Chapter 8

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 8

Chapter Title: The Great Hill Lake Incident

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Diane entered the study and gave a light bow before approaching the red cherrywood desk where he sat.

A faint brandy scent lingered in the air.

The man, with two collar buttons undone and his shirt cuffs rolled up, was dashingly handsome.

Broad shoulders, muscles filling out the softly clinging shirt without a gap. Johann Leopold not only brimmed with masculine allure but also hailed from exceedingly noble blood.

He was poring over documents, the faint crease between his brows from intense focus somehow captivating. To lead such a pitiful life while married to a man this magnificent.

Tsking inwardly, Diane took a moment to admire Johann before opening her mouth.

"I have a report, Your Grace."

"Speak."

Without tearing his gaze from what he was reading, he replied dryly.

"Miss Olivia Blanchett's ordered dresses have arrived, along with the final payment invoices."

Only then did the man's smooth forehead turn forward. The tips of his thick eyebrows twitched faintly upward.

Diane wanted Olivia to stoke this man's anger even more.

She carefully placed the invoices neatly on the desk. Naturally, Johann's eyes shifted toward them.

Each one bore a figure larger than Diane's annual salary.

She sneered inwardly at the vulgar illegitimate child.

Stupid fool.

Diane despised that woman beyond endurance.

Thus, she had molded Olivia into a duchess oblivious to her station, indulging in extravagance. Opportunities for that abounded, making it all too easy.

In the end, her efforts had borne fruit: the two had divorced, leaving the duchess's position vacant. Now it was time to reap the reward.

Diane Leopold, Duchess.

Ah! What a sweet fruit indeed!

"How shall we handle them?"

Diane's voice carried a slight thrill of excitement.

"As usual."

The man merely turned his head indifferently, his gray eyes betraying no emotion.

She wanted to send the invoices back to Olivia, but bit her lower lip and held back. A paltry sum like this meant nothing to him.

Truth be told, she had something else she wanted to say today.

"Shall I tidy up the duchess's bedroom?"

A dense silence fell. The breeze from the window felt unusually chill for spring.

"No."

His gaze, heading back to the documents, returned to Diane.

"Later."

Johann's eyes briefly flicked to the stack of invoices before skimming the contract. At a glance, the duke's expression slackened into blank disinterest.

Diane, who wanted to erase every trace of that unworthy woman as soon as possible, gripped her interlaced hands and replied obediently.

"Understood."

There would be plenty of days ahead to clean an empty room.

For now, capturing this man's heart took precedence.

After his wife's secretary departed, the study fell into stillness. The slanting rays of the setting sun fell brazenly on the invoices that had intruded into the unoccupied space.

Johann lifted his head and quietly stared at them.

Seeing the remnants left by his impudent wife, who had demanded divorce, elicited a hollow chuckle. It hadn't been a smooth, meticulous divorce free of mishaps.

Quite the impulsive one, apparently.

Otherwise, there was no explaining these invoices.

His wife's behavior had become utterly unpredictable from some point onward.

Olivia Blanchett and Edgar Langcaster Lancelot, of all people.

According to today's report, the two had met. Coincidentally, of course.

Johann momentarily averted his gaze from them, placed a cigar between his lips, and drew deeply. The smoke unfurled slowly into the air. He reached out, filling an empty glass with brandy.

'Please divorce me.'

Amid the rich aroma of aged fruit brandy and the misty cigar smoke, his wife's clear voice echoed. The sunset filtering through the side window reflected in Johann's eyes.

He had thought she was living quietly without incident all this time. What perfect, arrogant delusion.

Johann tapped ash from the cigar and picked up an invoice with the hand that had set down his glass.

"......"

As he indifferently scanned the invoice from Madam Gabriel's boutique, Johann's gaze suddenly locked in place.

His narrowed eyes were cold and still.

The date in the order field grated oddly.

March 27th...

Johann fell into thought.

That was the day the prime minister announced his resignation. The sudden declaration had thrown all of Rondos into uproar. The royals had urgently summoned the king's faction leaders to fill the vacancy, and Johann, as a royal family member, had been called as well.

The meeting that began at noon dragged on until nightfall, when a messenger arrived from Great Hill.

Johann began recalling the events of that day one by one.

So, March 27th was...

The day Olivia had thrown herself into the lake.

He slowly closed his eyes.

Only now did the question arise.

Why.

The cigar burned down. No matter how he pondered, he couldn't fathom his wife's psyche.

Why on earth.

