Chapter 24

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 24

Chapter Title: The Vindictive Man

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They simply gazed at each other in silence, and the carriage fell quiet once more.

Transparent sunlight filtered into the stillness, falling across her pale face powdered white, her bruised eyelids swollen purple, her lips crusted with dried scabs.

Even in that wretched state, the woman was beautiful. Edgar suddenly felt an urge to rip off the ridiculous hat perched on her head.

He tugged loosely at his tie, which constricted his neck. Perhaps due to the early summer heat of late spring, his throat felt parched.

"Lancelot."

Taking the lengthening silence as refusal, the woman called out to him anxiously. It might sound even more pleasing if she begged a little harder.

"Edgar."

Feigning composure with effort, Edgar slowly pronounced his own name.

"That's it. Edgar."

Her incongruously red lips pressed shut. The scenery beyond the window shifted.

The carriage, weaving out from between the high-rises, now raced across the park. At that moment, her red lips parted cautiously.

"......Edgar."

He liked the sound of his name on her lips.

"Speak."

Edgar's lips curved into a long smile.

"Your wish."

The commotion began, once again, with Olivia Blanchett.

When the two people who were the hottest topic in Litton's social circles these days appeared, the consulate staff scurried about in a panic.

Of course, the most shocked was the staff member who had turned Olivia away empty-handed just three hours earlier.

No, isn't that...

The woman pleads, the man refuses—had she wagered her entire fortune, the staffer nearly ruined. He dropped the pen cap from his mouth with a clack.

A gentleman in a light gray suit approached with brisk strides. As rumored, he was strikingly handsome, exuding elegance—a fitting rival to Duke Johann Leopold.

The moment the consulate staffer laid eyes on Edgar Langcaster Lancelot, whom he'd only known from articles, he shot to his feet.

"Sorry to trouble you. I've come with the guarantor you requested."

The woman's face, much brighter than that morning, spoke up.

"Is the consul in?"

The man with sharp, cold gray eyes asked in the dignified tone unique to high nobility.

"Th-this way."

By protocol, he should have notified the consul of visitors first, but for some reason, he was acting like the Marquis Lancelot's attendant.

This can't be real. He actually came...

In person, no less.

"Shall we?"

The man's smile as he offered his arm to the woman was impeccably charming. Certainly not the attitude of a man toward a woman he'd shared a bed with just one night and discarded.

Olivia and Edgar followed the staffer's guidance to the consul's office.

Consul Rondos welcomed Marquis Lancelot warmly, treated him with utmost courtesy, and promised to handle all procedures flawlessly.

The power of influence shone through, and everything was resolved smoothly.

The next day, photos of Olivia boarding Edgar's carriage and the two entering the Rondos Consulate side by side splashed across newspapers, throwing the social scenes of Britt Kingdom and Rondos into uproar.

The Britt Palace boasted many beautiful spots. Among them, the standout was the Botanic Garden in the West Palace, home to Princess Annblin.

Annblin enjoyed tea time amid the exotic plants. But today, a deep shadow of worry clouded her face.

Staring silently at her untouched teacup, Annblin gazed despairingly at the late-spring greenhouse where butterflies flitted about. Recalling memories of often inviting Edgar to share tea twisted her heart.

I was so foolish.

A rash judgment in her youth, blinded by vanity, had left her miserable. She had discarded the man before her—the choice between duchess or prince consort of a nation. Edgar.

"That woman's serious, it seems. Now she's openly parading around with Marquis Lancelot."

"Causing such a scandal and still shameless about it."

"They must be dating now. At this point."

The noblewomen's chatter didn't reach her ears. Her eyes burned at the single photo filling her view.

The woman receiving Edgar's gaze—dubbed his rose in the paper—was utterly ordinary. Save for being Johann's wife, Edgar's rival.

Could that be the reason?

Simply to provoke Johann.

No. I don't know.

Annblin bit her lower lip hard.

She couldn't fathom Edgar's heart. Not even during their courtship. He was like flowing water, impossible to grasp.

That made her yearn more. That was why she'd chosen the sweet Agenten prince, like candy melting in her mouth.

She'd secretly hoped he'd cling to her, but Edgar had let her go cleanly.

