EID Chapter 20

Chapter 20. The Shameless Genes

The loudmouth who had been chatting excitedly was knocked down by Johan’s sudden, unguarded strike.

“H-Hey! I wasn’t even wrong—argh!”

They say if your head’s stupid, your body suffers. Johan kicked that arrogant face that still couldn’t read the room. Blood splattered in every direction.

“Go on. Keep talking.”

Muttering coldly, Johan yanked on his cousin’s tie. He pressed his right foot firmly against the man’s chest.

Exactly. If your head’s empty, at least learn to take a hint. Johan looked down emotionlessly at his cousin struggling under his foot and sneered.

“You’re too old to be getting into fights. Hey, hey, let’s all calm down now.”

One of the slightly more sensible cousins tried to defuse the situation.

At that, Johan let the man go. The cousin, who had been about to strike back, simply clenched his fists and trembled under Johan’s icy gaze. Johan calmly straightened his tie as if nothing had happened.

“Let’s have a drink, Johan.”

“Next time.”

Johan gave a barely noticeable nod and turned away.

“That bastard, what’s his problem, picking a fight with me?”

Johan stopped mid-step and slowly turned his head to glance over his shoulder.

“Baikal Steel.”

His cousin’s flushed face turned pale in an instant.

“If you want to stay in that CEO seat, you’d better think hard about how to behave.”

With that brief warning, Johan left the party.

“What’s with him today?”

He could’ve said plenty if they’d asked sincerely, but the annoyed grumbling behind him wasn’t worth responding to.

So clueless.

The Crown Prince tried to sell him off to Princess Kranz. His grandmothers were trying to marry him off to some stubborn fool who still danced only the quadrille, as if it were the 19th century. And on top of that, his ex-wife.

Johan climbed into the carriage and leaned back into the seat, resting his elbow on the window sill.

Outside the black window, orange lights streamed past in blurred trails. Johan idly watched them, then shifted his gaze down to the newspaper tossed on the seat.

Olivia.

On the front page of a popular tabloid was a large photo of his ex-wife and Edgar kissing.

Under the red glow of a streetlamp piercing the darkness, the distorted image looked highly suggestive.

His suspicions branched out again, quickly and mercilessly.

When had it started?

The veins bulged visibly across the back of Johan’s hand. The fragile newspaper crumpled pitifully in his grip.

The black carriage passed through the city’s dazzling lights, crossed the Red Bridge, and entered a winding road leading up a hill.

Soon, Great Hill came into view, lit up alone in the darkness beyond the carriage window.

After a little more travel between shadowy trees, the carriage slowly turned into the mansion’s driveway and approached the front entrance. The butler and attendant stood waiting for their master’s late return.

“Welcome home, sir.”

As the carriage stopped and Johan stepped out, the butler greeted him and delivered the news of an unexpected guest.

“Count Blanchet is here, sir.”

Johan’s eyes, mid-climb up the stairs, flicked to the empty air for a moment, then he glanced over his shoulder at the butler.

“Skip the tea. Bring whiskey.”

His voice was heavy with fatigue as he gave the curt order.

As Johan resumed climbing the steps, he let out a dry scoff, recalling the photo of Olivia he’d seen in the carriage.

How shameless.

His mood soured further.

Olivia’s grandfather had chosen a particularly bad time to visit. Clearly, lacking tact and shame was a hereditary trait in that family.

***

Olivia calmly poured tea into an empty cup. The room, bathed in slanted golden sunlight, was quiet. The one to finally break that silence was Olivia.

“Why didn’t you mention the necklace?”

She turned to ask as she stared at the necklace case sitting on the table.

“I didn’t think it was important.”

“An unspoken courtesy?”

“It’s an outdated custom. Breaking such things is part of my work.”

Olivia looked at Madame Lauren’s assertive gaze and sighed, momentarily speechless.

“I’m an artist, but also a businesswoman.”

“You used me.”

Olivia hit the nail on the head.

Anne Joubert.
The name of this necklace was now known not just in Britt, but across the entire continent.

Last year, side-by-side photos of Princess Anneblin wearing it and Olivia had been published, inviting direct comparison. Even a designer who had died fifty years ago was dragged back into headlines, disturbing the peace.

Madame Lauren’s boutique had received a flood of letters requesting to rent the now-famous necklace—naturally accompanied by dress orders to match.

Madame Lauren composed herself and opened her mouth again.

