Chapter 62
Blanchett VS Pavlova
“That pretty face was all she had.”
Behind fluttering fans, the noble ladies whispered. Cutting through the condemning voices, a clear, sharp sound rang out.
“Thirty, love!”
Olivia lost another point.
“Haa…”
Olivia wiped her forehead with her forearm, panting heavily.
She couldn’t concentrate. She kept making eye contact with Princess Krantz.
A cold gaze flew and pierced her, as if rebuking her for what had happened that day. Each time, the hand gripping the racket lost its strength.
Nothing had happened.
Had Yohan perhaps not explained?
Strictly speaking, it wasn’t Olivia’s fault either.
She was the victim, and she had no choice but to spend the night there.
Of course, she knew that those truths would not comfort Yohan’s fiancée.
Like all adulterous men and women who deny anything happened, it would sound like an excuse.
Would she look like a woman who still had feelings for her ex-husband?
She was worried that she might be harboring such absurd misunderstandings.
“Forty, love!”
By the time Olivia came to her senses, the ball that had hit near her feet had listlessly rolled aside.
Olivia raised her hand and tucked the stray hairs clinging to her cheek behind her ear.
Edgar, with his long legs crossed and arms folded, calmly stared at Olivia.
Concentrate, Olivia.
She was showing her worst condition right now.
Edgar’s gaze slowly passed Olivia and moved to the other side.
He stared directly at Anne Boleyn, who had transformed from a tragic heroine into an avenger.
Their eyes met. The princess sent him a perfectly refreshing smile.
Her eyes curved as if she had been waiting for his reaction, and she looked very elegant.
How brazen.
Following the kidnapping incident and the manipulation of the bracket, she even resorted to psychological warfare.
She really was an amazing woman.
Even if she only focused on the game, Sara Pavlova was by no means an easy opponent. But Olivia right now…
“Forty, love!”
Olivia, who had been dragged along listlessly, finally lost the first set. A chilly aura surrounded Edgar’s face.
‘Get a grip, Han Ji-an.’
Olivia squeezed her eyes shut.
Just as she was trying to calm her thoughts and focus on the tennis ball, the shape suddenly turned into Princess Krantz’s sharp face.
Olivia shook her head and bit her lip.
Olivia, with her shoulders slumped, headed to the opposite court.
‘Poor thing.’
Anne Boleyn’s lips slowly turned up. Her lips, painted red, looked even redder against the all-white attire.
How could someone with such skills even set foot on the grass of the Dumblin court?
She had known from the moment she confidently brought up Anne Gilbert, but she really was a shameless woman.
She didn’t know what vanity had driven her to take up tennis, but it would end today.
She felt a little sorry for the woman who was only left with humiliation, but that was it.
Anne Boleyn decided to leave at that point.
It didn’t seem worth watching while enduring the increasingly hot sun.
“The winner seems to be decided, shall we go?”
“Let’s go!”
Catherine, who was suffering in the weather where even a fan was useless, jumped up.
Anne Boleyn smiled at the sight and was about to get up after tidying her clothes when.
“Olivia! Cheer up!”
A woman who had jumped up from the audience shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth. Frowning gazes focused on her.
“!”
Olivia’s eyes widened.
It was Bianca Elaine.
She came.
Elaine, who had made eye contact with Olivia, waved her hands above her head. Olivia’s nose tingled.
Olivia finally smiled brightly.
Thank you, thank you so much.
The gaze that had lingered on Elaine slowly swept across the audience before stopping at one point.
Anne Boleyn Grace Britt.
She was smiling.
Without taking her eyes off the princess, she slowly bounced the ball on the ground.
The next moment, Olivia’s eyes, staring at the ball she had snatched and gripped in her hand, changed.
Olivia composed her breathing.
She tossed the ball up. Olivia’s back arched like a bow as she kicked off the ground and soared.
Bang!
The sound was different.
The start of the second set was with Olivia’s counterattack. Her intense blue eyes shone sharply in the sunlight.
“Anne?”
Catherine called out to Anne Boleyn, who had stopped as she was about to leave.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
Catherine blinked her large eyes as Anne Boleyn sat back down, then turned to Irene.
She was staring at the server without moving, as if she had never gotten up in the first place.
Olivia served again.
“Haah!”
The sound of the ball cutting through the air as it was hit with the racket rang out. The fast ball flew unreservedly over the net.
There it was. The scream!
Russell Junior, who was sitting next to Edgar and anxiously watching Olivia’s play, clenched his fist and bit it.
Yes, that’s it. That’s it.
Good job, Olivia!
Now the real start had begun.