Would someone about to commit suicide order six dresses?

No.

It was an utterly unnatural act.

Then why.

Johann slowly opened his closed eyes and took a draw of cigar smoke. Exhaling a long plume, he rubbed his stiff eyelids.

The first time Olivia had harmed herself was on her birthday.

'Which is more important, me or your promise?'

When he said he couldn't have dinner together due to an unavoidable prior engagement, she had teary eyes, retreated to the bedroom, and slashed her wrists.

The second time was similar. On a day in August when summer roses were in full bloom near her birthday, the day he departed for a fortnight-long business trip.

She was obsessed with her birthday and needed him then. He hadn't understood his wife at all, dismissing her with indifference to avoid pointless arguments.

Yet this woman suddenly attempts suicide at an odd time for no reason, luckily survives, and demands divorce...

Something didn't add up.

What change of heart had occurred between ordering the dresses and jumping into the lake?

For the first time, curiosity stirred in Johann.

Was it something to do with Edgar?

Otherwise, there was no reason for her to run to him the moment she left my side.

After quietly examining the invoices for a while, Johann stubbed out his cigar and rang the call bell. Moments later, Morris entered.

"You called, Your Grace?"

"Investigate Olivia's movements on the day of the lake incident."

"Pardon?"

Stunned by the sudden order, Morris belatedly fumbled for his notebook.

"Everyone she met. Letters she received. Her every movement, without omission."

With eyes heavy with fatigue, Johann stated calmly.

"All of it."

His pale face turned toward the window. Beyond it, the familiar landscape was bathed in sunset. Far off, in the heart of the dense forest, the lake glowed an unusually vivid crimson today.

Under the clear morning sunlight, the thwack of a pale green ball crossing the net echoed across the hotel grounds.

"Thinking of it as my husband's face makes it all the more satisfying."

Though she had lost the first set to Olivia, Elaine's expression was bright.

Taking a brief rest, the two sat on a bench under the shade of a tree, sipping cool soda water. Olivia wrinkled her nose at the sharp lemon tang.

"When did you start playing tennis?"

Elaine asked, wiping sweat from her forehead.

It was public knowledge that Olivia Blanchett had been confined to the attic until she turned sixteen. For such a woman to have advanced tennis skills was suspicious indeed.

Elaine's question stemmed from pure curiosity, but Olivia felt a pang as if shot straight in the chest.

"After we married. ...I played often with my husband."

It was such an obvious lie that Olivia avoided Elaine's gaze, fiddling with the rim of her glass instead.

Unaware of this, Elaine simply took her for modest.

Rumors and gossip were unreliable after all. And to achieve this level just from occasional play. She clearly had innate talent for tennis.

"Why not enter the Dumblin tournament? You'd have no rivals."

The Dumblin tennis tournament was featured in every guidebook on the Britt Kingdom.

It was a prestigious event held for forty years since the Dumblin royal prince began hosting matches at his own tennis club.

"I'll consider it once my alimony runs out."

Olivia said, retying her disheveled hair.

"Your grandmother wouldn't approve."

Elaine chuckled playfully.

"Let's go to three sets."

"Sure."

The two rose from their seats and took positions on the court. Olivia's hair, gathered high in a ponytail, swayed against her nape. It was early morning in the crisp spring breeze—perfect weather for tennis.

It was Olivia's turn to serve.

Shouts echoed from early morning. Unlike the short, guttural grunts of competitive men driven by ambition, these didn't exactly preserve one's sleep either.

Ha!

Edgar buried his face deep into the fluffy pillow, his brow furrowing terribly.

Ha! Ha! Haa!

The peculiar noise infiltrating the dim bedroom tickled Edgar's ears.

Who the hell.

Lazy nobles never stirred so enthusiastically at dawn. As for hotel guests, most pulled all-nighters at the casino.

Uwaaah!

A beastly roar unfit for human lips, followed by cheerful laughter, invaded his space once more.

Damn it all.

Abandoning sleep, Edgar sighed and swore as he sat up.

His head throbbed as if splitting from the alcohol drunk until dawn.

With a loose robe draped over him, he shuffled to the offending window. Drawing back the heavy curtains let in a flood of light. He squeezed his eyes shut, blinked slowly, then opened them.

Beyond the red wall overgrown with ivy stretched a vast expanse of blue-green grass. On the tennis court, a woman bounced upward like an elastic rubber ball.

It was that woman he'd been seeing often lately—Olivia Blanchett.