“I didn’t expect the photo to be taken. The hotel bans journalists, but how can they perfectly block those hyenas? Surely you of all people would understand.”

Her tone was laced with irony, recalling how Olivia had staged a scandal to marry Johan. Olivia was appalled.

“If you hadn’t acted so ambiguously to begin with, there wouldn’t have been a scandal.”

“And yet the necklace proved my value.”

“Well, I regret how it turned out.”

Madame Lauren lifted her teacup. A large emerald on her second finger gleamed with a cool, haughty light—much like her attitude.

“It was just a spontaneous incident. It’ll be forgotten soon. People have poor memories.”

But the people Olivia was concerned about weren’t strangers.

Johan Leopold.
Her ex-husband.

Olivia wanted to be forgotten by that man. But the thought that she hadn’t been unsettled her.

Madame Lauren left with the necklace, and the room fell into silence. Olivia’s eyes fell on a folded newspaper beside her cold coffee.

No way.

Her cheeks flushed red.

There was no room for excuse—the scene of the kiss was clearly intimate. They hadn’t actually kissed, but the photo made it look that way.

Olivia glared at the paper for a long time before flipping it over and burying her face in her hands.

Did he see it?

He was always a busy man. He hadn’t cared about her even when they were married—indifferent to anything that wasn’t work.

Maybe… he didn’t see it.

Or even if he did… maybe he didn’t care.

This kind of rationalization, even if born from escapism, brought a fleeting sense of peace. As her mindset shifted to optimism, the tasks she needed to do next began to arrange themselves in her mind.

Briar.
It was time to leave the Lancelot Hotel.

***

The next morning, after a simple breakfast, the two packed their luggage.

Olivia had her once-thick hair trimmed into a neat bob. She wore a plain brown dress and pulled down an undecorated bonnet typically worn by maids.

She looked like any ordinary maid.

According to Marie, the maid who had served breakfast, journalists had been swarming the hotel entrance since the ball.

“They won’t recognize me, right?”

“You look like a completely different person.”

Olivia nodded in satisfaction as she looked in the mirror.

She glanced around the once-luxurious suite. At the far end stood Marie. Olivia offered her thanks.

“Anne. Let’s go.”

Gripping the leather trunk handle tightly, Olivia said.

“Yes, miss.”

The two, with their modest luggage, left the room. Beyond the glass window overlooking the beautiful garden, the fog was thick.

The fog grew denser as the carriage rode toward the station.

***

“She’s headed to Litton Central Station.”

“I see.”

Edgar nodded lightly while eyeing the green shoes in the box with interest.

That night, at the Rose Ball—the woman who had fled in surprise had very small feet.

“What time’s the train?”

“1 p.m., sir.”

“Cutting it close.”

Edgar smiled in satisfaction and signaled that the aide could leave. Once the door closed, his gaze shifted to the newspaper spread out before him.

It was a great photo.

They looked like lovers in the midst of a secret affair. The woman seemed more emotionally invested and eager.

Hopefully Johan liked it too.

Even four days later, the scandal was still going strong. Being linked with a princess only amplified the effect. Not that he had planned that part.

Edgar’s lips curled into a broad grin.

Olivia Blanchet’s marketability was now proven.

With the Dumberland Stadium nearing completion and the tennis tournament soon to be held there, the success of his five-year venture was within reach.

Use her just enough. Enjoy her just enough.
In that regard, Olivia Blanchet was the perfect woman.

Edgar closed the shoebox waiting for its owner. The glittering gems on the green satin vanished—and just then, there was a knock.

“Her Highness Princess Britt is here to see you.”

Edgar narrowed his eyes.

When the princess returned to Britt after her divorce, he hadn’t thought much of it. Their relationship was long over. To him, she was just one of many past women.

But Anneblin Grace Britt seemed to feel differently.

“A cup of tea, please.”

The secretary left, and Princess Anneblin entered.

“Sorry for coming unannounced.”

She wore a genuinely apologetic expression.

“You knew. And still came.”

Edgar rose from his seat and walked around his desk toward her.

“Please, sit, Your Highness.”

He greeted her casually and sank lazily into the parlor sofa.

“I didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

“Why?”

What kind of performance will she put on today?

Edgar was already growing bored. He crossed his long legs and made himself more comfortable.

Under the cold gaze of her former lover, Anneblin struggled to open her mouth, her lips trembling.