IJNSTH 26

❖ ❖ ❖ 26

Her body felt heavy, like cotton soaked in water. Vivianne slowly blinked, taking in her surroundings, and soon realized she was lying in bed.

When she heard footsteps approaching, she tried to focus on the voice above her head. Her mother’s voice came first, sounding as though she were speaking to Vivianne herself.

“Your father saw Count Colt off properly. He agreed that if both families can come to an understanding, he’ll approve the annulment. Apparently, he said you have a good eye for men—and that your way with words was anything but ordinary.”

Vivianne devoted all her strength to steadying her ragged breathing. Her mother continued.

“Still, I don’t know how this ‘mutual agreement’ will come about. He was very thorough. He said he wanted to see your face once before leaving, so I told him you’d fallen asleep while waiting—after returning from your walk and while the men’s conversation dragged on.”

At those words, Vivianne forced her stiff eyelids to blink. In her hazy memory, the day the agent left resurfaced faintly.

That day, when she discovered the agent’s identification in the inner pocket of his coat and ran for the stairs, she had already been too late. The only trace she found afterward was a single photograph—one that captured the image of a dead agent.

She didn’t want to lose anyone else. She didn’t want to be late again. So Vivianne pushed herself upright. Through her blurred vision, she saw her mother—and someone beside her. After blinking several times, she finally realized the person next to her was Ludvig.

Beyond them, the background of the room came into focus. Her room was welcoming her back once more.

When Vivianne’s gaze returned to her mother, her mother spoke again.

“Of course, the Count did express his wish to take you with him. But when I asked him to respect the proper procedures, he readily agreed and withdrew.”

Vivianne realized that the arrogant count—who never listened to anyone—had remembered and honored the words she herself had spoken. Her mother continued.

“He asked me to tell you he would return, and I said I would. I’m not trying to imprison you. If that man comes to see you, I’ll allow it. That is, of course, if you’re willing to cooperate for now.”

“…How am I supposed to believe that, Mother?”

“I know I can’t keep you confined for life. This time, at least, I’m certain of that. If you can’t trust me, then trust the promise Count Colt left behind—or trust your own determination to escape this place again, as many times as it takes.”

“……”

“I’ll leave the two of you to talk.”

Vivianne watched her mother turn away once more.

Her gaze shifted back to Ludvig. Sitting on the bed, he spoke to her.

“Mergo­ville. It’s been a long time since we talked like this. Did you enjoy your travels?”

As he spoke, he brushed Vivianne’s cheek with his hand.

“Even when you betray me, you’re still beautiful.”

When Vivianne avoided his touch, Ludvig let out a small, amused scoff and continued.

“But do you think the one who betrayed you still looks splendid in your eyes?”

She didn’t even want to respond. Vivianne turned her body away.

“Leave.”

“Have you ever thought about it? Every time you’re in danger, the same man appears—saving you in the exact same way. I found that fact rather amusing. So this time, I wanted to test it again. To see if he’d come to save you once more. To see if he’d come to keep you alive.”

“……”

“So I thought—why not try it this way?”

Ludvig grabbed her shoulder and turned her forcibly toward him.

“Don’t touch me. I’d rather go flatter the lord of the underworld than be held by someone like you.”

At that, Ludvig looked down and laughed.

“Mergo­ville.”

He called her name softly, then went on.

“Have you ever once tried to guess who the true master of this country’s underworld really is?”

“It’s Don Becalone.”

Vivianne snapped back, her eyes flaring. Anyone in the Empire knew that much. She couldn’t bring herself to accept what Ludvig was implying. Amused, he continued.

“You think someone holed up in his own mansion moves the world? Think harder, Mergo­ville. That’s not enough.”

“It’s not Edmund. I saw it with my own eyes—him showing my father the letter I wrote. I stayed by his side for days. I couldn’t have been mistaken.”

“Well. If you truly want to conceal the truth, you have to be willing to cut away even your own flesh. Don’t you think? So let’s start here. What if your Count Colt was that agent? What if the man who took you to the Salenner Hotel and shared a meal with you—was your savior?”

“……”

“Didn’t you notice anything while you were together?”

She wanted to deny it—but she couldn’t help recalling what she’d seen. The handwriting, identical to the agent’s. And the thoughts that had crossed her mind in the count’s estate.

His gentle, coaxing voice continued.

“And what if that agent was the very same person as the lord of the underworld?”

“……!”

“Of course, this is only a guess. It might be a foolish one. But wouldn’t it be worth testing?”

At Ludvig’s words, Vivianne’s heart began pounding violently. Because of the thought she’d had that very morning.

The count’s voice when he spoke Meccalenthian sounded familiar—almost identical to the underworld boss I’d heard at the Mirabolta Street pharmacy.

Over the course of a year, the count might have perfected the refined Imperial accent of a noble—but his Meccalenthian accent could have remained unchanged.

And then there was the matter of how he’d obtained the annulment papers. When she retraced the process carefully, the oddities were easy to spot. He claimed to be a businessman, yet he’d never explained what kind of business he ran, nor was there any public record of it. Then how did he possess such immense wealth? And why had he suddenly begun dealing with the underworld?

Unless it hadn’t been sudden at all.

Still, none of this was enough to make her speculation a certainty.

It was nothing more than an absurd hypothesis.

“Even if that were true, I have no intention of cooperating.”

