❖ ❖ ❖ Chapter 35
Strange. No one should be coming at this hour.
Vivianne tilted her head in confusion. Come to think of it, a childhood memory surfaced. The first time she met Madison had been just like this—footsteps of servants moving through an otherwise quiet house.
Soon, voices rose from downstairs. Vivianne, who had been sitting quietly listening to the radio, stood up and walked toward the door.
She took one step at a time, wondering who might be standing on the other side.
On a day when the rain is pouring down like this, too.
When she reached the foyer, the scene matched her memory perfectly: maids standing there, just as they had that day long ago. And between them—
Edmund.
Vivianne honestly felt like rubbing her eyes.
It really was the man she remembered, but today he was drenched from head to toe. He had looked exactly like this when they’d shared their first kiss. The thought crossed her mind that maybe he had planned it this way, and the realization made her feel a little resentful. When their eyes met, Vivianne instinctively took a step back.
No.
He was dangerous.
Like the rain soaking his body—or like the blood flowing through his veins—he was cold-blooded.
If just seeing him shook her heart this much, she should never have met him again. And yet, the mansion was filled with his people, leaving her no way to stop him from coming.
He walked toward her in steady strides, took her hand, and guided it along his own neck, letting her brush away the water dripping down his skin. It felt as if the pulse at her wrist transferred through the place where their skin touched and began to flow there instead.
At the same time, his hand found her pulse. When he lifted her hand and tilted his head, half his face settled into her palm.
“I missed you, Vivianne.”
The words slipped from his lips the moment their eyes met.
He clasped her hand properly and pressed a kiss to the back of it.
“Edmund… no. Count. You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why not?”
As Vivianne twisted her wrist to pull away, Edmund laced his fingers through hers so their palms pressed together. His hand was ice-cold; hers was warm.
Shaking her head, Vivianne spoke.
“I returned the ring. That means it’s over. There was never any agreement between our families.”
“Do you know your fiancé is after me?”
Edmund said calmly, looking straight into her eyes.
“I’m hiding.”
“……”
“So you should hide me.”
Vivianne clicked her tongue at the sheer shamelessness of the man in front of her. She wanted to refuse, but forcing someone out into the rain felt cruel—and in truth, she bore some responsibility for how things had turned out. She couldn’t bring herself to reject him outright.
Still, she didn’t want to get tangled up with him again. As she hesitated, he continued.
“Didn’t I let you stay at my estate several times? At the count’s residence. At the duke’s. Even that vil—”
“Follow me.”
Vivianne cut him off sharply and turned away. The villa, at least, was something she had to stop him from saying out loud. She didn’t want the servants to gain even the slightest hint of his true identity.
Why was it?
She knew abandoning him and submitting to Ludwig was her only remaining option. And yet, when the moment of choice actually arrived, she hesitated.
Edmund followed her, stepping on her shadow as she walked ahead. The servants exchanged glances, but no one stopped them.
One faithful butler reached for a nearby telephone, but a tall, broad-shouldered gardener blocked him and firmly pressed the receiver back down.
He was someone who had joined the estate not long ago, assigned by higher authority to redesign the front garden.
As Vivianne wondered why that man had been brought in, she accepted the uncomfortable truth: she felt sorry for Edmund.
She had unintentionally provided the clue that exposed his flawless disguise.
So now, by his own words, he was a fugitive being hunted by Ludwig.
Vivianne led him to her room and handed him a dry towel.
As she struggled to drag a chair over to the fireplace so he could dry himself, he casually went over and lay down on her bed.
She could change the sheets and blankets later, of course—but she was still irritated.
Did he really think he could behave this freely in her home?
He tried to light a cigarette, but it was soaked and wouldn’t catch. Seeing that, Vivianne softened again. She told him to wait, then went to her father’s room.
She returned with a bottle of high-proof brandy and an elegant glass.
Handing them to him, she said,
“You can’t stay long. I wish this were my house, but technically, it’s my father’s.”
She then moved a chair herself, placing it far enough away from him to sit at a distance. Normally she’d have a servant do it, but she wanted to speak with him alone.
Besides, when he’d pretended to be an agent, hadn’t he sneered at her aristocratic airs? If she called a servant just to move a chair now, his reaction was obvious.
So Vivianne sat down and watched as Edmund warmed himself with the strong alcohol.
“Is it because I was rough with you?”
He looked at her over the rim of the glass.
Vivianne flinched. She couldn’t tell whether he meant their first time together—or his overall treatment of her. If only that were the reason she’d distanced herself from him, how easy things would be.
She thought he was an agent. He wasn’t.
She thought he was a count. He wasn’t just a count.
She didn’t even know what he wanted from her now.
Was he here to target again the woman he’d failed to eliminate on Coleman Street?
Was it pity? Or some lingering interest, like the fire that broke out at the count’s estate at dawn that day?
Whatever it was, she would never be fooled by his lies again.
She would show only the bare minimum of courtesy—then send him away.
As if he could read her thoughts, the count raised both hands slightly.
“I’m powerless.”
“……”
Vivianne let out a silent exclamation. What is his real face, then?
He continued quietly.
