EID Chapter 31

Chapter 31. A Curt Reply

“D-Duke?”

It wasn’t a question—it was a threat. Diane broke into a cold sweat. The fear was suffocating, but there was no turning back now. She had already crossed the line.

“I—I was foolish.”

Diane sobbed.

“Our family suddenly fell on hard times and I desperately needed a large sum of money. I gave in to temptation, just once. I only touched the reports once. Please believe me, Your Grace.”

Her shoulders shook uncontrollably as she pled her case with desperation.

“Madam found out. She used it to blackmail me into…”

“What a waste of time.”

Yohan rose from his seat. He gave a quiet order to the commissioner standing beside him.

“Charge her. As you see fit.”

“Understood.”

As you see fit. That meant it wouldn’t end with a simple embezzlement charge. He was a man who could fabricate any evidence he wanted if he decided to hang her.

The tears froze on Diane’s face as it twisted in horror.

“Your Grace!”

She shot up and fell to her knees in front of him.

“Please believe me! I only did what I was told. It was the D-Duchess who—”

Yohan frowned in disgust, and the police officers rushed in, forcing Diane back into the chair.

“Your Grace!”

She shrieked as if her soul had left her.

“Diane Brooke.”

A voice called her name from the shadows, just outside the lamplight’s reach.

For the first time, her name sounded just as sweet as she had imagined it would—if only they weren’t in an interrogation room. But reality was cruel.

“You must really think I’m a joke.”

A man approached slowly, one hand shoved into his pocket. The sound of his shoes echoed ominously in the room.

He leaned across the table, his face emerging into the light. His cold, sharp gaze pierced her. Diane held her breath.

“I wonder how you acted in front of my wife.”

“P-Please wait. Your Grace, please!”

Diane tried to stand, but the officers slammed her shoulders back down.

“Ugh!” she groaned, even as she screamed his name.

“Your Grace!!!”

Clang! The sound of the iron door echoed as it opened, then slammed shut. Diane trembled, pale as death.

“Now then, Miss Brooke, if you would take a look at these.”

It was Morris.

Diane looked down at the documents he set in front of her, her expression hollow. Records of funds funneled through the Brooke estate. A statement from the fence who worked with her. Their transaction log. None of it registered.

Then, at the corner of her eye, she spotted a small sheet the size of a postcard. She reached for it with trembling hands. Her eyes, bloodshot, widened in disbelief.

Olivia Blanchet.

The letters were crude, like someone who had learned to write late in life.

It was that wretched illegitimate child’s handwriting. No one else’s.

How dare she.

To the Duke Yohan Leopold,

I have the pink diamond necklace.

Can you guess how I got it?

“Aaaargh!!”

Her breath, ragged with fury, turned into a scream that pierced through the walls and echoed down the dark hallway.

It became easier to mobilize the corrupt Reiden Metropolitan Police once they were exposed.

An investigation into Diane Brooke was underway, and the missing maid who vanished after quitting Great Hill became a priority case.

Yohan closed the bribery ledger he had been reviewing.

Jack, the fence on Longbourne Street, had meticulously recorded every bribe he paid and every stolen item he handled.

According to the ledger, the jewels Diane embezzled were sold to a single jeweler.

That jeweler, “Gloria,” dismantled stolen items and reassembled them into new designs for resale.

But the pink diamond necklace—famous for its tragic ties to the twin princesses—was left untouched.

They hadn’t dared tamper with it. And that was their downfall.

During the raid, it was revealed that the necklace had been purchased by Count Carter Elaine. His wife, Bianca Elaine, had been Olivia’s friend from Brit.

And just like that, the mystery unraveled.

Yohan let out a hollow chuckle at the truth. It felt like getting sucker-punched by an ex-wife. While completely unguarded.

Still, it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling.

He gave orders to exclude Carter Elaine from the suspect list. He didn’t want Olivia caught up in any gossip.

The last thing he wanted was to reignite a scandal that had just finally cooled down. That was all.

Of course, Olivia probably sent the letter to protect Elaine’s husband. But the result was the same, so it didn’t matter.

Yohan pushed the ledger aside and retrieved some stationery from a drawer, laying it out neatly.

It was time to write a reply.

