EID 30

30. Fall

In the dead of night, past midnight, a black two-wheeled carriage that had left Great Hill headed toward Longbone Street.

Diane stepped down from the carriage, tightly wrapping herself in a black cloak as if she wanted to disappear into the darkness. The back alleys of the slums, where even the moonlight was veiled by clouds, were eerily silent.

Perhaps the sound of the carriage alerted someone—before she could even knock, the door opened from the inside. As Diane quietly entered, the door shut firmly, and the window from which light had leaked was covered.

A storm seemed to be approaching from the coast. The old wooden doorframe and window rattled loudly in the wind. It was a grim night.

Diane took a few steps inside and grimaced, covering her nose. The stinging scent of vinegar pierced her lungs.

“They’re just giving these pieces a bit of shine. This way.”

The man shoved aside some vinegar dishes and the pile of shabby jewels brought in as stolen goods, motioning to a chair with a nod of his chin.

“The goods?”

“You’re always in such a hurry.”

The man bared his yellowed teeth and went behind the workbench, returning with a small bundle.

“Here.”

He unwrapped the cloth and laid out the contents on the table. Since they were glass, prone to scratches, he had handled them even more carefully than real gems.

“So? Are you satisfied?”

The man, a scar running long across his eye, smiled slyly. Diane’s lips curled slightly as she looked over the replicas.

She picked up the replicated sapphire ring with gloved fingers and held it up to the light. It was impressively intricate—better than expected.

Even a princess who’d grown up surrounded by priceless jewels would find it hard to tell the difference.

She had been so certain they would be hers.

That thought pierced her heart like a sharp blade. The pain and bitterness stung.

All because of Olivia Blanchet. That stupid, illegitimate wretch.

The thought that Olivia would take the fall when this scheme was uncovered brought her some small comfort.

“Finish this within two days.”

Without so much as a word of praise, Diane gathered the items and lifted the bag from her lap.

Thud.

A sound rang out. Diane, startled, dropped the bag. The candlelight inside the glass cover flickered wildly from the wind sneaking through the door crack.

In the wavering light, their shadows danced like ghosts on the wall. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the wind stopped, and an eerie silence filled the air.

“What was that?”

Diane’s voice trembled slightly.

“Probably my wife falling out of bed again. Don’t worry about it.”

The man grinned and placed the fallen bag back onto the table as if it were nothing.

He undid the silver buckle and had just begun to open the bag when—thud!—another sound came from the back of the house. Louder this time.

“What’s wrong with that woman tonight?” he muttered, scratching his thigh.

“That sound wasn’t from upstairs.”

Diane, her nerves fraying, snapped irritably.

Even the rattling window sounded like it might rip off the wall, freezing her heart in place. Something about tonight was wrong. Anxious. Off.

“It’s always the back door on nights like this. Damn thing’s so rotten, it’s a miracle it hasn’t blown clean off.”

The man chuckled, reaching into the bag.

Diane grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“Go check.”

“Oh, come on. I told you, it’s nothing—”

“What if it’s the police?”

Diane’s sharp glare made the man sigh and wipe his nose.

“C’mon, the black dogs wouldn’t dare come around here.”

The man was under police protection.

On Longbone Street, where petty criminals gathered, the fact that he’d never once landed in the notorious Bastar Prison was solely due to the hefty bribes he paid.

So, it couldn’t be the police—could it?

“Check. Yourself.”

Diane remained firm.

“Damn it,” he cursed and stomped off begrudgingly.

Her heart pounded erratically. Diane had a sharp instinct, and now it was screaming at her: Danger.

She clutched the bag tight to her chest and watched the man disappear into the dark. She rose from her seat, ready to flee at any moment.

He scratched his belly and stopped at the foot of the stairs leading upstairs. Faint snores from his wife drifted down.

‘Must be nice, sleeping while I’m up working.’

He just wanted to wrap up this job and crawl into bed.

He rubbed his nose with a finger and turned toward the kitchen door next to the stairs, grabbing the handle.

As he slowly twisted it, the rusted hinges let out a long, creepy creak. Raising a lamp, he lit up the darkness.

