An Incomplete Divorce (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 1

My wife has changed.

This was Johann Leopold’s conclusion as he stared at the woman who sat rigidly upright, every button fastened neatly up to her neck, her gaze blank and vacant.

His wife, Olivia Blanchet, had always been a woman who craved love.

She behaved as though she could only live by loving something, and the problem—if one could call it that—was that the object of her affection happened to be Johann Leopold, the busiest man in the world.

A fair exchange—giving what was due and taking what was owed. To him, marriage was nothing more and nothing less. But his wife was different.

Because she didn’t know how to control her emotions with dignity, her actions—though clear in intent—were perfectly designed to provoke his temper.

Her extravagance wasn’t even much of an issue. As long as she didn’t become a nuisance, it was almost a relief to have her quietly seated at home, spending money.

Whether she flirted with other men to draw Johann’s attention or threw tantrums in high society, none of it truly mattered.

Then, one day, when none of her usual methods worked, she slashed her wrists without hesitation. She was the kind of woman who would do anything to drag Johann before her.

And yet, that very woman now—

“What did you just say?”

Johann asked again, though he’d clearly heard her.

“Divorce. Let’s get divorced.”

It was a calm, matter-of-fact tone—utterly devoid of emotion.

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The duchess has changed.

Rumors spread among the servants of Great Hill. Some dismissed her quiet demeanor as just another tactic to attract attention, doubting how long this act would last.

Anne was one of them. But—

“I’ve divorced him, Anne.”

The duchess’s face, smiling brightly, was utterly clean of any emotion or lingering attachment.

Though Great Hill buzzed with gossip over the duke and duchess’s divorce, she remained as still as if she belonged to another world entirely.

The divorce proceeded faster than expected. As everyone had anticipated, the duke made no attempt to hold onto his wife. Instead, he granted her an unexpectedly generous settlement: a resort city and a villa in Lemont.

“Anne. Will you come with me? I’d be grateful if you would.”

Amidst the dazzling spring sunlight pouring through branches laden with blossoms, Anne suddenly understood.

The Blanchet scandal, proof of infidelity, that shameful illegitimate child—

Her young mistress, who had always bristled with thorns and seemed to wither from thirst for affection, had changed.

Anne answered gladly.

“Please, take me with you, my lady.”

Sitting side by side on the bed, packing their bags, Anne gently took her mistress’s scarred hands in her own.

Though her mistress had never once been kind to her, Anne had never disliked her. Her mistress’s life had been so wretched that even a lowly maid like Anne had pitied her.

The duchess climbed into the carriage with only a modest travel bag.

“It’s too much. At least say goodbye properly.”

Anne looked up bitterly toward the largest window on the second floor.

“He’s a busy man, after all.”

Her mistress’s tone, closing the chapter on three years of marriage, was remarkably calm. Where had that blind, desperate love gone—the kind that once seemed ready to crumble into fragments at any moment?

Anne stared wordlessly at her mistress gazing out the window.

Ever since that early spring rain, her mistress had often stared endlessly toward some unreachable place. Her expression reminded Anne of the young girl who, locked in the penitent’s room under the guise of discipline, had longed so desperately for freedom.

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“Assign someone to follow her.”

“Understood.”

Johann spoke coldly as he watched the carriage speed down the driveway flanked by rows of fir trees, just beyond the main gate.

He’d recently received word that his wife had jumped into the lake. As always, Johann remained unmoved—he simply finished his work and returned to the estate four days later.

His wife lay in bed, her face pale as death. He’d seen this sight often enough lately to feel nothing but irritation at her attempts to cling to him.

Four days passed. Spring drizzle fell softly, as if hesitant spring itself were finally arriving. Johann’s patience, already strained by urgent matters in his study, neared its limit—just as his wife opened her eyes.

‘Please grant me a divorce.’

What scheme was she plotting this time?

Even after the carriage had vanished into a mere dot on the horizon, Johann couldn’t bring himself to leave the window.

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Lemont, a beautiful resort city nine hours by train from the capital, boasted a villa known as White Gable, its white rooftops pointed like spires overlooking the sea. To Hermann, the butler, it was a source of pride and joy.

It was far from welcome news to him that the villa’s owner had changed from Duke Johann Leopold to the former duchess.

The duchess had always been a difficult mistress to serve, even for an experienced butler. Now that she’d come down here after a divorce, Hermann and the other staff at White Gable trembled in fear of what fresh chaos she might unleash. And yet—

“Call a real estate agent for me.”

“Yes… uh, excuse me—what did you just say?”

The flustered butler blinked in disbelief.

“I’m selling this villa. Please find the buyer who offers the best price.”

After a quick tour of the villa, the duchess headed upstairs to rest, saying she needed to lie down. But as she reached the bottom of the central staircase made of red mahogany, she turned back.

