An Incomplete Divorce (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 11
Maurice had recently developed a symptom in Ritten: every time a sparrow flew in, his heart would lurch. The sparrow stood for the Leopold family’s spies.
At this rate, he wouldn’t die a natural death. He just wouldn’t.
Romance? Forget it—he might die without ever experiencing the one thing everyone else got to try: marriage.
The sparrow that arrived late in the evening once again dropped a bomb into Johann’s study, which had been precariously calm like the eye of a storm.
“So… the two of you…”
His low murmur betrayed no emotion in either voice or expression. Yet Maurice felt Johann’s displeasure through every fiber of his being. A chill ran down his spine.
“Were together.”
“Sir Lancelot remained in the guest room for precisely thirty-six minutes. We couldn’t ascertain the content of their conversation.”
Johann’s eyes had sunk into icy stillness. In the lamplight, his gaze held a betrayal far deeper than mere fatigue.
Since when had it begun?
Since when had they become so intimate as to freely enter each other’s hotel rooms?
Slowly, Johann tugged at his tightly knotted tie.
Had it started before the divorce?
Yes—that’s exactly why she’d dared to ask for divorce so boldly.
Fury surged, thick and suffocating. What a fool he’d been.
If he had to put it plainly, he didn’t care whom she slept with. After all, Olivia herself kept multiple lovers. But this kind of betrayal was different.
Stealing company secrets was an unforgivable, outright criminal act.
“Please grant me a divorce.”
As his wife’s phantom voice pierced his eardrums, Johann was swallowed by uncontrollable emotion. After sending Maurice away, he stared blankly into space, unmoving for a long while.
Three years ago, at that year’s first ball, there was no question—Olivia Blanchet had been the undisputed belle. She was a beauty the likes of which no one had ever seen, so it was only natural.
Posing as a distant cousin of Count Blanchet, the woman’s value had skyrocketed the moment she entered the marriage market.
But that very beauty had been the problem.
From her debut day, her unreal appearance drew public attention—and inevitably attracted the lewd, inebriated scoundrels. Unfortunately for him, Crown Prince Christian, one such scoundrel and heir to the throne, fell neatly into the trap Count Blanchet had set to clear his family’s debts.
“Isn’t that… His Royal Highness the Crown Prince?”
The photo—showing him sprawled across a sofa—spread like wildfire, dominating Rhondos’s newspapers and weekly magazines, then swiftly crossing borders alongside rampant rumors.
In the photo taken from a tree overlooking the parlor, only the woman’s face was clearly visible due to the angle; the man appeared only from behind—a stroke of luck for the Crown Prince.
With his engagement to Princess Agente imminent, the Crown Prince turned to Johann, whose build matched his own and whom Count Blanchet would gladly accept as a son-in-law. Johann, the third son of the Duke of Edinburgh, agreed to become the scandal’s central figure in exchange for a ducal title and vast estates.
Thus, Johann’s full name became Johann, Duke Leopold, third son of the House of Edinburgh.
It had been a clear-cut transaction: give what was owed, receive what was due.
“…It wasn’t my intention. Truly. I knew nothing. Please believe me.”
He recalled the woman whose tears had shimmered like melted gemstones.
Now, he suspected she might not have been Count Blanchet’s sacrificial pawn—but his accomplice. After all, the blood of a woman who seduced a friend’s husband and bore his child was more than capable of such treachery.
What a fool he’d been.
A bitter sneer escaped him, twisted by loathing.
Johann carefully capped his gold-plated fountain pen and set it down, then rose from his seat. He walked to the liquor cabinet, grabbed the nearest bottle and glass, and sank into the sofa facing the large balcony windows.
Just like the day Olivia regained consciousness, rain fell outside.
That measly ten thousand francs lost due to his wife’s betrayal—he could just forget about it.
Undiluted, potent vodka slid down his throat, dragging memories from the past.
“Why on earth are you doing this?”
It had been the day Olivia slit her wrists for the second time.
“Because I love you. I’m begging you to love me back.”
Her face, marked by dried tear tracks, looked as if it might shatter at any moment.
How could she say such things?
Liar.
Now he saw clearly: his wife had been an excellent liar.
[This is the timeline separator]The clock tower, usually bustling with long queues, was oddly quiet today. Puzzled, Olivia and Anne exchanged wide-eyed glances before turning away again.
“It’s closed today. We came all the way up from Briar for nothing.”
An elderly couple, evidently tourists, turned to leave and, catching their eyes, smiled and offered the explanation.
“Oh! Thank you.”
Once the couple had walked off, Anne asked, “What now?”
Their plan to climb the clock tower and secretly make a wish had dissolved into nothing.
Their next destination was Garden Café, famous for its seasonal fruit pancakes and black coffee.
They had intended to have lunch there and then visit the Royal Museum of Britte, but neither felt hungry yet.
“Let’s go to the museum.”
“Yes, miss.”
Fortunately, the Royal Museum was only a thirty-minute walk away.
Located on the west side of Royal Plaza, the Royal Museum gleamed magnificently under the morning sun, its grand golden dome and colonnades proudly displaying the scale Britte’s largest museum.
Dozens of steps leading to the entrance teemed with visitors just beginning to enter.
