Maurice had recently developed a symptom where his heart sank every time a sparrow flew up in Litten. Sparrows meant spies from the Leopold family.

At this rate, I won’t die of natural causes. I won’t die.

Forget about romance, at this rate he might not even get to experience marriage like everyone else does before dying.

The sparrow that flew in late in the evening dropped another bomb in Johan’s eerily quiet office, like the eye of a typhoon.

“So. The two of them…”

His low murmur, along with his expression, betrayed no emotion. Nevertheless, Maurice felt Johan’s displeasure with his entire body. He shuddered.

“Were together.”

“Lord Lancelot stayed in the guest room for exactly thirty-six minutes. We were unable to ascertain the content of their conversation.”

Johan’s eyes were coldly sunken. In his pupils reflected by the lamplight, a sense of betrayal deeper than fatigue was evident.

Since when?

Since when had they become so intimate as to freely enter and exit hotel rooms?

Johan slowly pulled at his neatly tied tie.

Was it from before the divorce?

Yes, that’s why she spoke so boldly about divorce.

An unfathomable anger welled up. What a fool he had been.

To put it bluntly, it was none of his business who a woman chose to be with. In fact, Olivia had taken several lovers. But this kind of betrayal was different.

Leaking company secrets was an unforgivable and clear criminal act.

‘Please divorce me.’

As his wife’s auditory hallucination pierced his eardrum, he was overcome by uncontrollable emotions. After sending Maurice away, Johan stared blankly into space for a while.

Three years ago, the flower of that year’s first ball was undoubtedly Olivia Blanchet. It was understandable, as she was a beauty unlike any seen before.

Disguised as a distant relative of Count Blanchet, the woman’s value skyrocketed as soon as she was thrown into the marriage market.

But that beauty was the problem.

Fools who couldn’t control their lower halves when drunk clung to the woman who had attracted public attention from her debut day with her surreal appearance, and unfortunately, that fool, the crown prince Christian, fell neatly into the trap set by Count Blanchet to clear his family’s debts.

‘Isn’t that the crown prince?’

The photograph taken of their bodies intertwined on the sofa, along with rampant rumors, quickly spread beyond borders, dominating newspapers and weeklies in Rondos.

It was a stroke of luck for the crown prince that in the photo taken from a tree into the reception room, due to the angle, only the woman’s face was clearly visible while the other person was only shown from behind.

The crown prince, who was about to be engaged to the princess of Azent, asked for help from Johan, who had a similar build and would satisfy Count Blanchet as a son-in-law, and Johan, the third son of the Duke of Edinburgh, became the protagonist of the scandal in exchange for receiving the title of duke and vast territories.

Thus, Johan’s full name became Johan, Duke Leopold, third son of the Duke of Edinburgh family.

Give what’s to be given, receive what’s to be received. It was a clear transaction.

‘…It wasn’t my intention. Really. I didn’t know anything. Please believe me.’

He recalled the woman who shed tears, sparkling like melted jewels.

Thinking about it now, he judged that the woman might not have been the count’s sacrificial lamb, but an accomplice. With the immoral blood of a woman who seduced her friend’s husband flowing through her veins, it was more than possible.

What a fool I was.

A sneer escaped at the twisted hatred.

Johan, after neatly replacing the cap on his gold-plated fountain pen, stood up. He went to the glass wagon, grabbed whatever bottle and glass he could, and buried himself in the sofa facing the large balcony window.

Like the day Olivia regained consciousness, it was raining outside.

That measly million francs lost due to his wife’s betrayal. It would be forgotten if he just let it go.

As the strong, undiluted vodka went down his throat, it dredged up the past.

‘Why on earth are you doing this?’

It was the day Olivia had slit her wrists for the second time.

‘Because I love you. I’m doing this to make you love me.’

His wife had said with a face that looked like it might crumble at any moment, with traces of dried tears.

How dare she say such things.

Liar.

Now he could see that his wife was an excellent liar.

The clock tower, known for its long queues, was strangely quiet today. Puzzled, Olivia and Anne exchanged slightly widened glances before turning their heads again.

“It’s closed today. We came all the way from Briar for nothing.”

An elderly couple who appeared to be tourists shared this information with a smile as they turned away, their eyes meeting.

“Ah! Thank you.”

As the elderly couple moved away, Anne asked.

“What should we do now?”

Olivia and Anne’s plan to climb the clock tower and make a wish, even if just for fun, had evaporated.

Their next destination was a garden cafe famous for its seasonal fruit pancakes and black coffee.

They had planned to have lunch there and then go to the Royal Art Gallery, Breet’s pride, but neither of them was hungry yet.

“Let’s go to the art gallery.”

“Yes, young lady.”

