Madame Lauren’s sense of artistry was fully displayed in this enchanting masterpiece.

That was Edgar’s impression of Olivia Blanchett standing before him.

Considering the short preparation period, it was an excellent result. The necklace around her delicate neck was a dramatic choice, unmistakably identifying her as Olivia Blanchett.

This was the only thing he had asked of Madame Lauren. And it had been executed perfectly, now standing before him.

He regretted that Lauren’s blatant intentions were involved but decided not to make an issue of it. The woman was quite enchanting, after all.

“Why are you here?”

“You saw it. Just now.”

With a politely smiling face, the woman replied. Her eyes, as tranquil as a calm lake, seemed to be reminiscing some past moment.

An awkward silence fell between them, interrupted by romantic melodies of a dance number drifting from afar.

“That’s a song I like.”

Edgar said, smiling slightly.

“Dance. Shall we?”

“My feet, as you see.”

Edgar looked down at her small, shyly exposed feet and chuckled. She was barefoot.

“How do you play tennis with these small feet?”

“How do you lose with those big feet?”

Edgar didn’t hold back his laughter. His low chuckles mingled with the cheerful rhythm.

“How about participating in the Dumbrell tournament?”

Of course, he anticipated her response.

“No.”

Edgar nodded, seemingly disappointed.

“A pity, but if Miss Blanchett isn’t inclined, there’s nothing to be done. Ah!”

“What’s wrong?”

As Edgar clutched his chest and bent over, Olivia, turning pale, rushed to him.

Her dress fluttered in the spring breeze, revealing her white legs under the moonlight.

Edgar tilted his head to look at her and smiled, pleased to see her looking at him worriedly.

“My heart aches because you declined.”

“Really! You scared me.”

She frowned and punched his arm with her clenched fist. Edgar reflexively grasped her wrist.

His gaze suddenly changed.

“Was it just a joke? It seems quite painful for a lady who plays tennis.”

“I’m sorry.”

The noisy sounds of the bustling party occasionally reached them under the bright lights. Then, a breeze blew.

The wind passing through the rose garden was intoxicatingly sweet. Edgar closed his eyes tightly, pressing his fingers to his temples, looking pained.

“Don’t joke like that.”

“This time, it’s real. ……Will you look?”

Edgar blinked a couple of times, then lowered his head towards Olivia.

Instinctively pulling back, she hesitated, then slightly tilted her head and approached. Straining to see, a gentle wrinkle formed on her smooth forehead.

“I can’t see.”

As she came closer, her breath touched Edgar’s cheek. He gently pulled her mouth closer and leaned down a bit more.

Still not enough, Olivia went up on her tiptoes. Edgar could feel her warmth and held his breath.

The deep blue of the ocean. Those eyes, holding an unfathomable depth of blue, were focused solely on him.

“Granblue.”

The word, released like an outburst of pent-up heat, caused Olivia, who was on her toes, to lose balance.

Edgar wrapped his arms around Olivia’s waist, and she placed her hands on his shoulders.

Just then, Edgar tilted his head, covering her face. As Olivia, startled, tried to push him away, he whispered in her ear.

“Will you come with me tomorrow?”

A flash and a loud “bang!” followed his secretive whisper.
Startled, Olivia turned her face towards the sound as another loud bang! echoed, accompanied by a brilliant flash of silver. Above them, the spring night sky blossomed with spectacular rose-like fireworks.

In the hands of Johan’s great-grandmother, Margaret, a tabloid was crumpled in anger. The scene depicted in it was unmistakably a clandestine meeting. It appeared the same to Johan Leopold’s eyes.

Margaret Wellington, the Duchess of Wellington, was known for her grand birthday parties every year. She used to gather all the socialites to flaunt her vitality on her birthday.

But this year, on her significant 70th birthday, the main attraction was something else entirely.

“Edgar’s Rose, the Scorching Affair with the Former Duchess Leopold.”

“What a disgraceful mess…”

The provocative headlines and accompanying photos were more than enough to capture public attention. The woman in the photo, passionately kissing a man with tiptoeing eagerness, had her face obscured by Edgar, sparking curiosity. But nobody was actually wondering who she was.

Anne Julesbery.

Everyone who attended the ball that day knew the woman wearing the famous necklace.

The newspapers, quickly gathering eyewitness accounts and adding their own sordid imaginations, crafted a plausible story. This third-rate romantic novel was featured prominently in the boring London gossip columns within half a day.

Margaret sharply folded the newspaper in half and slammed it onto the table.

“This is why I opposed it. It’s always about the roots. What a scandal. Have I lived too long?”

Johan simply listened in silence.

“How soon after the divorce did she start this? Outrageous.”