Chapter 41

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 41

Chapter Title: Front and Back

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She might as well become a fallen lady. It was in that moment, hearing the doctor's advice about needing absolute rest, that Erna made up her mind. Rather than burden her grandmother with yet another shock from the convoluted truth, it was better to live with the misunderstanding of being a foolish granddaughter swept up in the city's debauchery, at least for now.

Erna let out a long sigh as she leaned her weary body against the window frame.

When she had rushed to the hospital and seen her grandmother unconscious, Erna hadn't been able to breathe properly for a while. Memories of the day she found her grandfather collapsed assaulted her, tightening around her throat like a vice.

Her grandfather had passed away on the floor of his study. Erna had been the first to discover him when she went to announce teatime. The cause was a heart attack. They said her grandmother had collapsed from the same strain on her heart.

What if it hadn't happened in the middle of a crowded city? What if they had arrived at the hospital just a little later? What if her grandmother's heart had been just a bit weaker? What if she suddenly departed like her grandfather one day, without a single word of farewell?

Even those hypotheticals brought a flood of tears. If it had truly happened that way, Erna never would have forgiven herself for the rest of her life.

Love your fate.

Erna reaffirmed the belief that had sustained her through life, pressing down on her burning eyes. She didn't want to sink into self-pity. These were the times when one had to be strong.

First, focus solely on her grandmother's recovery. Once she was well enough to travel long distances, they could return to Burford together. Then, use the money borrowed from Pavel to rent a place, forget this city entirely, and start a new life there...

"Absolute rest."

The doctor's advice flashed back, cutting short the desperate hope Erna had conjured.

Could absolute rest exist in a life of wandering from rental to rental, after losing the cherished mansion filled with a lifetime of memories?

Erna's gaze grew bleak again as she stared at her reflection in the window.

It would undoubtedly cause her grandmother great confusion. But what other choice was there? There was no path left to save the countryside home.

Should she have accepted Thomas Baden's proposal after all?

The thought that it might have been the easiest path made her feel endlessly pathetic and wretched. Her best efforts had led to an outcome worse than resignation. She didn't want to admit it, but the reality unfolding before her eyes was undeniable.

Standing frozen like a statue, Erna finally left the window as evening fell. The corridor outside her grandmother's room, once bustling with visitors coming to pay their respects, had now grown quiet.

Erna sat on a bench in the farthest corner of the hall and touched up her makeup. No matter how hard she tried, it didn't come out as neatly as Lisa used to do it. The more she fussed, the worse it got—like the reality staring her in the face.

Erna took a slow breath, suppressing the urge to wipe off the foolish attempt entirely, and rose to her feet. The lengthening evening shadows trailed behind her heavy steps toward the hospital room.

Before opening the door, Erna donned a smile like a mask.

Even crushed breathless by an overly vast and burdensome reality, she still wanted to love this life. Her smile brightened all the more for feeling ashamed of that very impulse.

Erna. Erna. Erna.

Even as the sultry summer waned past its peak, that name burned hot. Here and there, Erna. Tearing into that woman had become a frenzy bordering on madness, a kind of game.

Biern slowly opened his eyes, as if erasing the name echoing like tinnitus. The card game, now in its final rounds, was cooling off. Dawn had broken before he knew it, so that made sense.

Propped with his chin on the table, Biern stared absently at the thin streak of morning light slipping through the curtains. Erna. Just as that woman's name surfaced again amid the ones he'd heard more than his own over the past few days, the waiter entered. He set down the teacup with minimized footsteps and retreated just as quietly.

Biern lowered the hand rubbing his reddened eyes and grasped the cup. After sipping the bitterly strong brew, his foggy mind finally cleared. Erna. Her name sharpened alongside it.

Word was, she was still at the hospital tending to her grandmother.

If he cared about appearances, he might pretend to offer help. But Viscount Hardy seemed to have reached a point of utter resignation, completely ignoring Baroness Baden. The hospital bills were being covered by Pavel Roer—the painter she'd tried to elope with.

They're playing around.

Recalling the woman who had earnestly insisted he was like family, Biern let out a small chuckle.

Money doesn't lie, with overwhelming probability. No fool of a man wastes it on a heartless woman.