Fortunately, the Royal Art Gallery was only a thirty-minute walk away.

Located on the west side of Royal Square, the Royal Art Gallery, as if boasting of being the largest in the Breet Kingdom, had its majestic golden dome decorations and colonnade pillars shining brilliantly in the morning sunlight.

The dozens of steps leading to the building were bustling with visitors about to enter.

The two quickened their pace. Like excited girls before a picnic, their hurried steps caused the light apricot-colored skirt to ripple as it brushed against the brown hem.

The banner hung on the luxurious stone exterior of the building fluttered slightly in the spring breeze. As they got closer, the horizontally stretched letters came clearly into Anne’s view.

“…”

Anne’s walking speed slowed and then suddenly stopped. Her dark brown eyes, fixed on something, wavered back and forth before furrowing her brows.

“What’s wrong, Anne?”

“Ah, it’s nothing, young lady.”

Anne barely opened her lips and stammered.

“But, young lady.”

Anne turned around, grabbed Olivia’s hands, and continued speaking.

“Let’s come back here another time.”

Puzzled by Anne’s sudden behavior, Olivia tilted her head and turned her gaze back to the front, towards the golden-shining Royal Art Gallery. White letters were visible under a portrait painted on red cloth.

Andreya Nikolai.

“Another time. Another time, young lady.”

Anne gripped Olivia’s wrist more tightly with an anxious expression.

Olivia Blanchet slowly sifted through her memories.

Ah…

Belatedly, she found that name with difficulty in her faint past.

‘Please become the muse of my soul.’

The painter who was painting the portrait of the Duchess Leopold knelt before her and pleaded. That was all.

A being that inspires an artist.

The painter who came to Greathil on the crown prince’s recommendation to paint the ducal couple’s portrait trembled as if struck by lightning the moment he saw the duchess.

It wasn’t some tender emotion between a man and a woman. Olivia Blanchet was simply an art goddess to the pure painter.

A lover, nonsense.

People whispered that Andreya Nikolai was the duchess’s lover. It was an absurd idea, but when people who believe lies become convinced, it soon becomes the truth.

“Alright. Let’s do that.”

She linked arms with Anne and turned away without hesitation.

Olivia Blanchet’s reputation was not good.

Given her origins, whatever she did, misunderstandings arising from distorted interest and conjecture transformed her into a woman of loose morals.

So there was no need to throw a spark into the peaceful days of Breet.

“Let’s go see how delicious those pancakes really are.”

Olivia said to Anne with a bright smile.

The pancakes topped with soft whipped cream and luscious strawberries and blueberries did not disappoint Olivia.

That heavenly sweetness was impossible to end with just one, and they cleanly finished two plates.

After leaving the garden cafe, the two walked across the bridge over the Vichen River, where the afternoon sunlight lazily settled. The afternoon, where time seemed to flow as slowly as the river’s gentle current, was nothing but peaceful.

As Olivia was walking and chatting quietly with Anne, she felt a strange gaze. Suddenly, Olivia stopped.

“Are your feet hurting, young lady?”

“Hm? Ah. No.”

Olivia slowly started walking again, looking straight ahead. Then, around the midpoint of the bridge, she abruptly turned her body.

While everyone was naturally walking their way, only one man startled and stopped momentarily, then immediately stared at the other side of the river as if nothing had happened.

“Anne. Let’s go back now. I think my feet are hurting.”

“Then wait here for a moment. I’ll call a carriage.”

“No, Anne. I can make it to the landing. Let’s go.”

Olivia linked arms with Anne and turned back the way they came. They passed by the man wearing a beret and sporting a mustache.

“…”

A reporter perhaps.

‘My goodness. Do you know how big of an issue your divorce was? Even the brand of the bag you were carrying when you left Greathil that day was reported. Didn’t you read the newspapers?’

Ilaine’s words came to mind.

While Olivia was lost in thought, the carriage arrived. Seated by the window, she looked out at the bridge bathed in golden light.

The man was gone.

Diane Brook chose her clothes carefully. Then she began to meticulously dress in front of the full-length mirror.

The sensation of the silk lace slip gliding over her skin was like Johan’s intense touch. She closed her eyes for a moment to enjoy that secret sensation before picking up the dress she had selected.

The dress was one that Olivia Blanchet had ordered. The clothes that lost their owner became hers. As did Johan, who was now alone.

The black dress that covered her entire body without exposure rather maximized her full breasts, slim waist, and firm buttocks, stimulating hidden imagination.

Her hair was loosely gathered and twisted low, and she wore small pearl earrings that clung to her earlobes to accentuate her long neck.

Diane looked in the mirror.

It was perfect. The look she wanted – proper yet sensual.