To Olivia.

His first letter to his wife.

The surface of the Vichen River sparkled in the morning sun. Olivia, having finished breakfast, sat by the window, staring at the long gift box Edgar had sent.

A lemon-yellow ribbon fluttered gently in the early summer breeze. She untied it and opened the sky-blue box. Inside was a pristine white tennis racket.

“Do you like it?”

Lady Marie set down the silver tray of coffee on the table and asked.

Holding the racket in her hands, Olivia looked up and smiled.

“The grip is nice. Feels like I’ve used it forever.”

She stood and gave a few light practice swings, admiring how it felt. It was nothing like the ones she’d borrowed from the hotel.

“I like it.”

It wasn’t too light, had the perfect balance, and the head size was just right.

As she ran her fingers along the sleek oval head, she felt something textured. She turned the racket over.

Her initials—Olivia Blanchet—were embroidered in white thread near the shoulder.

A soft smile bloomed on her face.

“Drink your coffee before it gets cold.”

Lady Marie, watching Olivia’s childlike excitement, smiled contentedly and left with the empty tray.

Olivia’s eyes remained fixed on her initials. The slightly slanted script was elegant. She wanted to run straight to the court.

“Ah—My Lady!”

Anne’s urgent voice rang out, shattering the morning calm. Olivia turned, still holding the racket, to see Anne rushing in, unusually flustered.

“What’s wrong, Anne?”

“A l-letter arrived!”

“A letter?”

Olivia blinked in surprise. Only Edgar and Elaine knew her current address. Maybe it was from Elaine about the necklace?

She set the racket down and took the envelope.

“!”

The top of the white envelope was trimmed in gold, and written in elegant cursive:

Yohan Edinburgh Leopold

Olivia froze in disbelief.

“No way… how did he know?”

She had never considered her handwriting particularly unique. Yohan’s ability to deduce it so quickly astonished her.

“Looks like he caught the thief.”

Anne’s eyes burned with excitement.

“This fast?”

It had only been three days since she sent the letter. Olivia’s lips parted in shock.

She slowly opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.

To Olivia,

Next time, state your name.

“…”

Not a single word about Diane Brooke.

Nothing about the pink diamond necklace.

Just a cold, aristocratically neat, and utterly curt reply.

Olivia was stunned.

“From Yohan?”

Edgar asked, surprised by Gerald’s report.

“Yes, sir.”

“What did it say?”

“She burned it immediately. I wasn’t able to read it.”

“I see.”

With that, silence returned.

Edgar gazed out the window. The carriage had left the city and now sped toward the serene countryside, where lush leaves shimmered in the morning light.

A letter from Yohan…

Edgar leaned back, eyes half-lidded.

Why would he write to his ex-wife? And now, of all times—when he was about to be engaged to the Princess of Kranz.

What reason could there be?

The sunlight filtering through the dense greenery pricked at his eyes.

Yohan was not a man to act without cause.

So why now?

The question refused to fade.

That international letter Olivia supposedly sent through a maid—was it to Yohan after all?

But for what reason?

The carriage turned onto a quiet forest road. After about ten minutes, a neatly manicured lawn stretched out on either side. At the end of the road stood a stately red building.

Dumblin Cricket & Tennis Club.

Today’s destination.

As Edgar pondered, the carriage circled the central fountain and stopped at the entrance.

Above the ivy-covered entrance, two golden rackets crossed over a laurel wreath emblem glinted in the sunlight.

“Welcome, Marquess Lancelot.”

A club staff member greeted Edgar politely as he disembarked. He nodded slightly. The manager was also waiting, apparently having been informed in advance.

“They’re waiting for you.”

“I see.”

Edgar smiled and followed the man up the wide stone steps leading into the building. He pushed thoughts of Yohan aside for now.

Inside, seated at a round table with fresh grapes and tea, was Henry MacDowell, dressed in a crisp white shirt, green cardigan, and cream slacks.

“Welcome.”

“It’s been a while.”

Edgar bowed as he entered the sunlit lounge. A formal smile lingered on Henry’s face.

“Have a seat.”

“Thank you.”

Edgar smiled warmly and sat with perfect posture.

As he observed him, Henry thought to himself:

What a sly little fox.