Maurice had recently developed a symptom where his heart would drop every time a sparrow flew in from Litten. A sparrow meant a Leopold family spy.
I'm going to die before my time. I really am.
Forget dating, he was going to die without even experiencing marriage, something everyone else seemed to do.
Late in the evening, a sparrow flew in, dropping another bomb into Yohan's office, which was as precariously calm as the eye of a storm.
"So... the two of them..."
The low murmur held no emotion, mirroring his expression. Nevertheless, Maurice felt Yohan's displeasure with every fiber of his being. He shuddered.
"Were together."
"Sir Lancelot stayed in the guest room for exactly thirty-six minutes. The content of their conversation is unknown."
Yohan's gaze was icily cold. His eyes, reflecting the lamplight, held a betrayal deeper than fatigue.
Since when?
Since when had they become so intimate that they could freely enter and leave hotel rooms?
Yohan slowly tugged at his neatly tied tie.
Was it before the divorce?
Yes, that must be why she spoke of divorce so boldly.
A towering rage surged within him. He was a complete fool.
Normally, he wouldn't care who she slept with. Olivia had, in fact, kept several lovers. But this kind of betrayal was different.
Stealing company secrets was an unforgivable, blatant criminal act.
'Please, divorce me.'
His wife's hallucinated voice pierced his eardrums, swallowing him in uncontrollable emotion. After dismissing Maurice, Yohan stared blankly into space for a long while, unmoving.
Three years ago, at the year's first ball, Olivia Blanchett was undoubtedly the belle of the ball. It was understandable, as she was a beauty unlike any they had ever seen.
The woman, disguised as a distant relative of Count Blanchett, saw her value skyrocket as soon as she was thrown into the marriage market.
But that beauty was the problem.
The woman, who had garnered attention from the world from her debut day with her unrealistic looks, had a fool who couldn't control his lower body when drunk attach himself to her, and that fool, Crown Prince Christian, was unfortunately caught in the trap that Count Blanchett had set to pay off his family's debts.
'Isn't that His Highness the Crown Prince?'
The photo, taken of them intertwined on a sofa, along with rampant rumors, quickly spread, dominating the newspapers and magazines of Rondon and even crossing borders.
It was fortunate for the Crown Prince that, due to the angle of the photo taken from above the reception room, only the woman's face was clearly visible, while only the back of the other person was shown.
The Crown Prince, who was about to be engaged to a princess of Argent, asked Yohan, who was of similar build and whom Count Blanchett would be satisfied with as a son-in-law, for help. Yohan, the third son of the Duke of Edinburgh, became the protagonist of the scandal in exchange for receiving the Duke title and vast lands.
Thus, Yohan's full name became Yohan, Duke of Leopold, the third son of the Duke of Edinburgh.
Give and take, a clear transaction.
'...It wasn't my intention. Really. I didn't know anything. Please believe me.'
He remembered the woman shedding tears that sparkled like melting jewels.
Now that he thought about it, he realized that the woman might have been an accomplice rather than a victim of the Count. Since she had the immoral blood of a woman who had seduced and conceived with her friend's husband, she was more than capable of it.
I was a fool.
A twisted, hateful laugh escaped him.
Yohan neatly capped his gold fountain pen and stood up. He went to the Glass wagon, grabbed a bottle of liquor and a glass at random, and sank into the sofa facing the large balcony window.
Just like the day Olivia regained consciousness, it was raining outside the window.
The measly one million francs he lost due to his wife's betrayal. He could just forget about it.
The undiluted, strong vodka went down the back of his throat, dredging up the past.
'Why are you doing this?'
It was the second day Olivia had cut her wrists.
'Because I love you. I'm doing this because I want you to love me.'
His wife said, her face with tear-stained marks looking as if it would crumble at any moment.
How dare she say such things.
Liar.
Now that he saw it, his wife was an excellent liar.
The clock tower, usually with long lines, was strangely deserted today. Puzzled, Olivia and Anne exchanged glances before turning their heads again.
"It's closed today. We came all the way from Bryer," an elderly couple, who appeared to be tourists, said with a smile as they turned away, meeting their eyes.
"Ah! Thank you."
As the elderly couple walked away, Anne asked, "What should we do now?"
Olivia and Anne's plan to climb the clock tower and make a wish, even if it was just for the sake of it, had fallen through.
Their next destination was a garden café famous for its seasonal fruit pancakes and black coffee.
They were planning to have lunch there and then go to the Royal Art Museum, which the Kingdom of Brit was proud of, but the two of them weren't hungry yet.
