Chapter 50

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 50

Chapter Title: A Relationship That's Already Over

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Olivia stirred awake in a daze and thought her heart had stopped.

Pale blue-tinted gray eyes were right in front of her. The man's large, firm palm cupped her cheek. Sleep vanished in an instant.

Am I going crazy?

No matter how tired she was, no matter how sleepy...

She hurriedly tried to pull away her no-doubt flushed face, but the gentle touch suddenly grew firm.

“!”

Unable to shake off the large hand, Olivia slowly lifted her gaze.

He had a look in his eyes she'd never seen before. One that made her want to flee in fear, yet also reach out and touch. It stirred a strange feeling.

At that moment, Edgar's sharp eyes curved softly. Her heart began to pound wildly.

Because the man drew so close their noses nearly touched. Because he leaned down as if to kiss her. Olivia reflexively pushed out her arms.

He caught her wrists. The spot burned like fire.

“Here.”

His lips hovered near her earlobe.

“Something's on it.”

A cool breath brushed her skin. A shiver raced from her head to her toes, and Olivia instinctively shoved at Edgar's chest.

“I-I'll... I'll get it.”

Olivia covered her face with both hands as she barely managed to speak.

“Not there. Here.”

The flustered woman was so adorable that he felt a playful urge.

Edgar grinned and pointed to his left cheek with a long finger. Olivia quickly rubbed her own left cheek.

“Here too.”

Unaware it was a joke, Olivia meticulously wiped her face wherever Edgar indicated.

Wiping here and there, it felt like her whole face was getting scrubbed.

Her already red face flushed even deeper from the friction, and she glared at Edgar.

Even if she'd drooled in her sleep, how could it reach her forehead?

“You're teasing me.”

Edgar burst into laughter he couldn't hold back. Johann's expression flashed in his mind, making it impossible not to laugh.

The sulky woman turned her head toward the window. Edgar stifled his chuckles.

The carriage raced over the Bizhen River. The bridge's ornate lights cast a shimmering glow across the water, sparkling like jewels.

Dazzlingly beautiful, just like the woman's eyes.

For a while after the carriage passed, Johann remained frozen in place.

Streetlamp light flickered over his wristwatch, gleaming then fading into darkness, over and over.

Johann slowly closed his eyes. His face was delicate yet somehow sharp.

'I love you, Johann. I like you so much.'

Recalling the woman who'd wept in his arms, his left chest grew heavy and dull.

He'd neglected her.

Diane Brooke bore some blame, but he'd given her the pretext by ignoring his wife from the start—he couldn't escape that responsibility.

And the result?

She no longer loved him.

That was Johann's conclusion after seeing Olivia with Edgar.

A relationship that had already ended.

That was their current reality.

Johann opened his eyes. His slow gaze took in Litton's nightscape. He clenched then unclenched his fist lightly.

It wasn't the right time to reclaim his mother's heirloom pink diamond necklace.

“To the hotel.”

His impassive face issued the curt order. The carriage turned toward its destination.

“You played so well.”

The coach fawned over Princess Annblin for her successful volley. Annblin gave a satisfied smile and said,

“Let's take a break.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Passing the bowing coach, Annblin headed to the parasol where her friends waited.

The hem of her white pleated skirt fluttered at her calves.

Annblin loved her new tennis outfit.

Unlike the long, flared skirt that draped to her ankles and restricted her steps, this one allowed free movement and felt refreshingly cool.

Handing her racket to a maid and sitting down, Catherine offered her a soda float brimming with ice.

The day had grown quite humid. Even sitting still on this sweltering summer day was tough—tennis was incomprehensible self-torment to Catherine, but she gladly cheered her friend on.

“Your tennis outfit is so pretty.”

At Catherine's praise, Annblin flashed a bright smile.

“I think this design suits me best. It's so fresh. It really fits you perfectly, Your Highness.”

One of the maids chimed in enthusiastically.

Madam Lauren's dresses were famous even in Rondos. After the Anne Juber necklace incident, everyone knew her name for various reasons.

Catherine owned a few herself.

“Since I'm in Litton, I was thinking of ordering some fall dresses from Madam Lauren. Could you arrange it later?”

The table's mood plummeted at Catherine's request.

Catherine noticed Annblin's faint frown. A nearby maid glanced at the princess before answering.

