Chapter 139
“What Drives Me Crazy”
Get a grip, Han Ji-an.
Olivia took a steadying breath as her chest heaved.
Her eyes, which had been flitting aimlessly, gradually calmed.
Standing silently at the door with quiet footsteps, Olivia tugged the end of her gown’s sleeve, wrapping her hand around the doorknob, and slowly opened the door.
The hallway was utterly silent, as if a mouse had been smothered. Only the uneven thump of Olivia’s anxious heartbeat broke through the darkness.
Closing the door behind her, she switched on all the lights in the room.
Clenching her fists and then letting them relax, she searched the now-bright space for any trace the culprit might have left.
Other than the ruined dress, not a single strand of hair remained.
Could it really be Clara?
As the shock slowly subsided, everything became confusing.
If it really was her… why?
What could she possibly gain from doing something like this?
Was it to ruin the portrait? Or to delay the production period while remaking the dress?
What was the reason?
Olivia stared helplessly at the ruined red dress.
The memory of Clara’s gaze and the way she had adjusted Johan’s posture when they had met earlier for the photoshoot overlapped with the shredded wedding dress.
Ah. A realization struck her, and a sigh escaped.
It was because of Johan.
Had her claim that she felt less than nothing when she first met him—a feeling weaker than that for a seabird—been a lie?
After all, no woman would refuse a man as extraordinary as Johan.
Even she had failed. The more she tried to push him away, the stronger the pull she felt.
Regaining her composure, her gaze drifted to the bedside table. The clock read 7:15 PM.
About an hour had passed since Olivia had entered the bathroom.
She had to find out who had been in her bedroom during that time.
Just as Olivia changed into her loungewear, there was a knock at the door.
“It’s Bessie, ma’am.”
Olivia cautiously opened the door at the housekeeper’s voice.
The housekeeper, who had been waiting for permission to enter, was momentarily taken aback but quickly masked it and reported her mistress’s return.
Some of Olivia’s tension eased at the news, and she headed downstairs with the housekeeper.
“Where is Miss Josephine?” Olivia asked as they walked along the long hallway.
“She should be in Ami’s bedroom. She requested dinner there, so it was sent up to her.”
“When was that?”
“Around 6:45, I believe.”
Olivia’s gaze darkened as she turned a corner in the hallway.
“Who delivered the meal?”
“Miss Josephine’s maid came down personally.”
“…….”
The chandelier’s bright lights from the central hall stabbed at her eyes.
Only then did Olivia realize she had left the dim hallway behind. She instinctively scanned for Clara among the servants, who were lined up as if measured with a ruler. But Clara was nowhere to be seen.
As Olivia descended the last steps of the central staircase, Johan entered through the front door.
Contrary to her expectation that he would be late due to a drinking engagement, he had finished dinner and returned immediately.
The measured click of his polished shoes on the marble floor stopped in front of her.
“You’re back?”
“Go ahead and rest first.”
Johan said, looking down at his wife’s pale face.
The sweet scent of wine lingered in the air. Olivia hesitated for a moment before speaking.
“There’s something you need to see.”
Johan’s eyes narrowed.
Olivia’s expression was unfamiliar. She had always appeared this way since the divorce, but now she looked particularly frightened, like a startled bird.
Her anxiety was palpable.
Standing before the bedroom door on the second floor’s west wing, Olivia dismissed the butler, the housekeeper, and Ann.
Left alone, the hallway’s silence fell heavily, like darkness itself.
“Don’t be surprised.”
Johan tilted his head slightly as he looked at Olivia.
Her calm eyes trembled behind tightly pressed red lips—a look of fear he had never seen, not even in the back alleys of Ritten Port.
“Open it.”
Sensing a strange atmosphere, Johan commanded briefly.
Olivia closed her eyes tightly, then slowly opened the mahogany-red door. She and Johan stepped inside, and the door shut behind them.
“What am I supposed to see?”
“……”
Johan’s gaze swept across the bed lit by bright lights and then returned to Olivia, who stood frozen.
Impossible.
