Chapter 44

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 44

Chapter Title: Olivia's Dog

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As evening deepened, the lights outside painted the transparent glass in vibrant hues.

Johann Leopold entered with slow, deliberate steps.

On his straight wrist bone, the gold bezel of the Patek 'New Watch' gleamed in a ring-like shimmer.

The two men stared at each other in silence.

In the quiet, Johann was the first to move. Edgar matched his strides, closing the distance as Johann approached with purpose.

As he passed the table, Edgar reached out and snatched the black box.

They stopped with the sparkling tower of champagne glasses between them.

In the space where even footsteps had ceased, a tense silence settled once more.

Edgar broke the heavy air.

"I hope you like the gift."

Edgar quipped as he lifted two glasses from the top of the tower.

Johann ignored him coolly and sat on the sofa. Edgar took the seat opposite.

"So. What's this about."

His arrogant posture, legs crossed, made the golden gleam appear and vanish above his wrist.

"That watch."

Johann's gaze, narrowed as he met Edgar's eyes, followed to his own wrist.

"Olivia wants it."

Edgar replied, tugging the red ribbon around the box. It unraveled smoothly and fell to the floor without resistance.

Johann's brow furrowed slightly. It wasn't even amusing.

For him to come here—to Great Hill, no less, while Margaret Wellington was visiting—all for a watch.

"Since when did you become Olivia's dog."

Edgar smirked at Johann's pointed question.

"Not yet. Not quite the dog."

Imagining himself yapping at Olivia's feet made him burst out laughing.

"Who knows about the future."

It might not be so bad.

"Since when."

Johann asked, loosely placing a cigar between his lips.

"Maybe since the moment you discarded her."

"Comforting."

"We have similar tastes, don't we."

Edgar smirked as he opened the gift box. Johann let out a scoff at the sight of the champagne neatly laid on black velvet.

The silver foil wrapper gleamed under the light, emblazoned with "Leopold" in elegant script.

"What a half-assed bastard."

With a strike of the match, Johann lit the cigar's end and spat the curse as he looked up.

"Knew you'd like it."

Edgar uncorked the champagne, facing Johann squarely—his noble confidence flowing through him like the men of the Edinburgh family.

Yellow liquid bubbled into the clear glass, foam rising.

Edgar slid a glass toward Johann.

"Happy birthday, Johann."

A cool early summer night breeze blew in from the window.

Under the swaying chandelier light, Edgar's eyes deepened.

The Patek on Johann's wrist caught the light as he raised his crystal glass.

"Have you ever been this kind to me."

Johann leaned back against the sofa, setting his glass down, his voice casual. In the dim lighting, his gray eyes were aloof.

"Depends on the situation."

Edgar offered a relaxed smile.

"Doing something this stupid because of her..."

As Edgar's nonsense rang out, Olivia's voice—professing eternal love—flashed through Johann's mind, drawing a sneer.

"Olivia."

His voice was heavy.

"No."

Johann's gaze wiped the smile from Edgar's lips.

"Why."

Under the dazzling crystal lights, Edgar tilted his head, eyes narrowed, asking languidly.

"For the reason you think."

Johann said quietly.

"Sounds like it wouldn't matter if not for that reason."

"Even then, the result would be the same."

"Why."

Edgar raised his glass and asked.

"Because I don't want it."

It was utterly arrogant and selfish.

Edgar couldn't hold back his laughter. Then, in an instant, his amused expression turned icy.

"Then. Try stopping me."

Staring into those ash-gray eyes—like his own but strangely tinged with blue—Johann had once suspected Edgar wasn't just an unofficial cousin by blood, but a half-brother from another woman.

A bastard born of a bastard. Edgar Langcaster Lancelot.

Those who knew the truth were long buried, so he'd live as Lancelot from now on. But Johann couldn't tolerate Olivia—whom he'd shared his bed with—getting entangled with him.

That was all.

"Do I seem generous to you."

A chilling aura emanated from Johann. Edgar didn't avert his gaze.

Olivia Blanchett.

A pawn to use and discard, but with her ex-husband provoking him like this...

He couldn't help but rise to the bait.

"Once more."

Edgar stood first.

"Happy birthday, brother."

Leaving his lazy smile in the light, Edgar crossed the drawing room.

He hadn't retrieved the watch, but he'd avoided a public scandal, so it wasn't a bad outcome.