“That woman's now Olivia Blanchett's exclusive designer. It's outrageous.”

Clueless about the details, Catherine blinked her wide eyes and asked,

“Blanchett?”

“Yes. She's no ordinary schemer. The Marquis Lancelot, and now Madam Lauren too.”

“Maybe there's some circumstance we don't know about?”

The Olivia Catherine knew wasn't like that. They'd met only a few times, but she certainly wasn't the type splashed across the papers.

So she didn't believe it.

She lived a life where every move was tabloid fodder, so she knew how exaggerated it all was.

“Circumstance? Did you see today's paper? This is just so fake, it's laughable.”

The maids wore disgusted looks as they referenced the morning edition's article on Olivia Blanchett's good deed.

“An angel? Unbelievable.”

With the orphanage as backdrop, her frolicking with the children made it hard to tell who was the kid and who the adult.

She looked utterly immature.

“She's really going to enter the tournament, huh. I'd be too embarrassed to step outside. In a way, she's impressive.”

Catherine found the topic uncomfortable. She worried it might bother Irene, who was engaged to Johann.

“Princess of Krantz. You should be careful too, Your Highness.”

Irene, who'd been quietly listening, lifted her half-lowered eyelids and met the maid's gaze.

“I heard from my husband yesterday that the carriage carrying the Duke headed not toward the hotel, but the opposite direction.”

“Probably to his residence. No way.”

Someone waved it off.

“It wasn't Winston House either.”

“Then, no way?”

“He said he had prior business with an important associate.”

Irene quashed the suspicion with a single stroke while sipping her tea silently.

The noblewomen's pitying glances irked her deeply—rude and unpleasant.

“So, have you picked your dress?”

Catherine asked Annblin, deftly changing the subject after gauging Irene's mood.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?”

Catherine exaggerated her surprise at Annblin's reply.

“The opening party is tomorrow!”

“I've narrowed it to three. I like them all. Will you help me choose, Catherine?”

“Leave it to me.”

Catherine clapped like a schoolgirl, giggling. For ladies, selecting a dress was as thrilling as encountering first love.

“Will that woman come too?”

“Crazy. Why show up to her ex-husband's hotel opening and humiliate herself? Especially with Your Highness here.”

A noblewoman snorted midway, then spat venomously.

The painstakingly shifted topic swung back to Olivia Blanchett.

Catherine sighed softly. Litton's biggest obsession seemed to be Johann's ex-wife.

“Who knows. She might show up boldly on Marquis Lancelot's arm. You know, to show off. She's the type.”

“Now that you mention it. She craves attention. Better than orphanage volunteering for sure.”

Annblin paused as she set down her glass and wiped condensation from her fingers with a napkin.

Her amber eyes slowly darkened.

“She won't come. She's not that lacking in propriety.”

Catherine said patiently.

At that instant, camera flashes exploded in Annblin's mind.

If she doesn't come...

I'll make her.

Annblin wore a quiet smile.

Noon sunlight slipped under the white parasol, catching her hair blowing gently in the breeze and glowing red.

With an elegant gesture, she swept back her high ponytail.

The day Litton's high society and press would be watching.

There could be no greater humiliation.

Johann attended an official luncheon with Britt's king, then met him privately afterward.

The king welcomed Johann warmly.

Thanks for contributing to Britt's economic growth—standard, predictable praise was exchanged.

Then they delved into the main topic, a minor argument leaking faintly beyond the door.

Soon the conversation flowed naturally, and with an agreement on tariff reductions conditioned on building a factory domestically, Johann left the audience chamber satisfied.

Morris promptly handed him a letter sealed with red sealing wax.

“From the Krantz princess.”

I have something to discuss.

The elegant, neat handwriting requested a brief visit before his departure.

Heading to the rear palace, Johann encountered Irene strolling the gardens.

“Do you have a moment?”

It seemed less coincidence and more her waiting. Johann tilted his head slightly to check his watch.

“Of course.”

“Then. Shall we walk a bit?”

Irene extended a hand to her maid, who handed over a parasol. A signal not to follow.

The two walked silently along the quiet path. Late afternoon's golden sunlight dappled their feet.

Only their footsteps echoed on the stone pavement in the stillness.

Why drag this out? What does she want to say?

Her silence grated on Johann's languid nerves.

As they neared the grand fountain with its white foam cascading, Irene finally parted her lips slowly.