Vivianne gathered her thoughts and snapped back at Ludvig. His voice followed.

“Even if he’s the man who tried to kill you?”

“……”

“You’d choose to die loving a man like that?”

At those words, Vivianne recalled the photograph she’d seen at the Metropolitan Police—and the many photos she’d glimpsed in the car driven by the branch chief, Harvey Cane Cole. Her hands truly did tremble when she thought of them.

But it was impossible.

This man had always said strange things.

She knew that—and yet her hands, resting on her lap, were shaking.

What if what he was saying was true?

What if the sense of déjà vu she’d felt around Edmund hadn’t been a mistake?

If that were the case—

Ludvig continued.

“Poor Vivianne Mergo­ville. You must have been so pitiful—that’s why he let you live.”

At those words, the voice she’d heard at the count’s estate overlapped in her mind.

“Pathetic, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Then… pitiful?”

“Yes.”

“……”

“Utterly wretched. Miserable.”

“I thought I wouldn’t live like this.”

“And yet?”

“When I look back, my entire life was a lie.”

A single tear dropped onto her hands.

No matter the moment, before him, Vivianne had always been the most precious and dignified of nobles. When he was an agent. When she’d struggled, branding herself as a strategist of the underworld to protect him. And even when they reunited, the last time, with him appearing as the prime minister’s son.

Without a doubt.

One tear, then another, fell onto the back of her hand.

The physical pain she’d endured when Edmund took her body—she could endure that.

She had wanted him. She had wanted to know him more.

But now, in front of this man, Vivianne had to brace herself not to collapse.

Ludvig’s voice pressed on mercilessly.

“Or is it because if I take you, I also take your secrets?”

No.

“At least one of the rumors the press loves to spread will turn out to be true now.”

No.

“A whore.”

Stop.

“A whore who sold both her body and her mind to the underworld.”

Vivianne trembled as she swallowed the surge rising in her chest. Ludvig lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“I’ve given women my body before—but never my heart. Unlike you.”

“……”

“Did you use protection?”

“……”

“I never once found you anything but beautiful.”

His fingers brushed away her tears.

“When you arrived early at the Salenner Hotel and waited for me. When you ran into my arms at the Metropolitan Police. When, on the day I gave you the ring, you stood at the Salenner Hotel, straightening my tie and proposing conditions—saying we should do better from now on.”

“……”

“I’ve been waiting ever since. Waiting for you to come back to me, and to keep your word…”

He took her hand and pressed it against his cheek.

Her tear-soaked hand tangled damply with his large one. Though her hand trembled, Vivianne remained frozen—neither resisting nor losing consciousness.

When he finally let go, Ludvig pulled out the annulment documents.

He tore them cleanly in two and tossed them onto the floor. The now-worthless paper fluttered down.

When one piece landed on his shoe, Ludvig kicked it aside without hesitation.

He continued.

“Did you know? The underworld boss—no, the Count—asked for the annulment in exchange for my release.”

“……”

“They claimed there was proof that I killed one of my mistress’s followers. But, Mergo­ville, that’s not true. You know I didn’t do it. That was the work of your count—the cold-blooded man without a drop of pity.”

“……”

“Now then, call the Metropolitan Police and beg them to spare you. I’ll call the Duke of Senowick’s estate—whom I contacted earlier—and tell them you arrived home safely. And to the duchess, who suspects something between you and Count Colt, I’ll say I confirmed there was nothing of the sort—and that you and I are leaving on a trip immediately. So, what do you think will happen?”

Vivianne didn’t answer, even though she knew.

So Ludvig kindly supplied the answer himself.

“If Count Colt is truly nothing more than a count, he’ll never appear at the Metropolitan Police. After all, it’s not the prime minister’s son who colluded with the chief commissioner—it’s the underworld. Isn’t that right?”

“……”

“But if the Count is, as I suspect, the lord of the underworld.”

Ludvig snapped his fingers in front of her face.

“Then His Excellency the Count—too pitiful to endure it—will appear and save you.”

Vivianne lifted her head defiantly and stared at him.

“No man would abandon his disguise just to save one pitiful woman.”

She was almost certain of that.

If Ludvig was right, the count was already a man who’d tried to kill her. And here was a beast who could erase her easily. Why would he ever appear at the police?

Her next words were nearly firm with conviction.

“Especially not someone as thorough as the lord of the underworld.”

Yet even so, Ludvig showed no sign of backing down.

“Well. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

He snickered.

“Even knowing everything with that clever head of his, he might still show up to save you.”

“……”

“Whether I share this amusing little truth with the Metropolitan Police depends entirely on how you behave. So? What will it be?”

Vivianne sat there for a long time. Ludvig watched her with the relaxed posture of a predator savoring eternity, as though he were perfectly content to wait.

It was instincts like this—and an extraordinary intellect—that had carried him from the depths to this very peak.

And even now, that hadn’t changed.

But Vivianne did not yield.

“I’ll remain your fiancée. I’ll walk into the Metropolitan Police on my own.”

Ludvig lifted his chin arrogantly, staring down at her. Vivianne continued.

“But leave the Count alone. This whole thing is because of me, isn’t it?”

Her voice trembled slightly at the end. She was doing what she’d always done—protecting the Count—yet this time, it felt strangely different.

“You’re clever.”

Ludvig’s voice was cold.