"Let's go to the art museum."
"Yes, Miss."
Fortunately, the Royal Art Museum was a thirty-minute walk away.
Located on the west side of Royal Square, the Royal Art Museum boasted the largest scale in the Kingdom of Brit, with its magnificent golden dome decorations and colonnades shining brilliantly in the morning sunlight.
The dozens of steps leading to the building were crowded with visitors just about to enter.
The two quickened their pace. Their light apricot-colored skirt hems rippled against their brown skirt hems as they hurried along like excited girls on their way to a picnic.
A banner hanging on the exterior wall of the luxurious stone building fluttered gently in the spring breeze. As the distance grew closer, the horizontally stretched letters came into clear view in Anne's sight.
"..."
Anne's walking speed slowed, and she suddenly stopped abruptly. Her dark brown eyes, staring at something, shook from side to side before she frowned.
"What's wrong, Anne?"
"Oh, it's nothing. Miss," Anne stammered, barely parting her lips.
"But, Miss," Anne turned around and grabbed Olivia's hands, continuing, "Let's come here again next time."
Olivia tilted her head at Anne's sudden behavior and turned her gaze back to the front, towards the Royal Art Museum shining in gold. White letters were visible below a portrait painted on a red cloth.
Andreya Nikolai.
"Next time. Next time, Miss," Anne grabbed Olivia's wrist even more tightly, looking anxious.
Olivia Blanchett slowly rummaged through her memories.
Ah...
Belatedly, she struggled to find the name in her faint past.
'Please be my muse.'
The painter who was painting the Duchess of Leopold's portrait knelt before her and pleaded. That was all.
A being who inspired the artist.
The painter, who had come to Greathill to paint the Duke and Duchess's portraits on the recommendation of the Crown Prince, was struck by lightning the moment he saw the Duchess.
It wasn't a tender feeling between a man and a woman. Olivia Blanchett was simply a goddess of art to the pure painter.
A lover?
People whispered that Andreya Nikolai was the Duchess's lover. It was absurd, but when people who believed in lies became convinced, it soon became the truth.
"Alright. Let's do that."
She linked arms with Anne and turned away without regret.
Olivia Blanchett's reputation was not good.
Because of her origins, whatever she did, distorted attention and misunderstandings stemming from speculation turned her into a woman of ill repute.
So, there was no need to throw fuel on the fire in the peaceful days of Brit.
"Let's go see how delicious the pancakes are," Olivia said to Anne with a bright smile.
The pancakes, topped with soft whipped cream and luscious strawberries and blueberries, did not disappoint Olivia.
The heavenly sweetness was impossible to end with just one, and they cleaned two plates.
After leaving the garden café, the two walked across the bridge over the Vicenne River, where the sunlight was lazily settling. The afternoon, where time seemed to flow slowly along with the slow current, was peaceful.
As Olivia was chatting with Anne, she felt a strange gaze. Suddenly, Olivia stopped.
"Does your leg hurt, Miss?"
"Huh? Ah. No."
Olivia slowly took another step and looked straight ahead. Then, suddenly, she turned around at about the midpoint of the bridge.
Everyone was walking naturally on their way, but only one man was startled and flinched, then stared at the other side of the river as if nothing had happened.
"Anne, let's go back. I think my leg hurts."
"Then wait here for a moment. I'll call a carriage."
"No, Anne. I can make it to the station. Let's go."
Olivia linked arms with Anne and went back the way they had come. They passed by the man wearing a beret and a mustache.
"..."
A reporter?
'Seriously. Your divorce was such a big issue. The brand of the bag you were carrying when you left Greathill that day was even published. Haven't you seen the newspaper?'
Elaine's words came to mind.
While Olivia was lost in thought, a van arrived. Sitting by the window, she looked out over the bridge, which was turning golden.
The man was gone.
Diane Brooke carefully chose her clothes. Then, she began to put them on meticulously in front of the full-length mirror.
The feel of the silk lace slip gliding over her skin was like Yohan's intimate touch. She closed her eyes for a moment and enjoyed the secret sensation before picking up the dress she had chosen.
The dress had been ordered by Olivia Blanchett. The clothes that had lost their owner were hers now. As was Yohan, who was now alone.
The black dress, which covered her entire body without any exposure, instead maximized her full breasts, slender waist, and firm hips, stimulating hidden imagination.
Her hair was loosely gathered and twisted low, and she wore small pearl earrings that clung to her earlobes to accentuate her long neck.
Diane looked in the mirror.
It was perfect. Neat yet sensual, just the way she wanted it.
