The loudmouth who had been excitedly chattering suddenly collapsed from Johan’s unexpected strike.

“That… that bastard. I didn’t say anything wro- Argh!”

They say if your head is dull, your body suffers. Johan kicked the smug face that was still chattering without reading the room. Blood splattered everywhere.

“Keep going.”

Johan growled lowly as he pulled on his tie. His right foot pressed down firmly on his cousin’s chest.

So. If you’re stupid, you should at least be perceptive. Johan looked down coldly at his cousin struggling under his shoe and sneered.

“How old are you to still be fighting? Come on, come on. Calm down everyone.”

The cousin with slightly better awareness tried to change the atmosphere.

Johan let him go at that point. The cousin who tried to get up to retaliate trembled, clenching his fists at Johan’s cold gaze. Johan neatly adjusted his tie as if nothing had happened.

“Let’s have a drink, Johan.”

“Next time.”

Johan barely nodded and turned away.

“That bastard is picking a fight with me for no reason. A fight.”

Johan, who was turning away, stopped and slowly turned his head to glance over his shoulder.

“Baikal Steel.”

The cousin’s face, which had been flushed red, suddenly turned pale.

“If you want to keep sitting in the president’s seat, think carefully about how to conduct yourself.”

With that brief advice, Johan left the party.

“What’s wrong with that guy today?”

There was much to say when asked why, but he decided to ignore the complaints of dissatisfaction heard from behind.

Clueless fools.

The crown prince trying to sell him off to Princess Krantz. His grandmothers trying to marry him off to a fossil who only dances the quadrille on the cusp of the 20th century. How could he be in a good mood? And then his ex-wife on top of that.

Johan got into the carriage and leaned back deeply in the seat, resting his elbow on the window frame.

He absently watched the crimson lights streaking past outside the dark window, then turned his gaze to the newspaper thrown on the seat.

Olivia.

On the front page of the famous tabloid was a large photo of Johan’s ex-wife kissing Edgar.

The photo, distorted by the red light of the streetlamps piercing through the darkness, looked extremely sensational.

Reasonable doubt spread its branches menacingly once again.

Since when had it been?

The outline of veins protruding on the back of Johan’s hand was distinct. The fragile body was pitifully crumpled in his grasp.

The black carriage that had left the brightly lit downtown area crossed the red bridge and turned onto the winding road heading up the hill.

Greyhill, brightly lit and alone in the darkness, began to appear through the carriage window.

After driving a bit further through the rows of black trees, the carriage slowly turned onto the mansion’s driveway towards the entrance. The butler and servants waiting for their master’s late return were lined up in front.

“Welcome home, Master.”

As the carriage finally came to a stop and Johan got out, the butler greeted him and informed him of an unexpected visitor.

“Count Blanchet is here.”

Johan’s gaze, which had been slowly climbing the entrance stairs, briefly drifted into space before looking over his shoulder at the butler.

“Whiskey, not tea.”

Johan ordered briefly in a voice heavy with fatigue.

As he climbed the stairs again, Johan let out a low chuckle. It was because he recalled the photo of Olivia he had seen in the carriage.

How shameless indeed.

His mood soured.

It was not a particularly good timing for Olivia’s grandfather to visit Johan. He wondered if the lack of tact and shame was hereditary in that family.

Olivia calmly tilted the teapot to fill the empty cup. The room was quiet with golden sunlight slanting in. A moment later, it was Olivia who broke the silence.

“Why. Didn’t you mention the necklace?”

Olivia asked, turning her head after looking at the necklace case placed on one side of the table.

“I didn’t think it was important.”

“An implicit consideration?”

“An outdated custom. It’s also my job to break it.”

Olivia, looking at Madame Lauren with confident eyes, lost her words and let out a small sigh.

“I’m an artist, but I’m also a merchant.”

“You used me.”

Olivia hit the nail on the head.

Anne Julbert.

This jewel was now known to everyone across the continent beyond Brit.

Moreover, last year’s photos of Princess Anblyn’s outfit and Olivia’s were published side by side for comparison, and even the jewelry designer who had passed away fifty years ago was summoned, disturbing their peace.

Eve Lauren’s boutique was flooded with inquiry letters wanting to rent the talked-about necklace. Of course, along with dress orders to match.

Madame Lauren composed her expression and spoke again.

“I didn’t know such photos would be taken. The hotel may ban journalists from entering, but how can they perfectly block those hyena-like fellows? You should know better, Miss Blanchet.”