Friend, family, lover—whatever they were, Biern no longer cared. He planned to hand her the money she needed most in her desperation and end this game. If not for his father's absurd command and the scandal spiraling into its worst phase, he would have done it long ago.

When his turn came, Biern flatly played the card to end the game. Those already resigned accepted defeat without protest.

Victory.

Biern sighed away the fact that brought no particular joy, leaning deep into his chair and closing his eyes. Once the clamor of departing players faded, the clear stillness of early morning enveloped him.

"Hey, Biern."

Peter, the last one remaining, called cautiously. Biern responded with a slow nod.

"About Miss Hardy... I mean, she's not a bad woman, right?"

"And?"

As Biern opened his eyes and turned toward him, Peter flinched in tension. He might unwittingly provoke the prince, who was like a sharp-fanged beast, but ignoring it felt like too great a debt to Erna.

His mother, a self-proclaimed devotee of the living romance novel that was Rezen—cheering fervently for Prince Biern and Princess Gladys—had lately been pouring all her energy into slandering Erna Hardy. Grandmother, sister, even young nieces—all united to vanquish the sudden villainess.

The men were no different. Especially those who harbored ill will toward Biern but lacked the guts to confront him—they were unleashing all their pent-up malice on Erna. It was a relief that Biern wasn't sincere about her. If he had been, more than a few would have met a grim fate.

"I mean, maybe ease up a bit? That's the gist. If this keeps going, she'll really be beyond saving. It's pitiful, isn't it?"

Peter tacked on an awkward laugh, fumbling to gloss over the uncomfortable topic.

Biern neither affirmed nor denied, merely tilting his head to gaze at the ceiling.

The words people had flung at him over days of ears ringing with Erna Hardy's name were no different. Go easy. Though their reasons starkly differed from Peter's. Luise had even burst into the grand ducal residence, tearfully begging him to break it off with that woman.

The conclusion was Gladys.

Everyone except his father and mother—who had abruptly permitted Erna Hardy—and Leonit, who heard the news, shared Luise's longing. Wrap up that worthless woman and give us all the happy ending we crave.

That endlessly repeating refrain, destined to continue, suddenly bored Biern to death. This languid summer day, the pointless uproar, the days of his life laid out before him—everything felt that way.

With a sigh, Biern eyed his towering stack of poker chips through narrowed eyes. The face of a pure, innocent woman; filthy knights; the red-haired painter; Gladys—they flickered briefly atop it and vanished.

Even if Erna disappeared, the song wouldn't stop.

It would target another woman, then another. Not until he or Gladys remarried or died. Perhaps his father's absurd command to marry Erna Hardy stemmed from the same sentiment.

Well. There had been no love in the first marriage either.

Married without love, divorced without love. It wasn't that a political union excluded personal feelings. To Biern, love had always been meaningless.

Rather than that vague notion, he trusted simple, clear sensations and numbers. Good or bad. Gain or loss. He had no desire to indulge in the emotional luxury of prettily packaging them to deceive himself. Not with Gladys, nor any other woman. Erna Hardy was no exception.

So, just as he had married without love and divorced without love, there was no reason he couldn't marry again without love. As long as the benefits from her outweighed the costs.

So, what about Erna?

Biern focused quietly on the scale of his mind, with her name upon it.

The woman was beautiful. He gladly acknowledged the utility of time spent enjoying her. Even if it was a deficit-ridden, worthless ledger beyond that. But filling the grand duchess position would mean at least no more hearing Gladys's name. That peace felt worth enduring Walter Hardy for.

Adding and subtracting like that brought him back to square one.

Biern swept back his disheveled hair with one hand and picked up the top chip. Since it had started at the card table, ending it here wasn't bad. His irritation with this pathetic situation was mounting, and his patience had reached its limit.

Front and back.

Biern perfunctorily weighed each possibility, then tossed the chip high. Peter, about to leave the card room, halted and stared blankly.

The chip soared into the sparkling sunlight before returning to Biern's palm. As he slowly unfurled his fingers, the number appeared. Front.

Gazing down at the chip in his hand, Biern let out a scoffing chuckle and rose, grabbing his jacket.

"What are you doing, Your Highness?"

Peter asked with utter bewilderment.

"Settling it."

With that short, cryptic reply, Biern sauntered out of the card room.

The carriage carrying the grand duke veered onto a different path than usual. It headed toward the heart of the bustling city districts.