"What business did they have at the Rondos Consulate?"

Shaking off her gloom, Annblin asked.

Whether Edgar had silenced them or not, reporters only wrote speculation; no facts emerged. It ended irresponsibly: "Fortunately, no marriage registration in consulate business."

"This is from International Bank circles, Your Highness..."

One noblewoman leaned toward the princess, lowering her voice.

"That woman's face was a mess."

The women's eyes widened in unison. Then they clucked their tongues, figuring it made sense for such a woman entangled in love triangles.

"Why show up at International Bank in that state?"

"Her bank guarantee and ID were stolen."

"Good heavens. What happened...? She wouldn't carry something like a bank guarantee around. Don't tell me there was a break-in at Lancelot Hotel?"

The women made a fuss.

"That explains her face. They say she tried makeup, but how do you hide swelling? Clearly roughed up by burglars or thieves."

"At Britt's finest hotel? Absurd."

"Else why would those two go to the consulate together?"

"She could've just sent a lawyer."

Listening to her friends, Annblin muttered as if to herself. All eyes turned to her. Not wanting to seem the pitiful woman, she forced her lips into a smile.

"Right?"

Yet her mind couldn't comprehend Edgar. It wasn't like the man who detested hassle to the extreme.

With Annblin, he shared more time in bed than everyday moments.

She didn't hate it, but sometimes it stung. Her lover found even theater outings, exhibitions, or parties tedious.

Annblin had started tennis because of Edgar. It was the only one among his few interests she could share.

When she divorced and returned, the Lancelot family sponsored the Dumblin Tennis Tournament.

Annblin entered every year post-marriage and always claimed the trophy. In a way, it was inevitable.

There might be better players, but none dared defeat a nation's princess. She donated prizes yearly to the Royal Pediatric Ward and Britt Orphanage.

The people adored the princess, calling her the Queen of the Tennis Court.

Now, she just needed to reclaim Edgar's love.

After all that effort, shouldn't he forgive her by now? Annblin found Edgar vindictive.

"That woman's no ordinary sort. Born different. She must've blackmailed Marquis Lancelot. Threatened to report the theft. Why else would he bother with trash like her?"

"Horrible. Blackmail."

"Makes sense. Leopold Hotel opens next month—no scandal over security would be fatal."

Ah, so that's it.

The sharp pain in her chest eased into calm.

She blackmailed Edgar.

As the gloom lifted from Annblin's heart, the sun named hope shone brilliantly once more.

Tabloids were unreliable, after all. Just unverified rumors.

Suddenly, she pitied Edgar, ensnared by such a vicious woman. She alone could save her old lover.

Annblin finally smiled genuinely.

"Your Highness."

Her secretary approached, snapping her from reverie.

"Madam Lauren has arrived."

"Madam Lauren..."

"Today's the day to discuss your outfit for the tennis tournament."

"Ah."

Recalling that day, the princess's brows furrowed.

Anne Juber.

The noblewomen held their breath, watching the haughty princess, wondering what punishment awaited the designer who humiliated her.

Cool water jets rose from the Botanic Garden's small fountain. Sunlight poured from the glass ceiling, painting rainbows over the foam.

"Any talented new designers these days?"

Annblin slowly scanned the focused faces, smiling mildly.

"Madam Lauren should step aside for the next generation now, don't you think?"

It was a smile as vibrant as the red bloom at the flowerbed's center. The signal that Eve Lauren Boutique's heyday—backed by the royals—was ending.

Generational shifts happen in myriad ways across fields. But never had she dreamed it'd be like this—cast out overnight.

"What did you say?"

Madam Lauren's eyes blazed.

"We're revoking your palace access pass."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you don't need to come anymore."

"I wish to see Her Highness."

"No need. Don't you get it? You've been blacklisted by the princess."

Madam Lauren let out a hollow laugh.

"I thought you kept public and private separate. Guess not."

"Madam Lauren! Mind your words."

The secretary continued arrogantly, as if insulting the princess insulted her too.

"Who do you think got you this position? Talent? Hardly. All thanks to Her Highness's grace, no?"

Like doused in ice water, Madam Lauren's body trembled with rage.