Clemente de Bartolini quickly caught the hint of criticism lurking in Isabella’s expression.

Tears welled up in her innocent features almost instantly.

If her younger brother, Octavio de Contarini, resembled a Rottweiler, then Clemente de Bartolini was akin to a Min Pin. There were certain resemblances between the siblings, but unlike Octavio, Clemente seemed harmless and fragile, like a small puppy.

“Isabella…”

Isabella opened her eyes wide, looking at Clemente, who was on the verge of crying, and said,

“Why are you crying, sister?”

That triggered Clemente de Bartolini’s tears. As soon as she heard that, she began to sob loudly.

“That’s not… what I was trying to do…”

Isabella leaned on the sofa, arms crossed, looking at the sobbing Min Pin. I came here to collect the debt I’m owed, how did I end up being a counselor?

The story Clemente laid out between sobs was as follows. Count Bartolini was a good man. He was so sympathetic towards his young wife that he let Clemente do anything she wanted.

Clemente was timid and indecisive, but she was the type who constantly needed reassurance in love. When her husband let her do anything she wanted, she got obsessed with things that he wouldn’t possibly allow.

It was somewhat a ‘can you still love me like this?’ a distorted, selfdestructive desire.

Her first affair was with a young priest from the cathedral who heard her confession. They had just become a bit close, but at some point they crossed the line, and after that it was out of control.

Next was a young fallen noble, then a horseman. It was a silent scream towards her husband, ‘can you still love me, even like this?’ The last on the list of men her husband would never approve of was the Duke of Campa.

She met him at an art dealer’s shop, and the wealthy and polite Duke of Campa’s manners had her hooked.

It would have been pure curiosity towards the Duke of Campa, who was rumored to be somewhat trashy, a pride that she could reform him, and a desire to fall to the very bottom with such a man.

“I don’t know why I’m doing this!”

‘I really don’t know why you’re doing it either.’

Isabella clicked her tongue inwardly. Even if Lady Bartolini could not deny that she had been caught having an affair with the Duke of Campa, was there any need to go on about the priest, the horseman, and the young noble? This was like handing over the reins to the opponent. A suicidal act.

“I was really lonely… and I feel like I’ve been possessed…! The priest was bad… He had a duty as a clergyman to guide the faithful properly, but he shamelessly satisfied his own desires… The horseman was also bad… How could he dare to touch me, his lady…?”

Clemente was talkative. She laid out all her grievances against the men she had affairs with one by one. She even brought up her own guilt, which she would have been better off keeping quiet, and her insides were clearly visible as she chattered away.

Isabella sighed inwardly. And then she gave Clemente the words she really wanted to hear.

“…It’s not your fault, sister.”

“Is that so?”

Clemente’s face lit up instantly. She accepted the answer so quickly that it was almost embarrassing for Isabella.

“A clergyman should set an example for the faithful. Even if the faithful showed a gap…”

At the choice of the phrase ‘faithful showed a gap’, Clemente’s facial muscles twitched again. Isabella raised an eyebrow and quickly chose her words again.

“No, it’s absolutely wrong for a priest to harbor evil intentions towards a modest believer. This is entirely the priest’s fault.”

Clemente de Bartolini’s expression softened again. Isabella went on to criticize the horseman, the Duke of Campa, and even Count Bartolini, in turn, emphasizing that Clemente was not at fault.

After listening to Isabella’s passionate defense speech for nearly 30 minutes, Clemente was now able to sip her tea with a relaxed smile.

“Isabella, it’s been such a long time since we’ve talked like this since childhood…. I’m glad that you know this…. I was really, lonely and struggling alone….”

Clemente’s satisfied words were cut off by Isabella.

“But sister.”

Isabella, with a bright smile covering her beautiful face, broached the subject.

“There’s just one thing you did wrong, sister.”

“What, what is it…?”

Clemente, with an expression that looked as if she was about to run away backwards from the sofa, reluctantly asked Isabella. It was indeed the last answer she wanted to hear. Her eyes, akin to that of a Miniature Pinscher, wavered with anxiety.

“You should have explained well when the rumor was going around in the social circle that the mistress of Duke Kampa is Isabella de Mare.”

Once again, tears welled up in Clemente’s puppylike eyes.

“That, that’s….! At that time…. there were eyes of my husband too….”

Of course, during the scandalous adultery case that hit the social circle, it was a highly difficult and courageous task for the actual party involved to step forward and declare ‘I am the mistress.’