Sara Pavlova reached out her arm. The ball she hit with a slight twist of her wrist flew precariously before eventually getting caught in the net.
“Thirty, love!”
Sighs of disappointment erupted from here and there. It was a reaction opposite to when Olivia lost points.
Everyone was united in hoping that Sara Pavlova would crush the brazen seductress.
Annoying.
Sara grimaced and chewed on the inside of her cheek.
Was such a powerful and accurate serve just a fluke? She knew better than anyone that the possibility was slim.
So, it was a strategy.
Her wrist throbbed as she adjusted her racket. She had been careless.
Sara, who had been hit in the back of the head by a strong ball that was completely different from what she had seen so far, glared at Olivia with her waist bent.
The woman tossed the ball up again.
Here it comes!
Bang! Piercing through the sunlight that stung her eyes, the ball flew fast and hard.
“I have eyes too.”
There was an edge to his dry tone.
The executive, who had been mechanically reading out the numbers written in the report, closed his mouth.
It was raining. Thick raindrops pounded on the conference room window.
Yohan slightly twisted the wrist he was propping his chin on and looked at his wristwatch. The match would have started by now.
The first match of his ex-wife, Olivia Blanchett.
Yohan stroked his oily fingers over his chin. The meeting was dragging on tediously.
“So. What’s the solution?”
People expressed their anger in various ways.
In Yohan’s case, his gray eyes darkened and became eerily calm. Just like now.
The executive, feeling trapped in the eye of the storm, swallowed hard and stammered in a crawling voice.
“…I think it would be best to withdraw.”
The stock price of Hessen Steel, which Leopold had acquired due to the civil war in its Rondos colony, Hessen, had plummeted.
So, he had been droning on and on about the extent of the damage until just now.
Due to the unstable political situation, factories and companies owned by Rondos businessmen were indiscriminately attacked in riots that broke out everywhere.
Withdrawing now was the best way to reduce casualties and financial losses.
“Is that the conclusion?”
“……”
The executive was silent again under the unusually sharp gaze.
Now the executives were just glancing at the head of the table, watching each other’s reactions.
Yohan cast his gaze out the clouded window.
Sara Pavlova, was it? Yohan recalled the woman’s winning record from the articles.
Could she really win? No matter how hard he tried, it was difficult to imagine Olivia playing tennis.
“It would be over if we just caught the King. Do I really need to withdraw?”
The executives’ attention was focused on Yohan at the languidly flowing voice.
It would be over if they just caught the leader of the armed resistance group called ‘The Torch of Hessen.’
But it was a headache because they had no information on where he was hiding. So, the Queen had deployed an assassination squad.
The Rondos elite special forces to which Mikhail belonged, also known as the Black Shadow.
“Let’s watch a little longer.”
Yohan checked the time as a habit.
“If we do that, the risk-.”
“The situation will be resolved within a month.”
Yohan said listlessly.
“The next item on the agenda is……”
“Let’s just end it here. I have a schedule.”
“……”
Yohan, who had picked up the jacket he had taken off, suddenly stood up from the head of the table.
The executives just stared blankly at Yohan.
Yohan Leopold, of all people, was getting up in the middle of a meeting.
“Director?”
Even Maurice was bewildered as he watched Yohan’s back growing further away.
He didn’t know what schedule was making his footsteps so urgent that they echoed through the conference room.
It was literally a close battle.
Sara Pavlova, who was a top-ranked player, was one thing, but where had that woman been hiding before appearing now?
People who were watching the fierce battle in front of them, which could be counted on one hand even if you combined women’s singles, men’s singles, and doubles, were amazed by Olivia Blanchett, who had appeared like a new star.
Sara Pavlova was trailing 1-3 in the early stages of the second set.
She made mistakes in her specialty, volleying, and eventually had to hand over the second set to Olivia.
Now, whoever took a set first would win.
‘Annoying!’
Sara Pavlova, with her brows furrowed as much as possible, tossed the ball high.
With a bang, Olivia ran towards the ball.
A long rally continued without an inch of concession.
The long skirt that came down to her shins wrapped around her legs.
The thin cotton long-sleeved blouse clung to her arms, which were covered in sweat, and began to create resistance to her movements.
Sara had never sweated this much before.
Damn it!
A curse popped out.
Sara glared at Olivia. Her seemingly slender body was surprisingly sturdy.
She didn’t seem tired at all. That fact alone made Sara anxious and her blood run dry.
Game score 5:4, a narrow lead.
Please, just one point!
Sara became impatient.
She had to finish it before Olivia made it 5 to 5, a deuce situation.
But Sara’s stamina was already hitting rock bottom.
