“…Who the hell is that woman?”
Anneblin bit her red lips.
That woman.
Edgar slowly closed his eyes. After a deep breath, he opened them again, gaze steady.
“Checkmate.”
His patience finally spent, Edgar murmured in a low voice.
“So tell me. Where is she?”
The Lancelot family’s officially sponsored player had been targeted—an unforgivable act. His rage was more than justified.
By the time the carriage had left the city and was running along the riverside, it began to slow.
It came to a complete stop.
Surprised, Olivia lifted the curtain slightly. It wasn’t her home.
“What’s going—mmph!”
Just as she turned toward the side window to speak, a large hand clad in black leather gloves thrust in and clamped over her mouth.
“Mmmph!”
It all happened in an instant.
She tried with all her strength to wrench away the rough hand, but it didn’t budge. Her heart pounded like it might explode.
Digging her nails hard into the man’s wrist, she thrashed with desperation.
“Ugh!” Blood seeped from the torn skin on his wrist.
“Damn it,” the man cursed. His grip loosened momentarily.
Olivia seized the moment and bit his fingers.
“Aaargh!”
As he screamed and his arm recoiled, Olivia grabbed it and yanked it forward with all her strength.
Just as the coachman’s armpit caught on the window edge, she twisted his arm outwards.
“Aaaaargh!” His scream pierced the air, but Olivia’s vision swayed violently.
The sedative was taking effect.
No.
Fighting the haze, her hand fumbled to open the carriage door. She stumbled out, only to collapse immediately from dizziness.
I mustn’t lose consciousness…
Wobbling as she tried to rise, Olivia managed only one step before collapsing again.
Her inverted vision blurred. The sun burned red over the Vichen River before fading entirely as her consciousness slipped away.
Meanwhile, Johann was in the smoking room with the Crown Prince of Brittania, along with Prince Mikhail and several alumni of Brittania Royal University.
“Edgar’s not here. Isn’t he coming?”
“He’s likely busy—Dumblin Championship is just around the corner,” Mikhail replied, exhaling a long stream of smoke.
“Anneblin better start getting nervous,” Mikhail added, glancing slyly at Johann.
“Why? Is Blanchet that good?”
The Crown Prince, who was always soft when it came to his sister, extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray and looked at Mikhail.
“I heard Russell Jr. was dragged around like a dog.”
Laughter echoed in the smoke-filled room.
The conversation drifted toward predictions about Olivia Blanchet’s performance and quickly turned into a wager.
As everyone chuckled and joked, Johann stepped away from the window and stood up.
“Who are you betting on, brother?” Mikhail asked with a grin, looking up.
Pathetic bastard.
Johann shot him a scornful glare before giving a brief nod to the Crown Prince and stepping out.
As the party grew livelier, the lights grew brighter.
Passing beneath rows of crystal chandeliers, Johann walked down the corridor toward the banquet hall, eyes sharp with intent.
The moment he had waited for so long was painfully dull.
No matter where he went—Olivia, Olivia.
Olivia Blanchet.
He exhaled a long sigh just as Edgar came into view at the far end of the hall.
His narrow eyes sharpened. Gray pupils scanned the area around Edgar slowly.
Olivia was nowhere in sight.
Edgar was talking to his former lover.
Though relieved, Johann felt oddly unsettled.
He thought of that woman curled up in a corner of the dazzling ballroom.
She always shrank her small shoulders as if ashamed, yet stubbornly insisted on coming along.
She would break and shatter eventually.
“Because I’m your wife. Let me come with you. I’ll do my best, just like I was taught…”
What could she have possibly learned from Diane Brooke? That woman couldn’t have taught her anything worthwhile.
He hadn’t known then. But now, recalling the truths he’d recently learned, rage boiled up in him.
The image of his wife crying quietly in the dark terrace, eyes rimmed red, made his chest throb again.
Out of habit, he looked at his watch. That’s when Morris approached him urgently.
Because of the loud music, Morris had to whisper directly into Johann’s ear. Johann’s steel-gray eyes darkened.
Just then, a hotel staff member approached with a silver tray in hand.
“Princess Kranz has requested a word with you.”
The staff member, dressed in the Leopold Hotel’s formal uniform, spoke politely. Johann’s brow furrowed.