In the spot where Edgar had vanished, a cool breeze carried the scent of roses.

"My love makes even your watch jealous."

The words from the birthday card resurfaced.

That was Olivia.

Like a fish flung ashore, flopping desperately as if it would die without air. A woman who thrashed as if she'd perish without his love.

That woman had changed.

Johann slowly tilted the champagne glass in his hand.

The chandelier light shattered across the rippling surface, settling like starlight on the wristwatch too.

Anne had returned.

Olivia's daily life returned to its peaceful rhythm.

"My love makes even your watch jealous."

To think he'd read that...

The embarrassing phrase popped into her head unbidden, heating her cheeks, but she could bear it.

It wasn't even her words, yet the shame fell entirely on her.

Each time, Olivia shook her head, trying to forget.

He wouldn't misunderstand it as lingering attachment, would he.

That, she couldn't endure.

No more thinking about it. Don't think. Don't...

"What are you thinking about."

"...Pardon."

A gentle voice snapped Olivia from her daze.

Startled, she looked at Edgar. His softly curved lips parted.

"Why so surprised."

"Ah... well. It's nothing."

Her hands, paused mid-slice on the veal tenderloin steak, resumed movement.

Edgar set down his wine glass slowly and peered deeply at the woman across from him.

Was she still bothered by the birthday gift he hadn't retrieved.

More precisely, was she thinking of Johann.

"We need to get your tournament outfit made. Any designs in mind."

Edgar changed the subject.

It was a quiet weekday afternoon at the Dumblin Club restaurant.

Her blue eyes sparkled as sunlight poured onto the deck.

"I do have something in mind."

The Dumblin Tennis Tournament was now just two weeks away. The weather was growing humid.

Olivia had trained intensely for three hours today too.

Her long skirt trailing to her ankles tangled around her feet, and the long-sleeved blouse reaching her wrists hindered movement, exhausting her further.

"Tell me."

Olivia pondered silently before lifting her clear eyes.

"...A bit."

Why the hesitation.

Her pursed lips were endearing, stretching Edgar's patience as he leaned forward, elbows on the table.

"A bit."

"Is radical okay."

The deep blue sea surface to the side reflected sunlight in silver gleams. Edgar's smile deepened.

Radical.

This summer, the Dumblin Championship would heat up with Olivia Blanchett's bold choice.

With massive profits to boot. No reason to refuse.

"How radical are we talking."

He nodded readily, a playful smile at the end of his question.

It was summer. She smiled radiantly, like the sun that seemed it would never set.

'Olivia.'

The salty breeze made her neat hair sway.

'No.'

Johann's voice echoed in his ears.

Was it really impossible. Edgar's gaze on her grew calm.

If she learned of his relation to Johann.

Then she wouldn't smile back at his affectionate grin as prettily as now.

"November 11th."

"Pardon."

Her unusually bright blue eyes blinked behind long lashes.

"My birthday."

Edgar laughed.

And the next day, the designer Edgar sent arrived at River House.

"... ."

Olivia couldn't hide her bewilderment.

"Long time no see. Miss Blanchett."

A woman wearing a hat with peacock feathers blending green and blue greeted her with a smile.

"What's different from last year's. Am I the only one who doesn't see it."

Annblin Grace Brita stared into the mirror and asked the designer Mitchum.

Such a stodgy design. She sighed involuntarily.

It was just a timid tweak to the material and details from Madam Lauren's previous tennis outfit—pathetic, even shameless.

"Since there's so much arm movement, we've emphasized elegance with frills on the cuffs and lace to—"

"Honestly, I don't like it."

"Pardon."

Mitchum's face flushed red at the blunt criticism.

The princess's secretary, maids, and friends were all present.

For Mitchum, from a respectable noble family with some renown, this public humiliation was a first.

She was a Royal Academy of Art graduate who'd held solo exhibitions as a painter.

She'd turned to design on friends' suggestions to create beautiful clothes with her aesthetic eye.

And anyone with taste could see it. How beautiful this outfit was.

Mitchum blinked rapidly, gazing at the skirt hem that fluttered like petals with the slightest movement.

"If you tell me exactly what you dislike, I'll revise it—"

"You."

The high-pitched voice dropped sharply, her imperious gaze fixing on Mitchum.

Startled, Mitchum shrank back, swallowing dryly.