“But I still came because I needed you.”
Something about him looked lonely, and Vivianne found herself approaching him cautiously. She perched beside him where he leaned against the headboard and loosened his vest, checking for injuries.
His shirt was clean. She even searched his pockets—there was nothing.
“You’re always careless when someone searches your pockets.”
He laughed softly. He didn’t seem offended at all, which somehow made her feel worse—like she was the one who needed comfort, not him.
After stirring her emotions in the garden, now he was saying things only the agent in her memories would know.
She recalled what he’d said that day at the drawbridge, when they parted.
“Why are you so careless? First the cigarette lighter, now your pockets. What if the case hadn’t been in that pocket? Were you planning to search the other one? There’s nothing there—you could’ve checked comfortably.”
Her nose tingled, eyes reddening. She turned her face away, but it didn’t help. Suddenly, she struck his shoulder with all her strength.
It hurt her hand more than him.
Breathing hard, she snapped,
“…Were you having fun all this time?”
“Vivianne.”
“I asked if it was fun.”
“……”
“You knew everything. You knew I liked you. You knew I missed you. You knew all of it.”
“Vivianne Mergoville.”
He reached out to wipe away her tears, but she slapped his hand away.
“Then how dare you come see me? You shouldn’t do this. You really shouldn’t.”
“……”
“Say something. Anything.”
“I’m sorry. So don’t cry. Please.”
Vivianne shook her head, wiped her tears roughly with her own hand, and stared at him with hardened eyes.
“If you’d just told me the truth back then—when I called your name in the count’s bed—I would’ve forgiven you. Because I missed you. Because I wanted to see you. Because every day the longing ate at me until I thought I’d go mad.”
“……”
“If you’d said you missed me too, that you came back and saved me because of that, I could’ve forgiven anything. I was so weak then.”
“But now—”
“To me, you’re nothing.”
She said it colder than she ever had.
Edmund’s brow furrowed slightly, but Vivianne went on without caring.
“You’re a terrifying man who might be here to deceive me with sweet words—and kill me again. And I keep my promises. Engagement or love, I won’t do either with you.”
“……”
“We don’t trust each other. You didn’t tell me who you were because you thought I’d expose you. And even now, honestly, I’m afraid you might kill me with those hands.”
“……”
“And I pity you.”
As she said it, Vivianne cried.
Not because she felt relieved. Not because she truly pitied him.
But because she realized the one who had always seemed pitiful—to him—was herself.
She wanted to tear into his heart like this, but when she saw his unshaken face reflected in his eyes, she felt she was the one at an emotional disadvantage.
“The fact that you fell in love with me is what’s pitiful.”
“……”
“So I sincerely hope you’re ruined. That my fiancé finds your weakness.”
For a moment, Vivianne wondered—if she truly pitied him, or truly wanted her fiancé to punish him, would she have said that?
After all, she had just told him that Ludwig Rex was actively digging into his past.
At last, Edmund moved. He rose from the bed, leaned close to her tear-streaked face, and asked,
“Cute. Who taught you to talk like that?”
Vivianne turned her head, pressed her index finger firmly against his chest, and said,
“Hey.”
“Hey?”
He crookedly smiled, his handsome face full of disbelief.
Irritated even by that, Vivianne dropped honorifics entirely—even though he was eight years older and the head of the underworld.
“Well, you talk casually to me, so I can too.”
“……”
“So listen carefully, Count. We’re over.”
Her finger pressed harder between his solid chest muscles.
“No matter how much money you have.”
She poked him again.
“Use it to amuse yourself alone. I don’t care.”
“……”
“I’m going to marry my fiancé.”
Silence fell as Vivianne faced Edmund.
He leaned against the bed, her head tilted toward him, her shadow cast over his body. As he gazed at her hair spilling down toward him in rapture, he finally spoke.
“…You’ve got more bruises.”
“Then stop worrying about me, Count.”
At her words, Edmund’s eyes softened in a way few had ever seen. If Icarus or his subordinates saw the gentle curve of his smile now, they’d be stunned.
He reached out and slowly traced her cheek with the back of his fingers, from knuckle to fingertip.
Lifting his head, he leaned in. Vivianne flinched—but didn’t pull away.
He shook his head slightly, followed her retreating movement, and kissed her softly.
Now Vivianne sat at the edge of the bed, and he leaned over her, holding her lips. When he pulled back slightly, her eyes trembled.
He leaned in again and gently stole another kiss.
As he teased her lips again and again, her body finally shuddered in response. His tongue traced her lips and slipped inside, brushing her neat teeth until her jaw trembled open.
Delighted, he captured her yielding softness, slowly but intensely—like a snake digesting its prey.
The scent of whiskey mixing in their wet mouths came from him; the sweet cherry dessert flavor belonged to her.
Edmund’s hand gripped her jaw. She tried to evade his tongue, but was caught, rubbed against, restrained. When their lips parted even briefly, a soft, breathless sound escaped her.
The heat between them was stronger than ever.
Eyes closed, he explored her palate, teeth, tongue, and inner cheeks like a starving beggar, savoring every place where their skin met.
Eliminating Ludwig Rex—this woman’s fiancé—was something he could arrange without lifting a finger.
