EID 22

22. God Is Unfair

“You shameless thing who doesn’t even know her place. How dare someone like you insult my son?”

He abruptly withdrew the hand he had struck with and loosened his cravat, breathing heavily.

Olivia held her swollen cheek and glared at the Count.

“Since when did you get so good with words? Did you talk back like that in front of your husband, too? Is that how you got kicked out?”

Count Blanchet, who had been shouting, suddenly turned his body and yelled at the servants standing behind him.

“Beat her.”

The person pointed at by the tip of his black cane was none other than Anne.

Anne was curled up on the floor, trembling, her head buried in her arms. Seeing her like that, Olivia stared at the Count and said,

“Don’t do this to Anne.”

“I heard you received quite a bit of alimony. Bring it here.”

“Count!”

“Do you want your maid to die?”

Olivia glared fiercely at Count Blanchet. Her defiant gaze grew even sharper.

“I’m fine. You don’t have to give him anything, My La– Agh!”

The cane flew toward Anne’s head, and the terrified girl whimpered, clutching her head. But before it could strike her, Olivia quickly snatched it away.

“I’ll give you the money. Just don’t touch her.”

Swallowing her burning rage, Olivia’s eyes welled up, glassy and transparent.

Count Blanchet stared into those blue eyes.

Elena.

‘I will have this child. I must have this child.’

That porcelain-white skin made the blue of her eyes even deeper. His beloved daughter, who used to dash into his arms, her rich, dark brown hair flying behind her. That only made the betrayal and rage devour him even more.

After all I did to raise you.

‘I’m sorry, Father. But it’s his child. Please, let me have it. Please!’

Getting pregnant with your friend’s husband and dragging the family name through the mud!

The moment their eyes met, Count Blanchet’s mind was flung twenty years into the past.

“Seize her.”

His shrill voice cracked. His eyes lost all reason.

Two strong men held Olivia tightly so she couldn’t move.

His withered, bark-like hand grabbed her hair with brutal force.

Screaming, Anne ran over and shielded Olivia with her half-curled body.

The Count’s brutal fist sent Anne flying helplessly. As always, the beatings were accompanied by savage curses.

Count Blanchet often “faced” his once-beloved daughter Elena this way.

Olivia. Olivia.

Even after the divorce, that name constantly lingered around Johan, disturbing his peace.

Wherever he went — that damn Olivia Blanchet.

Even in today’s newspaper, she shamelessly took up a column.

If this scandalous affair with his ex-wife had broken out in Rontos, he could’ve suppressed it immediately. But it had happened overseas, and the consequences were annoyingly tiresome.

“Sir, could you please look this way just once?”

The photojournalist tried to get Johan’s bored gaze to meet the camera.

Wearing a black suit with a blue tie, Johan relaxed his lips and stared straight ahead. His neatly combed blond hair shone in the sunlight streaming through the window.

“Yes. Perfect. That’s great. Taking the shot now.”

The photographer couldn’t hide his excitement before the flawless subject. He disappeared behind the black cloth, counted to three, and click—the flash burst. His vision went dark for a second.

I love you, Johan.

At that moment, Olivia’s voice echoed in his head, and Johan frowned slightly.

Damn it.

With the recent photo of her and Edgar circulating, his irritation surged beyond measure. Johan closed his eyes. The photographer swallowed nervously.

Did he do something wrong?

His hand, gripping the pen, was clammy with sweat.

A man with a keen animal instinct who’d succeeded in every business venture. A noble bloodline of Rontos. And to top it off—unbelievably handsome.

God is unfair.

That was journalist Harrison’s conclusion. He wanted to cast his vote for the universe being grossly unfair.

Eventually, Johan opened his eyes slowly. His royal gray irises had a faint red hue, perhaps from lack of sleep.

Johan leaned back lazily.

“Let’s begin.”

He signaled the start of the interview with his low voice.

“Y-Yes, of course.”

Ahem. Journalist Harrison cleared his throat and looked at the question sheet.

“The Leopold Hotel, opening soon in Lytton, is said to be the largest in the Brit Kingdom. Is this part of the Offens Group’s strategy to target Lancelot Corp?”

Johan looked at him with indifferent eyes. Harrison tensed up, focusing hard.

“You might want to change that question.”

Johan crossed his long legs and spoke calmly.

