INWY~23

Chapter 23

A white car glided into a small city in the southern region of Venachert. 

After driving a little further, it finally stopped at the seashore—the pride of this little city.

Click.

The moment Dante stepped out, he frowned against the glaring sunlight. 

The southern sun was nothing like that of the capital; it was blistering even in early spring.

“It’s quite warm for this season,” the driver remarked softly. The journey had taken over half a day, and it was just around noon now.

Instead of replying, Dante gave a curt nod, his eyes lingering on the salty, blue expanse of the sea.

And there, standing almost opposite him at the shoreline, was his resort. 

For now, the place was still empty, but soon this beach would transform into a bustling vacation spot.

The blue ocean, the luxury resort, the retreat of nobles. 

As the image of summer formed clearly in his mind, Dante’s lips curled upward in satisfaction.

He habitually pulled out a cigar, took a drag, and murmured,

“Not bad at all.”

“Yes, they say the people here are simple and quiet. It’s a small city, far down south.”

The smoke he exhaled quickly unraveled into the sea breeze. 

His gaze remained fixed on the crashing waves and the wide stretch of sand.

Everything was just as I envisioned.

To turn this place into a resort, he had spent years pouring his energy into it away from prying eyes.

He had gathered investors carefully, without ever leaving his name attached. 

He had chosen the city, opened the railway line, and even, two years ago, hired hundreds of laborers under false names from Sermar to begin construction.

And now, looking upon the sight before him, he felt not an ounce of regret for all the trouble he had gone through.

Just as he lifted the half-burned cigar to his lips again, his gaze snagged on a woman at a distant fruit stall. 

Her arms were laden with bags as she purchased fruit.

Wavy brown hair, a delicate frame, modest and unobtrusive steps—there was something hauntingly familiar about her.

Dante knew a woman who carried that same air.

“Your Grace?”

The driver’s voice snapped him out of his trance. 

Dante turned his head slowly.

“Is there a problem, Your Grace?”

Instead of answering, Dante cast one more glance toward where his eyes had lingered. 

His brows drew together, a thought surfacing—one he had never entertained before.

By now, the cigar between his fingers had burned down more than half.

Tch. 

He clicked his tongue, ground it out beneath his heel, and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“No. Nothing at all.”

“Shall we head to the resort, then?”

“Yes.”

Dante sank into the car seat, leaning back as his golden eyes fixed themselves on the vast sea outside the window.

Step, step.

Polished shoes echoed through the grand hall of the resort’s main building.

Laborers carrying in furniture looked up, their eyes widening in shock when they recognized the duke. 

But aside from exchanging quick glances—Why is His Grace here?—no one dared approach or speak to him.

His mere presence meant rumors would spread by nightfall: from today, this resort was connected to the Duke. 

But with completion only a month away, he hardly cared anymore.

Dante stopped at the center of the hall, slowly surveying the interior. 

Because it was built along the shore, enormous windows and balconies had been placed throughout, offering an unobstructed view of the sea.

Sunlight from the south poured in, casting a warm glow over the pale beige columns and walls. 

The natural light was abundant but not harsh, and Dante found himself satisfied.

Well done.

He was just turning his head when—

“Your Grace! You’re here!”

It was Calis, the man appointed as site manager. 

Dante’s eyes flicked to the rumpled state of his jacket, and Calis, instantly aware of what that look meant, rushed to straighten his clothes.

As the butler had said, the man had grown perceptive working here. 

Dante gave a dry nod.

“Prioritize heating systems and safety inspections.”

“Yes, Your Grace! Would you like to tour the resort now?”

“Later. The annex first.”

“Of course, I’ll guide you.”

Though clearly tense, Calis’s voice and movements showed no hesitation. 

He quickly moved to Dante’s side and began leading him with practiced ease.

He’s different from a year ago. 

Back then, he had been useless—unable even to file a proper report. 

Now, he was hardly recognizable.

“Haha! With Your Grace here, this resort finally feels complete!”

Walking beside Dante, Calis burst out in boisterous laughter, his words shameless flattery. 

Once he had trembled at every word—now he even dared to joke.

Unexpected. 

It seemed that after a year managing the project, he had learned to deal with the workers and locals alike.

“Quiet.”

“Ah—! Yes, forgive me.”

Calis instantly shut his mouth at Dante’s curt rebuke, and the rest of the walk to the annex passed in silence.

***

The next morning, Riena arrived at the café as usual. 

With a colleague not yet on shift, she finished the opening preparations herself, wiping down the cups she had washed the night before with a dry cloth.

Like warming up before exercise, this small ritual was how she always began the day.

“Good morning, Sharon.”

“Aah, I really didn’t want to come in today…! But here I am.”

At the sight of Sharon’s scrunched brows and sour face, Riena couldn’t help but laugh softly.

Perhaps because Sharon was six years younger, she felt like a little sister. 

And Sharon, for her part, always treated Riena as if she were her older sibling.

By the time Riena finished stacking the cups neatly, Sharon had already tied on her apron and uniform. 

Suddenly she skipped over to Riena’s side.

“Sorry I’m late, Riena. I drank way too much last night—I could barely open my eyes this morning.”

“Drank? You drink?”

“I’m twenty!”

Riena burst out in clear laughter. 

Sharon’s playful responses only made her more endearing, and Riena found herself teasing her often.

“All right. Go switch the sign, then.”

“Ugh, one day off every two weeks—it’s criminal, isn’t it?”

“Sharon, go.”

Pouting, Sharon dragged her feet toward the door. Watching her, Riena hid a faint, wistful smile. 

I’ve grown too attached…

“Riena, Riena!”

“Yes?”

Still squeezing the last of the cookie dough into a piping bag, Riena glanced up as Sharon dashed back into the kitchen, grumbling.

“You don’t have to do that! Just use a new batch!”

“It’s wasteful. And this way, it comes out to just the right amount.”

She shrugged, tapping the tray to pop the air bubbles.

“So, why’d you call me?”

“Oh—lemons. We’re out. I’ll run and grab some, so please watch the counter for a bit.”

“All right. Don’t run, take it easy, okay?”

“You always say that!”

Sharon puffed out her cheeks like a sulky child and darted out the door. 

Riena chuckled and slid the tray into the oven.

Ding.

The door chime rang just as she stepped out of the kitchen, announcing a customer. 

As always, she greeted warmly,

“Welcome.”

Untying the bow of her apron, she lifted her head—and froze.

Her breath caught. 

Her body locked rigid.

Her wide eyes trembled as they fixed upon the man before her.

“…You’re alive?”

Golden eyes, sharp and unyielding, gazed down at her. 

Her face had gone pale, trembling as if she were about to collapse.

“It’s been a while, Riena.”

At the sound of her name on his lips, Riena’s heart plummeted.

Her mind went blank. 

She shut her eyes tight, then opened them again.

But nothing changed. 

Reality was merciless.

That radiant golden hair, those pitiless golden eyes, that unforgettable face—right before her now.

Her ex-husband, the Duke of Venachert.

It was no dream.

Dante tilted his head slightly, his lips parting slowly.

“Answer me, Riena. Before I kill you.”

Though the words were violent, his voice was flat, devoid of all emotion.