Chapter 30

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 30

Chapter Title: Downfall

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Deep into the night, past midnight, a sleek black carriage departed from Great Hill and headed toward Longborn Street.

Diane stepped down from the carriage, her black cloak drawn tightly around her without a single gap, as if she wished to vanish into the darkness. The back alley of the slum, shrouded even from moonlight by heavy clouds, was eerily still.

The door swung open from inside before she could even knock, as if they'd heard the carriage approaching. As Diane slipped quietly inside, the door shut firmly behind her, and the windows that had leaked faint light were swiftly covered.

A storm seemed to be brewing from the seaside, making the rickety wooden doorframe and window frames rattle noisily in the wind. It was a chilling night.

Taking a step inside, Diane pinched her nose and grimaced. The sharp stench of vinegar pierced her lungs.

"These bastards shining up their junk. Come this way."

The man cleared away some shabby stolen jewelry and vinegar dishes, jerking his chin toward a chair.

"The goods?"

"Impatient temper on you."

Grinning to reveal yellowed teeth, the man went behind the workbench and returned with a small bundle.

"Here."

The man unwrapped the cloth, laying the contents out on the table. Being glass, they were even more fragile than the real thing, so he handled them with extra care.

"Well? Satisfied?"

The long scar by his eye twitched as the man leered slyly. Diane's lips curled upward as she examined the replicas.

Diane picked up the replicated sapphire ring with her gloved hand and held it to the light. It was remarkably intricate—better than she'd expected.

Even a princess raised around precious gems would have trouble telling them apart.

She had no doubt their rightful owner would believe they were hers.

The thought twisted like a sharp knife in her heart, painful and bitter. It was all because of Olivia Blanchett, that wretched bastard child.

Imagining that filthy thing buried under all this scandal made her feel a bit better.

"Have these done within two days too."

Without a word of praise, Diane gathered them up and lifted the bag she'd kept on her lap.

At that moment, a loud thud echoed. Startled, Diane dropped the bag. Wind howled through the door crack, making the candle flame flicker wildly inside its glass cover.

In the wavering light, their shadows danced like ghosts. Then the wind died abruptly, leaving an unnervingly dead silence.

"What was that sound just now?"

Diane's voice trembled faintly.

"Probably the old lady fell out of bed again. Don't mind it."

Grinning, the man casually placed Diane's dropped bag on the table as if it were nothing.

As he unbuckled the silver clasp and started to open it, another thud came from the back of the house—this one louder.

"What's with this hag today?"

The man scratched his thigh dismissively.

"That didn't come from upstairs."

Diane snapped, her nerves frayed.

Even amid the rattling windows threatening to come loose, her heart froze. She felt an inexplicable anxiety tonight.

"On nights like this, the back door always acts up. Lucky if the rotten thing doesn't fly off."

The man chuckled nonchalantly and reached into the bag. Diane grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"Go check it out."

"Jeez, even when I say it's nothing."

"What if it's the police?"

Diane glared at him. The man snorted, looking down at the scared, nagging woman.

"Jeez, even when I say the black dogs don't come here."

The man had police protection.

In Longborn Street, where petty thieves gathered, he operated safely without ever seeing the inside of Basta Penitentiary solely because of the massive bribes he paid.

So it couldn't be the police.

"Go see for yourself."

Diane was adamant.

"Damn it," the man muttered, stomping off irritably.

Diane's heart began to pound irregularly. Her instincts were sharp, and they were ringing alarm bells now. Danger.

Clutching the securely buckled bag to her chest, she watched the man's back as he headed into the darkness, holding her breath. She stood ready to bolt at any moment.

Scratching his belly, the man paused at the foot of the stairs to the upper floor. His wife's faint snoring drifted down.

Sleeping like a log while I'm working this late.

He just wanted to finish the job and get to bed.

Rubbing under his nose with a finger, he turned and gripped the handle of the kitchen door beside the stairs.

As he slowly turned the knob, the rusted hinges squeaked eerily. Shining his lamp into the darkness, the man illuminated the sink, old cabinets, display case, and potbelly stove. The large table in the center appeared and vanished in the light.

See? Nothing. He clicked his tongue.