Her wide blue eyes stared at the empty bed, paralyzed.
The bedroom was well-lit, yet Olivia felt as if darkness had swallowed everything.
Was it a dream? If not…
All the servants had greeted the master of Great Hill downstairs. Only two people—Clara and her maid—were absent.
“Olivia?”
Johan called softly to his wife, who stood as if in a trance. But she did not respond, her gaze fixed blankly on the bed.
He approached gently and rested a hand on her shoulder to meet her eyes.
“What’s wrong, Olivia?”
Finally, Olivia snapped out of her reverie.
“The… the dress… it was right here. It was torn, stained with blood, right here…”
She caught her breath, her heart racing faster.
“And now it’s gone.”
“……”
Their eyes met under the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Johan looked at her calmly, expressionless.
Was he thinking she had gone mad? Olivia gripped her trembling lips and clenched her limp hands.
“I’m serious, Johan.”
Johan furrowed his brows, trying to organize what his wife was saying.
His gray eyes slid past Olivia onto the crisp white bedding.
The bed, which had been a chaotic mess after their midday encounter, was now perfectly orderly—impossible to imagine any prior disorder.
His gaze swept the bed again and stopped on Olivia’s wide blue eyes.
“You don’t believe me. I swear it. I saw it. The dress was right there—”
After a quick look at the bed, Johan released Olivia’s shoulder and briskly crossed the attached sitting room, heading to the dress room.
Olivia, finally snapping out of the phantom of the red dress, followed him into the dress room.
“So what is this?”
“……”
Johan, standing between the open closet doors, turned to her.
In his hand was a shimmering silver-white fabric. His deep gaze settled calmly on Olivia.
She approached him as if spellbound.
“Look, Olivia.”
The sight was almost unbelievable. Her body trembled in the nightmare-like reality.
The familiar hem of the wedding dress, hanging neatly on its hanger, reflected the cold moonlight and stabbed her eyes with its pristine white.
Johan’s cold voice sounded again as Olivia reached for the dress.
“Did you take something?”
“……”
Johan’s slow blink carried a detached calmness.
Olivia looked at him slowly, as if staring into a bottomless darkness.
He doesn’t… believe me.
Swallowing hard, she stepped back.
Her hand, which had let go of the dress as if discarding it, now gripped her jaw. When he gently pulled her, their eyes met unavoidably.
“Answer me, Olivia.”
His gaze was cold, as if facing the wife who had made him shudder with drugs and alcohol.
“Do you think you imagined it?”
“I’m asking if you took anything.”
“No, I’m fine. I didn’t drink either.”
Olivia raised her voice, biting her pale lips and brushing his hand away.
Her mind felt like a blank sheet of paper.
Did I really see it wrong?
With Clara appearing and the tension building all day, perhaps her nerves had been on edge without realizing it.
She couldn’t shake the image of Clara groping Johan in the bathroom.
The more she was drawn to him, the more fearfully jealous she became.
Perhaps it was an illusion born from anxiety about a future that might end in death.
Or…
Had she actually taken something without realizing it, as Johan suggested?
Before entering the bathroom, she had drunk cold water from the tray Ann brought.
Someone could have laced it with something, causing hallucinations.
If not, perhaps this was a dream too.
Amid uncontrollable confusion, her mind spun in circles.
Slowly, Olivia reached for the bodice of the dress and buried her face in it.
“……”
A faint scent of roses lingered. Her own scent faintly clung to it.
It was fake.
If Olivia hadn’t imagined it, the torn dress on the bed was a fake.
Then who played such a cruel prank?
Clara.
No one else came to mind.
Clara had seen this dress for the first time today.
But if she had bribed the designer or the staff, Clara, with her ample resources, could easily have prepared a spare dress.
Perhaps Clara’s intent wasn’t simply to ruin the portrait or delay the work.
If so, she wouldn’t need such troublesome efforts.
She might want something like… to drive me crazy.
To make me appear insane, and ultimately be ousted from my position as Duchess. Perhaps that was what she truly wanted.
I have to find out.
Olivia dashed out of the dress room.