He quickly scanned the vast hall.
“Where is she?”
“She’s in room 3016.”
“Did the princess ask you herself?”
The staff hesitated, lowering his gaze.
“No, her lady-in-waiting relayed the message.”
Johann gave a slight nod and gestured to Morris, who followed the staff discreetly.
If Princess Kranz were summoning him, she would do it in either the suite he’d provided her or in his office. That would be logical.
Room 3016…
He didn’t know who or what was scheming, or for what purpose—
But Johann ascended the grand central staircase willingly. He rested his hand on the curved railing as he climbed, looking down at the ballroom below.
People spun in circles, dancing. Others chatted and laughed in small groups. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Who is it…?
His gaze scanned the banquet hall slowly—until it locked eyes with a woman standing beside a pillar.
Princess Anneblin.
Her gaze, which had briefly met his, shifted quickly back to Edgar.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Johann walked down the arabesque carpet-lined corridor.
The third-floor hallway was relatively quiet, the party’s music and laughter sounding far away.
He passed the numbered rooms slowly until he reached 3016. The golden numbers glinted under the light.
Removing his hand from his pocket, Johann knocked.
No response.
He knocked again—then opened the door without hesitation.
Back at the banquet, the atmosphere was heating up. And someone was fanning the flames.
“Guess who I just saw?”
A noblewoman, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, drew everyone’s attention.
“I saw Olivia Blanchet. That brazen little fox.”
“Heavens! How shameless can she be, showing her face here?”
“But the real shock is—”
She lowered her voice further, and the entire group leaned in, holding their breath.
“She went into a room. And then—Duke Leopold walked in after her.”
“N-no way!”
“I saw it with my own eyes!”
The ballroom buzzed with commotion. Some gasped. Others cursed. The rumor spread like wildfire.
The reporters moved first. Then came gossip lovers and rubberneckers eager for drama, all rushing up the stairs.
Edgar shot Anneblin a deadly glare.
Anneblin smiled brightly.
“Blood doesn’t lie, does it? Don’t you agree, Ed?”
With that, Edgar sprinted madly toward the central staircase.
Anneblin watched his retreating figure with a cold smile.
Irene was resting in a lounge with Catherine.
Wherever people gathered, gossip about her fiancé’s ex-wife followed. The lounge was no different.
When the topic turned to the upcoming tennis tournament, Anneblin was mentioned—and naturally, Olivia Blanchet.
Irene’s nerves frayed. She could already picture the life that awaited her if she married him. The thought alone made her feel suffocated and exhausted.
She stood. Perhaps resting in the room Johann had provided would be better.
That’s when her lady-in-waiting entered.
“Duke Leopold requests to see you.”
“….”
What could it be?
“Where is he?”
“He said he’s waiting in room 3016.”
Strange.
If he had given her the wrong room, he could’ve just said so later. He wasn’t the type to send for her like this.
Suppressing a sigh, Irene rose.
“Seems the Duke just can’t wait to see you,” one noble lady teased, with a mix of envy and spite.
Irene gave them a graceful nod and followed her attendant. Her steps felt heavy.
The elevator doors opened. Irene stepped out with her lady-in-waiting.
“!”
Her expression froze.
“Everyone, please keep it down!”
The corridor was in chaos.
People crowded around room 3016, ears pressed to the door.
What on earth is going on?
Irene couldn’t make sense of the scene.
Meanwhile, the spectators, eavesdropping on whatever indecent thing was happening behind the door, turned and gasped.
Dear heavens!
The scandal was catastrophic.
Beneath the soft hallway lighting, the princess glided toward them in a flowing black gown—elegant and poised.
She seemed completely unaware of the drama beyond the door. Pitiful, really.
“What’s going on?”
Irene asked calmly, halting before the crowd.
She sensed something was wrong—but her composed demeanor had long since become second nature.
“Th-the thing is…”
No one could give her a clear answer.
Imagining how deeply this graceful foreign princess would be hurt by the truth made them all falter.
Then someone came running from the end of the hallway.
Dear God—what now?
All eyes turned to the man now racing toward them.
Edgar Langester Lancelot—the very man rumored to be entangled in an affair with his former wife.
The spectators held their breath, shifting their eyes between the two.
Having dashed up to the third floor, Edgar’s eyes burned with fury.