But he missed moments like this. Longed for them.
So he did something insane again right in front of her.
Spoke words he’d never said in his life—I’m sorry.
And even the way his woman acted stubbornly looked lovely to him.
How desolate and lonely would a world without you be?
The thought struck him suddenly. Could he endure a whole day there? Half a day?
When the Langston limousine carrying her had exploded on Coleman Street, he’d felt something similar. He remembered bringing a gun to his own head without hesitation. Cigars had lost their flavor; alcohol no longer soothed or colored his mind like this.
Thinking that she had endured those days alone made emotion surge in his chest.
Yes—emotion.
It was something he was feeling for the first time.
When he sensed her breathing grow ragged and realized the kiss was becoming too much for her, Edmund slowly pulled away and looked down at Vivianne, who stared at him with confused eyes.
Seeing her face made everything clear.
He finally understood what the one thing he’d always lacked was.
Something that formed his world.
A light that had changed his life.
Warmth like this.
With that thought settled, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. To her eyes, nose, chin, cheeks—then once more swept over her lips as if drinking her in.
Quietly, he called her name in his heart.
Vivianne Mergoville.
“…I’ll never trust you, Count.”
My woman.
“Never. If you think this will change anything—mm.”
My emptiness.
My salvation called emotion.
At the same time, at the residence of the Chairman of the House of Nobles.
“Do you know what brings down underworld scum?”
All eyes around the reception room table turned to Ludwig.
The Marquis of Mergoville and his wife, the Chairman of the House of Nobles, and even the secretary—all watched him. Ludwig continued.
“Women. Money. If you thought it was gang wars, you’re wrong.”
His secretary stepped forward and refilled his whiskey. Ludwig took a sip and went on.
“Taxes.”
The Marquis’s wandering gaze showed his confusion, but the Chairman looked at his illegitimate son with interest.
Ludwig continued.
“In the New Continent’s great power, countless gang bosses were arrested over tax evasion. Blood feuds and codes of silence meant nothing before it. No matter how meticulously they ran their businesses, they always lacked the intellect to deal with taxes—and that’s how they were caught.”
“……”
“Count Edmund Colt resolved the tax issues of a New Continent crime boss—formerly Icarus’s employer—to recruit Icarus as his legal adviser. That’s why that boss alone survived and now rules the New Continent. And Edmund Colt is his godson. The actress incident was probably handled by him as well. He has connections in the film industry.”
“So,” the Chairman asked, arms crossed, “the Count used that power base to begin ‘business’ in Daartro?”
“Yes. The investment bank he worked for was the most prestigious in the New Continent—perfect for tracking cash flow. He saw how defense industries could be exploited for fast money.”
“That would’ve been around 1924.”
“Yes, Father. And in 1925, when the Empire was drowning in national debt and citizens suffered under tax laws, the Count recognized the perfect time to act. He reportedly built connections at social parties with Icarus and his lawyers.”
The Chairman flipped through the report, scanning the names of those Edmund Colt had approached.
“Arms industry tycoons.”
“Yes. He spread word that the Daartro Empire prohibited gun manufacturing even for domestic use—and claimed he could export their weapons. For companies edged out of lobbying battles, there was no sweeter offer.”
“They were desperate to sell guns.”
The Chairman muttered. Ludwig nodded.
“Exactly. His targets were smaller firms pushed out of competition. Using his investment banking connections, the Count placed his people among their executives.”
“And after that, history as we know it. Whenever underworld forces grew, the Daartro cabinet cleaned the streets—until Count Colt intervened.”
“The timing aligns perfectly.”
By now, the Marquis of Mergoville had turned pale. He realized exactly what kind of man his daughter had been involved with.
He clenched his fist under the table. Noticing, the Marchioness gently placed her hand over his knee.
The Marquis’s eyes burned with fury. He would never allow his daughter to end up with that count. If she wouldn’t listen, he would discipline her as he had when she was young.
“Oh—my apologies. I momentarily forgot you were here.”
The Chairman turned to the Marquis.
“It’s nothing,” the Marquis replied calmly. “We’re grateful you called us to preserve the engagement.”
“On the contrary. Thanks to your daughter, my son solved this nation’s greatest problem.”
The Chairman laughed heartily, but the Marquis’s expression remained tense.
That old fox.
He was subtly condemning his daughter for impropriety while praising his own son.
Knowing this, the Marquis still answered with aristocratic composure.
“I’m glad she was of some help to the great House of Rex.”
“Well then, with both families valuing one another, there’s no reason not to become in-laws, is there? Don’t you agree, Marchioness?”
“…Yes.”
Her voice was cold.
The Chairman wrapped up the meeting briskly.
“With such an outstanding son, I trust you’ll accept him with an open heart. May I assume so?”
The Marquis’s face darkened. It was a clear warning: his pride would no longer be tolerated.
He raised the white flag.
“You have my word, Chairman.”
“Thank you.”
The Chairman left with his secretary.
“Father-in-law. Mother-in-law.”
All eyes returned to Ludwig.
Smiling elegantly, he said,
“I look forward to being your son-in-law.”