The two quickened their pace. Like excited girls before a picnic, their light apricot skirts swayed and rippled against brown hems with each skipping step.
A banner hung on the ornate stone façade fluttered gently in the spring breeze. As they drew closer, the horizontally stretched letters became sharply visible to Anne.
“…….”
Anne slowed, then abruptly halted. Her dark brown eyes darted across something ahead before her brows knitted together.
“What’s wrong, Anne?”
“Oh—it’s nothing, miss.”
Anne barely managed to part her lips, faltering.
“But… miss.”
She turned and seized Olivia’s hands firmly.
“Let’s come back here another time.”
Surprised by Anne’s sudden action, Olivia tilted her head and looked forward again—at the golden Royal Museum. Beneath a portrait painted on a red cloth, white letters stood out.
Andreiya Nikolai.
“Another time. Another time, miss.”
Anne clutched Olivia’s wrist tighter, her expression anxious.
Olivia slowly sifted through her own memories.
Ah…
At last, she retrieved that name from the faint recesses of her past.
“Be my muse.”
The painter, working on the Duchess Leopold’s portrait, had knelt before her with this plea. That was all it had been.
A figure who stirred the artist’s inspiration.
Sent to Greathill by the Crown Prince’s recommendation to paint the ducal couple’s portraits, the artist had shuddered as if struck by lightning upon seeing the duchess.
It was no tender romantic feeling. To the pure artist, Olivia Blanchet had simply been a goddess of art.
A lover?
People whispered that Andreiya Nikolai was the duchess’s lover. Though absurd, once enough people believed a lie with conviction, it quickly became accepted truth.
“Alright. Let’s do that.”
She linked arms with Anne and turned away without hesitation.
Olivia Blanchet’s reputation was far from spotless.
Because of her origins, everything she did was twisted by distorted interest and baseless suspicion, painting her as a woman of poor conduct.
There was no need to ignite trouble in her otherwise peaceful days in Britte.
“Let’s go check how delicious those pancakes really are.”
Olivia smiled brightly at Anne.
The pancakes, piled high with soft whipped cream, plump strawberries, and blueberries, didn’t disappoint.
That heavenly sweetness was impossible to stop at just one—they polished off two plates completely.
After leaving Garden Café, the two strolled along the bridge over the Vichen River, where lazy sunlight settled warmly. The afternoon, drifting slowly with the river’s gentle current, felt utterly peaceful.
While chatting amiably with Anne, Olivia sensed an odd gaze. Suddenly, she stopped.
“Are your feet hurting, miss?”
“Hm? Oh—no.”
Olivia slowly resumed walking, eyes fixed ahead—then abruptly turned around midway across the bridge.
Among the crowd walking naturally along their way, only one man flinched in surprise, freezing for a moment before quickly pretending nothing had happened and staring across the river.
“Anne. Let’s turn back. My feet really do hurt.”
“Then wait here a moment. I’ll call a carriage.”
“No, Anne. I can walk to the station. Let’s go.”
Linking arms with Anne, Olivia retraced their steps—and passed a man in a beret with a mustache.
“…….”
A reporter, perhaps?
“The world. Do you even realize how huge your divorce was? They even printed the brand of suitcase you carried when you left Greathill that day! Didn’t you read the papers?”
Elaine’s words echoed in her mind.
While Olivia was lost in thought, the carriage arrived. Seated by the window, she gazed at the bridge, now gilded by sunset.
The man was gone.
[This is the timeline separator]Diane Brook chose her outfit carefully, then began dressing meticulously before the full-length mirror.
The silk lace slip glided over her skin like Johann’s lingering touch. She closed her eyes briefly, savoring the secret sensation, then picked up the dress she’d selected.
The dress had been ordered by Olivia Blanchet. Now ownerless, it belonged to her—and to Johann, who was alone as well.
The black gown, covering her entirely without revealing anything, instead accentuated her voluptuous bust, slender waist, and supple hips, stirring the imagination.
She loosely gathered her hair into a low twist and fastened small pearl earrings close to her earlobes to highlight her long neck.
Diane looked in the mirror.
Perfect. It was precisely the image she wanted: refined yet sensual.
Male lead first thought she played hard to get, only to realize she
really disliked him
Short intro:
What she can’t stand the most is the streets full of effeminate men, especially that so-called top beauty whom she avoids at all costs.
Shen Yaoxing looks at Jiang Mingyue, who keeps approaching her with coy shyness.
Shen Yaoxing: Bro, don’t be like this, I’m really about to throw up!
She fears nothing in heaven or earth, except for him getting close to her.
*
At first he thought she was just using the trick of feigning indifference to attract his attention. Later, he learned that she truly despised him.
This dealt a heavy blow to Jiang Mingyue, and he vowed to make her, like everyone else, fall at his feet in worship!
***
Synopsis:
Before transmigrating, Shen Yaoxing only wanted to find a reliable man to spend her life with. Who knew that after transmigrating, she would become a reliable woman herself…
A forced misandrist, highly skilled, and reliable female lead
vs.
An initially aloof and arrogant, later morbid, obsessed male lead
_____
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This story deserves more hype. People should know more about this.
Sounds like someone is planning to make a misunderstanding between our couple
Here we go again, poor Olivia always getting hurt by men