As expected, the decrepit side door behind the table was just rattling in the gale—it was a makeshift escape route he'd rigged for emergencies.

"Not a single ant in sight."

Scoffing loudly, he turned to leave the kitchen when—

Bang! The back door flew forward in an instant with a massive crash. The man whipped around in shock. Multiple lights flooded in as voices shouted.

"Don't move!"

Silver stars gleamed on black police caps in the darkness.

Damn it. It was the Rondos Police.

"You stupid bitch. You brought the black dogs!"

Pale with terror, the man hurled his lamp at the police.

Crash. The oil lamp shattered on the table, instantly engulfing the tablecloth in roaring flames. The once-quiet house turned into pandemonium.

The man bolted up the stairs, yelling.

"Run!"

Diane was already gone.

Her face drained of color and frozen, she'd kicked over her chair and sprinted for the front door the moment she heard the door crash.

I can't get caught here.

Her throat tightened. Everything was falling apart.

Clutching the bag of jewels, Diane fumbled with trembling hands at the lock. The man's shouts to flee echoed behind her. The double and triple bolts wouldn't budge.

Please!

Her breathing grew ragged. Sweat poured down her back.

Please. Open, quick.

She finally undid the last bolt, yanked the door open, and burst outside.

A fierce gust whipped at her like a whirlwind. She squeezed her eyes shut instinctively. When she blinked them open a couple times to run for the carriage, her heart plummeted.

"!"

No way.

Under the pitch-black sky, red embers glowed. A man leaned casually against the carriage, drawing deeply on his cigar before slowly exhaling smoke. The wisps drifting into the air felt like a dream.

Why.

Why are you here...

Chills ran down Diane's spine. Her jaw chattered uncontrollably.

She prayed this man being here was a nightmare. It had to be. But.

Johann Leopold.

Incredibly, the man was right in front of her.

Diane's legs gave out, and she collapsed to the ground. The hem of the man's long coat fluttered in the savage wind. He peeled himself from the carriage and approached with languid steps.

Get it together, Diane. It's not over yet.

"...D-Duke."

Even cornered, she racked her brain for a way to survive. It was instinct.

A sharp chill snapped her to her senses, and Diane's eyes fluttered open. She'd been slapped during interrogation and lost consciousness.

How long had she been dragged here?

A small light flickered on the table amid the blackness. As her vision cleared, her terror solidified.

This isn't a dream.

She was still handcuffed to the chair, water dripping from her soaked hair. Despair made her mind reel.

The one change was that Johann, that man, was here.

Johann dragged a chair over and sat across from her. Crossing his legs, he lit a cigar. The tip glowed red between his black gloves. He was flawless as ever.

Diane, on the other hand, was a mess.

Wet hair plastered sloppily to her forehead and cheeks, mascara-streaked eyes, a swollen cheek marked by a handprint, and split lips from the blows. She looked worse than a drowned rat.

Humiliated, Diane didn't avert her gaze. Her head throbbed, but she focused. She knew this was her last chance.

"D-Duke..."

Her split lip stung with every word. Diane contorted her face in agony, looking every bit the pitiful torture victim, her eyes welling with tears.

Even as she called to him, his gaze remained impassive.

"It's not me. The truth is... the truth is, ugh."

Pain flared in her swollen cheek. Her parched mouth, without a sip of water, cracked and burned.

"Duke..."

Overwhelmed with emotion, she gasped for breath.

"The Duchess."

With every pant, the scent of cigar mixed with the damp, musty air of the underground interrogation room filled her nostrils.

"She was blackmailing me."

She unleashed the tears she'd held back for this moment. They poured endlessly onto her handcuffed hands.

"I'm sorry, Duke."

Diane bowed her head, trembling faintly.

A puff of acrid cigar smoke wafted over. Curious about his expression, Diane slowly raised her face. Their eyes met, and chills prickled her skin. A cold sneer flickered in his deep gray eyes.

Johann stubbed out the cigar in the ashtray. With precise movements, he loosened his tie and undid his top button.

"Do you want to get out of here alive?"

His low murmur echoed in the interrogation room. Diane's eyes twisted in anguish.