Sink. Old cupboard. Pantry. Cast iron stove. The table in the center came into view, bit by bit.

See? Nothing.

Just as he’d suspected, the old side door behind the table was flapping from the wind. It was an emergency escape door he’d installed roughly, just in case.

“Not a soul in here!” he shouted mockingly and turned to leave the kitchen.

CRASH!

The back door suddenly burst open.

The man whipped around in panic as multiple lights flooded in.

“Don’t move!”

A silver star gleamed from black caps in the darkness.

Damn it. The RONDOS police.

“You bitch! You brought the black dogs!”

Panicked, the man hurled the lamp at the officers.

Crash. The oil lamp shattered on the table, and the flames immediately consumed the tablecloth.

In seconds, the quiet house turned into chaos.

“Run!” the man shouted, bolting up the stairs.

But Diane was already gone.

She had frozen in fear at first, but the moment the door crashed down, she’d leapt from the chair and sprinted toward the front door.

I can’t get caught here.

Her breath tightened in her chest. Everything was unraveling.

Clutching the bag of jewels, her trembling hands fumbled with the lock. Behind her, the man screamed for her to run. The triple latch wouldn’t budge.

Please!

Her breath came in gasps. Sweat soaked her back.

Please, hurry—

Finally unlocking the last latch, she shoved the door open and burst outside.

A fierce wind swirled around her like a vortex. She instinctively shut her eyes. As she blinked, adjusting her sight to head for the carriage—her heart dropped.

“!”

No.

Under the pitch-black sky, she saw red embers glowing. A man leaned against the carriage, slowly exhaling smoke from a cigar. The smoke twisted upward like a dream.

Why.

Why are you here?

Diane broke out in goosebumps. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably.

She hoped—prayed—that this was a nightmare. It had to be. But it wasn’t.

Johan Leopold.

Incredibly, he was standing right in front of her.

Her legs gave out and she collapsed to the ground. The hem of Johan’s long coat whipped in the wind as he stepped away from the carriage and approached with lazy steps.

Get it together, Diane. It’s not over yet.

“…D-Duke.”

Even cornered, she calculated her chances of survival. It was instinct.

*

A cold splash jolted Diane awake. She had lost consciousness during the interrogation after being slapped across the face.

How long had she been here?

In the darkness, the flickering light of a small lamp on the table came into view. As her vision cleared, the terror only grew more real.

It wasn’t a dream.

She was still cuffed to the chair, her soaked hair dripping water onto the floor. Overwhelmed with despair, her mind almost shut down.

Only one thing had changed: Johan had come.

He pulled a chair up and sat across from her. He crossed his legs and brought a cigar to his lips. The tip glowed red between his black gloves. As always, he was immaculate.

Diane, on the other hand, looked wretched.

Wet hair clung to her forehead and cheeks. Her mascara had smeared black around her eyes. Her cheeks were swollen, her lips cracked from a hit. She looked worse than a drowned rat.

She was humiliated, but she didn’t avert her gaze. Her head throbbed, but she forced herself to focus.

This was her last chance.

“D-Duke…”

Each word hurt—her lips stung every time she spoke. Like a tortured victim, Diane wore an agonized, pitiful expression. Tears welled up in her eyes.

But Johan’s stare remained emotionless.

“I didn’t do it. The truth is… ngh—”

Pain shot through her swollen cheek. Her dry, cracked mouth throbbed.

“Your Grace…”

Her voice shook with emotion.

“I was being blackmailed… by the Duchess.”

As she spoke, she finally released the tears she had been holding back. They spilled over her handcuffed hands in a steady stream.

“I—I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

She lowered her head, body trembling slightly.

Then—a sharp wave of cigar smoke hit her nose.

Curious about Johan’s reaction, Diane slowly lifted her head. Their eyes met—and she shivered.

In the depths of his gray gaze, she saw nothing but icy contempt.

Johan ground out the cigar in the ashtray. With graceful hands, he loosened his tie and unfastened the top button of his shirt.

“If you want to leave here alive—”

His low murmur echoed through the interrogation room.

Diane’s face twisted in horror.