A maid approached and whispered something in her ear. Anblin, who had been silently listening, elongated her smile.

Johan stood side by side with Irene, engaging in meaningless conversations with Britain’s political figures.
Even in the casual atmosphere, Rondos’ unique dignity was evident in the refined smiles occasionally revealed. Irene, too, with a neat face and simple expressions intermittently nodding, naturally exuded a sense of inherent superiority.

“Now it suits the occasion. Don’t you think the eyes are enjoying the view?”

Praise poured in for the perfect couple. As the owners of this hotel and the protagonists of the day emerged in the center of the hall, one by one, the ballroom was filled.

The first dance was a waltz. When the two, standing reasonably close but not too far apart, locked eyes, it already formed a splendid picture.

Johan lightly placed his hand on Irene’s back. The gentle melody of the violin resonated in the grand hall. Johan led the princess.

Irene’s face showed no emotion, as if a person handling a business task. Nevertheless, his lead was smooth, and even his indifferent expression felt dignified due to his graceful features.

I wonder if he was like this with his wife. Did he have such an indifferent face?

If only Christian had this cold expression. If so, she could have shaken him off.

Christian’s features seemed to overlap with the man’s face.

Even though she knew his heart and was engaged to another woman, the man who now sent her to his cousin was detestable.

“Speak.”

Only when the dance was about to end did Johan open his mouth.

“Do you have something to say to me?”

Languid eyes fell on Irene. She did not avoid that gaze.

“I plan to stay during the tennis tournament.”

“Do as you please.”

The melody of the climax of the stringed instruments surged.

“…I want to stay at the hotel.”

The man’s neat forehead narrowed. Although Catherine was by his side, Princess Anblin, who had not been close, felt uncomfortable.

The friendly smiles of the princess’s maids and friends, who were all smiling, were also the same. The gaze that seemed to see a pitiful woman beneath it was unpleasant, and pretending to be indifferent was tiring.

“I’ll prepare the room.”

The night breeze from the terrace was lukewarm. Therefore, the man’s voice felt even colder.

Perhaps because she resembled Christian, Irene’s chest felt slightly painful.

The dance was over.

Edgar strode across the lobby of Leopold Hotel, climbing the red-carpeted stairs. The luxurious lighting pierced his eyes.

‘Olivia hasn’t returned yet.’

Olivia was gone. A suffocating feeling overcame him. The lively music flowing throughout the hotel slipped on the nerves that were supporting it.

As the doors to the grand ballroom opened from both sides, the trapped sound of music struck his eardrums like a giant wave.
The gaze that flew through the gap fixated on Anblin, who stood proudly beside the outer pillar of the hall.

As if to show off, the princess was standing there.

Their eyes met.

No matter how far away, he was a man who came into view at a glance. It was Edgar.

Anblin tilted her champagne glass, savoring the sight of him approaching rapidly.

Even though the party she prepared had not yet begun, she was already enjoying herself.

“Olivia. Where are you?”

Her composed expression, suppressing emotional fluctuations, was chilly.

“At least say hello. Us.”

Anblin laughed, her pumpkin-colored pupils sparkling.

“I asked where you are.”

“Did that woman disappear or something?”

Anblin, with a slightly narrowed gaze, casually asked. Then, she burst into laughter.

“Your expression right now. Do you know how funny it is?”

He was a man who could be amusing in this way. It was as if Olivia Blanchett, in her precious state, looked ridiculous.

“This doesn’t suit you.”

“What’s this about?”

“Seriously.”

Although there was a crispy sound of shattering high pride, Anblin never lost her graceful smile.

“Something you lack. So don’t pretend to be sincere.”

…Sincerity.

Edgar was stupefied as if he had received a blow to the back of his head. The gaze fumbled through the air, as if trying to grasp the meaning of the unfamiliar word.

A woman to use and discard. It was a word that didn’t fit a ticket-selling woman, neither more nor less.

Sincerity.

Pfft, a derisive laugh escaped. Lowering his gaze slightly, Edgar muttered.

“…On the day I lay a finger on you, even if it’s just one.”

A woman who deceived herself was pathetic.

“Your life will be over. Ann.”