It felt like hitting a wall right from the start.

“Oh, uh… yes. Then, um, I’ll ask again…”

Flustered by the sudden request, Harrison’s thoughts scrambled.

What had offended him? The mention of Lancelot? After a few moments of internal debate, Harrison carefully began again.

“Would you say the Lytton hotel project is part of a global trend toward innovative management?”

He emphasized global and innovative with deliberate force.

Johan gave a short nod in approval.

Harrison sighed in relief and moved on to the next question.

“Will you be attending the opening ceremony yourself?”

“Probably.”

“I understand the former Duchess of Leopold is currently staying in Lytton…”

Despite Johan’s chilling gaze, the reporter did not shy away from doing his job. Or rather, he tried very hard not to.

“How do you feel about the recent article on her rumored affair with Marquis Edgar Langaster Lancelot…?”

Frankly, the editor of Daily Economy didn’t care if Johan’s hotel opened or went bankrupt.

With sales in the gutter lately, sensational gossip disguised as economic reporting was the only way forward.

“Your name?”

Johan, leaning diagonally on the armrest, stroked his sharp chin and asked the reporter.

His voice was low and slow. But the pressure he exuded wasn’t just casual curiosity—it was chilling.

My name is…

Suddenly, journalist Harrison couldn’t remember. And strangely, he had a strong gut feeling that he shouldn’t say it.

“…H-Harrison Carpenter.”

“Why do you think I accepted this interview?”

Harrison’s heart thudded. He had a bad feeling—like today’s beautiful morning commute might also be his last one home.

He licked his dry lips and murmured,

“To promote the Leopold Hotel…”

“Then you should’ve asked appropriate questions for that.”

Johan coolly snapped and raised his wrist to check the time.

Only fifteen minutes had passed. And it was painfully dull and irritating. His annoyance shot toward Maurice, who stood quietly behind him with hands clasped. Maurice quickly turned his head toward the window.

After the reporters finally left, Maurice approached and received Johan’s jacket.

“From now on, you handle them.”

Johan’s cold gaze pierced him.

“What’s the use of that sculpted face? Just endure a few times. The opening’s just around the corner. And when taking photos, think of the camera as bundles of cash and smile a little, will you?”

Johan pulled off his tie and left the reception room, heading to his office.

“We received a call from Lytton,” Maurice reported as he followed.

“The Count met with Miss Blanchet.”

Johan stopped mid-step in the hallway. Then resumed walking. Even though he knew exactly what that meant, his face showed no reaction.

At his office desk, Maurice placed a silver tray with a telegram on it.

Johan picked it up between two fingers and read it.

At the end, it asked for approval to intervene with the surveillance subject in case of emergency—implying Olivia had been assaulted last night.

So he went to her after all.

Johan picked up a cigar with the same hand that held the letter.

Even so, what did that have to do with him now?

“Pull them back.”

“Pardon?”

Johan decided to end surveillance on his ex-wife. The constant news articles about Olivia were more than enough.

“But Count Blanchet–”

Surely he wouldn’t kill his own granddaughter.

And even if he did—it had nothing to do with Johan anymore.

“So what.”

At Johan’s icy tone, Maurice closed his fumbling mouth.

Fair enough. She’s a stranger now. With what right would he…?

Olivia Blanchet was no longer someone Johan was responsible for.

The Lytton branch of International Bank was among the largest in the Brit Kingdom. Olivia visited just after opening hours to avoid crowds.

In the large hall with dozens of teller desks, Olivia and Anne looked around, unsure where to go.

Feeling even more conspicuous, Olivia tugged her wide-brimmed bonnet down and walked to the nearest window.

“An honor to have you with us.”

The clerk didn’t appreciate customers arriving before he’d had even a sip of coffee. So early… He glanced up at Olivia’s face and asked formally,

“How may I assist you?”

The day’s first customer looked shabby.

A maid thrown out after crossing her mistress, perhaps. Her face was covered in bruises and cuts.

Though she’d tried to cover it up with heavy makeup, it only made her more noticeable.

Nothing about her said elite banking client.

These institutions didn’t even tolerate sloppily dressed representatives of nobles, let alone someone like this.

The clerk’s eyes scanned her, clearly judging. Olivia instinctively bowed her head and spoke quietly.

“I’d like to place a freeze on an account under my name.”