Madame Lauren subtly mocked Olivia, reminding her of the scandal she had orchestrated to marry Johan. Olivia was dumbfounded.

“If you hadn’t taken such an ambiguous pose in the first place, there wouldn’t have been a scandal.”

“This necklace proved my worth.”

“I regret that incident.”

Madame Lauren held the teacup. A large emerald on her second finger shot out blue light. It was a noble light, like her attitude.

“It’s just a coincidence that turned into a happening. It will soon be forgotten. People’s memories aren’t that good.”

What Olivia was worried about wasn’t strangers whose faces she didn’t even know.

Johan Leopold. Her ex-husband.

Olivia wanted to be forgotten by that man. But she felt uneasy that it didn’t seem to be the case.

Madame Lauren left with the necklace in question, leaving only silence in the room. The folded newspaper photo caught her eye next to the cold coffee cup.

No way.

Olivia’s cheeks turned red.

The clear kissing scene, which left no room for other excuses, was embarrassing. Of course, they hadn’t actually kissed, but the problem was that it looked that way to the eye.

After glaring at the newspaper for a long time, Olivia turned it over and buried her face in her hands.

Did he see it?

He was originally a busy man. A man who had no interest in his wife, and extremely indifferent to everything except work.

Yes. He might not have seen it.

No. Even if he saw it… he might not care.

This kind of self-rationalization, although stemming from escapism, brings momentary peace. As she tried to think positively, the things she had to do next began to fall into order in her mind.

Briar.

It was time to leave the Lancelot Hotel.

The next morning, after a light breakfast, the two packed their travel bags.

Olivia cut her once lush hair into a neat bob. She wore a plain brown dress and pulled on a bonnet without any decoration, like those worn by ordinary maids.

She looked like a common maid to anyone.

According to the maid Mary, who had been serving their meals, journalists had been lined up at the hotel’s main entrance since the ball.

“You won’t recognize me, right?”

“You look like a completely different person.”

Olivia, looking in the mirror, nodded in satisfaction.

Olivia looked around the once luxurious room. At the end was the maid Mary. Olivia thanked her.

“Anne. Let’s go.”

Olivia said, gripping the handle of the leather trunk tightly.

“Yes, Miss.”

The two, who had packed modestly, left the room. The fog was thick beyond the glass windows that had overlooked the beautiful garden.

The fog grew even thicker as they rode in a carriage to the station.

“They said she went to Litton Central Station.”

“I see.”

Edgar nodded lightly while his eyes were interestedly fixed on the green shoes inside the box.

That night, the night of the Rose Ball. The woman who fled in surprise had very small feet.

“What time is the train?”

“They said 1 PM.”

“I see. It’s cutting it close.”

Edgar sent a glance indicating it was okay to leave now, with a satisfied smile. As the aide left and the door closed, Edgar’s gaze turned to the newspaper spread out in front of him.

A quite satisfactory photo had been published.

To anyone, they looked like lovers enjoying a secret affair. The woman’s side seemed more desperate and active in the relationship.

I hope Johan likes it too.

The scandal was still going strong even today, four days later. Being linked with the princess added a synergy effect. Of course, he hadn’t calculated that far.

Edgar’s lips stretched into a long smile.

This proved Olivia Blanchet’s topicality.

The soon-to-be-completed Dumblin Stadium and the successful hosting of the tennis tournament there. The development of the business he had been working on for five years was just around the corner.

Use moderately, enjoy moderately.

Olivia Blanchet was a very suitable woman for that.

Edgar closed the box of shoes waiting for their owner. When the sparkle of jewels scattered on the green satin disappeared, a knock was heard.

“Her Highness Princess Brit has arrived.”

Edgar narrowed his eyes slightly.

When the princess divorced and returned to Brit, he didn’t think much of it. It was obviously an ended relationship, and she was already just one of the many women who had passed by Edgar.

But Anblyn Grace Brit seemed to be different.

“Please bring some tea.”

The secretary left and Princess Anblyn entered.

“I’m sorry for coming suddenly.”

The princess looked genuinely sorry.

“You knew. And came anyway.”

Edgar, who had risen from his seat, walked around the desk towards her.

“Please sit, Princess.”

Edgar greeted her calmly and leaned back languidly on the reception sofa.

“I couldn’t sleep at all last night.”

“Why?”

I wonder what kind of act you’ll put on today.

Edgar was already starting to get bored. He crossed his long legs and assumed an even more comfortable position.

Anblyn barely moved her lips at her ex-lover’s cold gaze and struggled to open her mouth.