purpose stripped away.

Before, they had begged and survived through petty theft, bound together by fear and habit.

Now, despite their newfound freedom, they seemed more lost than ever.

Freedom meant nothing when you didn’t know where to go or who to trust.

Riley decided to change that.

Using the wealth he had taken from the gangs, he founded a charity under his own name and purchased a sizable orphanage in the city’s poorer district.

The building itself was old but sturdy, its stone walls scarred by time rather than neglect.

With a bit of money and effort, it quickly became a place of warmth rather than despair.

Beds replaced cold alleyways. Hot meals replaced scraps.

Most importantly, the children were given something they hadn’t had in a long time—structure, safety, and hope.

The money he had seized was more than enough.

If he wished, Riley could have established a dozen orphanages across White Bone City without even denting his reserves.

For now, one was enough. He preferred to do things properly rather than spread himself thin.

That morning, laughter echoed through the orphanage’s courtyard as Riley knelt among the children, letting them climb over him without complaint.

Some clung to his arms, others tugged at his clothes, while a few simply watched from a distance, still wary and unsure.

He didn’t rush them. Trust, he knew, was earned slowly.

He was in the middle of an improvised game when the heavy doors of the orphanage suddenly swung open.

The sound was loud enough to silence the courtyard.

Footsteps followed—measured, confident, and entirely out of place in a building meant for forgotten children.

Riley straightened slowly, sensing that whoever had arrived was making a point of being noticed.

Someone had just made a very grand entrance into his orphanage.

She stepped down from a grand carriage trimmed in silver and deep blue, the crest of House Flint proudly engraved on its doors.

The soft thud of her boots against the stone courtyard drew immediate attention.

Behind her, three simpler carriages stood in a neat line, their wheels still dusted from the long road.

Children peeked from behind doorframes, their wide eyes filled with curiosity and awe, while the caretakers stiffened in surprise at such an unexpected visitor.

"I brought food and supplies, Riley," the duchess said as she adjusted her gloves, her voice calm yet resolute.

"It was obvious that you needed help here."

Without waiting for a response, she raised her hand slightly.

At once, her men moved with disciplined efficiency, unloading crate after crate from the carriages.

Sacks of grain, barrels of salted meat, bundles of firewood, medicine, blankets, and tools were carried inside.

The storage rooms quickly filled, and the orphanage—long accustomed to scarcity—felt, for the first time in years, almost abundant.

From that day onward, Duchess Monique Flint became a familiar figure within Riley’s orphanage.

At first, her visits were formal and infrequent, justified under the guise of charity and noble duty.

She would inspect the supplies, speak briefly with the caretakers, and leave after exchanging a few polite words with Riley.

Yet as days turned into weeks, her appearances grew more frequent—and less official.

Sometimes she arrived with more provisions, other times with books, clothing, or small toys she claimed had been "left unused" in her estate.

Her stated agenda shifted constantly. One day she claimed she was checking on the children’s health.

Another day, she said she was merely passing by.

On some visits, she could not even offer a proper excuse, brushing it off with a casual remark and a faint smile.

Even Monique herself began to notice how quickly her reasons changed—and how eagerly she anticipated each visit.

A full month passed before the realization struck her.

It came quietly, without warning.

She found herself lingering longer than necessary, watching Riley as he worked, spoke, and moved among the children with effortless confidence.

The way he laughed easily, the way he carried himself without fear or false humility, the way his presence seemed to command respect without demanding it—all of it stirred something deep within her.

He was not refined like the nobles she had known all her life, yet there was a strength and sincerity about him that made those men feel hollow by comparison.

One evening, alone in her chambers, the truth finally caught up to her.

"Oh... my god... this can’t be," the duchess whispered, biting her lower lip as a tight knot formed in her chest.

She pressed a hand against her heart, her brows knitting together in frustration and disbelief.

This was ridiculous. Improper. Dangerous, even.

She was a duchess—bound by duty, reputation, and expectation.

He was a butcher, an orphanage caretaker, a man far outside the world she was meant to belong to.

She tried to deny it.

Tried to convince herself it was nothing more than admiration, gratitude, or fleeting fascination.

But it was already too late.

The way her thoughts drifted to him unbidden, the warmth she felt whenever she heard his name, the disappointment that followed whenever a day passed without seeing him—none of it could be explained away any longer.

No matter how hard she tried, Monique could no longer lie to herself.

She had fallen for Riley—and she did not know whether this was good or bad at all.