“I’ll include the staff in the terms of the sale, so don’t worry. Please inform everyone.”

Bathed in the slanting light of sunset pouring through the large window beside the stairs, the duchess’s smile looked almost saintly in its kindness.

The woman Hermann remembered—a shrieking, tempestuous figure—was gone.

The butler stared blankly at her retreating back, then snapped out of his daze. He rushed straight to the telegraph office in town and urgently wired Great Hill.

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“She’s put the villa up for sale?”

“Yes, my lord.”

His wife—no, his former wife—whose motives he’d always easily deciphered, was now defying his expectations.

He’d assumed she’d stay there in luxury, surrounded by men. What could she possibly be scheming?

“What should we do?”

“Buy it.”

The aide bowed and swiftly left the study.

Johann closed the document he’d been reviewing.

Was she planning to use the proceeds to buy a house in the capital?

His reason for giving her the Lemont villa had been simple: somewhere far enough from the capital yet lively enough to keep her from boredom—a pleasure resort for nobles like Lemont fit the bill perfectly.

But was she really intent on dragging herself right back to torment him?

No. That won’t do. Not Olivia.

Johann opened the lid of a polished cigar box, loosely placed a freshly cut cigar between his lips, and narrowed his eyes as he struck a match.

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The villa sold quickly to a generous buyer at a price slightly above market value. The buyer agreed to retain all staff under the same terms, and the young mistress rejoiced, calling herself lucky.

Anne accompanied her mistress into town by carriage. No matter where she went or what she did, Anne never asked—she simply stayed silently by her side.

She’d never seen her mistress so full of life before; the change both thrilled and unnerved her.

Her mistress halted the carriage in front of a bank. After carefully consulting with three different banks, she ultimately chose to open an account with International Bank.

“Look at this, Anne. It’s called a letter of guarantee.”

Waving a check with an astronomical sum written on it, her mistress laughed like a child.

“We’ll need to pack again.”

The moment they returned to White Gable, the mistress handed Anne a brown envelope.

“What’s this?”

“I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. Please take it.”

“My lady!”

“This time, we’ll be going farther away, Anne.”

Like someone who would leave and never return, her mistress’s blue eyes sparkled with pure, unclouded clarity—utterly free of regret.

Memories of that summer downpour flashed before Anne’s eyes.

A middle-aged man holding a black umbrella, a girl crossing the red rose garden toward the Blanchet manor—only to be turned away before even stepping inside. The man stormed off in anger, while the gaunt girl stood drenched in the rain until she collapsed.

Ten-year-old Anne had dropped her floor-cleaning rag, rushed out, and dragged the girl inside with great effort.

That day, the girl was locked in a lightless attic, and Anne—beaten by the mistress for the first time—lay feverish for two days. Even delirious with heat, she worried the little girl might not survive.

“Take me with you too… please, my lady.”

The pitiful illegitimate child left behind by Elena Blanchet—the noble rose of the Blanchets. Their poor young mistress.

“I won’t be able to visit Mother often.”

“She asked me to look after you.”

Anne remembered her mistress, soaked and limp like a drowned bird pulled from the lake. Terrified she might vanish like a mirage, Anne clung to her.

“So let’s go together—anywhere! We’ll spend all that money and live freely, yes, my lady!”

Anne gripped her mistress’s delicate wrist and refused to let go. Sincere warmth radiated from that small hand. Olivia couldn’t bring herself to pull away.

The next day, unlike their arrival from Great Hill, the two departed the villa in simple traveling clothes.

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“She’s left White Gable.”

“Destination?”

“She boarded a passenger ship bound for the Kingdom of Britte.”

“Britte.”

Ha. Johann let out a brief, dry laugh.

Not the capital—but Britte…

If this were merely another ploy to seize his attention, his wife—no, his former wife—was proving rather successful.

But why Britte, of all places, with no connections there?

This irritation gnawed at him differently than her past antics under the same roof. Johann scowled impatiently.

“What should we do?”

“Keep watching her.”

“Understood.”

Once the aide departed, Johann tried to focus on his papers again—but soon rose and walked to the window.

The blue sky was unusually clear, as vivid as Olivia Blanchet’s sapphire eyes.

His wife had always looked dull and shadowed, drowned in medicine and drink. Only recently had he realized her eyes were blue.

Of all times to fix him with that clear-eyed gaze—right at the very end.

As Johann gazed up at the serene sky, recalling Olivia’s eyes, Olivia herself stood on the deck of the ship heading to Britte, gazing at that same sky.

At last, she smiled broadly.

It wasn’t Olivia anymore—it was Han Ji-an—and she was running away. Forever from her husband’s grasp.