EID Chapter 114

Chapter 114

Goodbye, Princess

“The one I wanted was you. Olivia Blanchet.”

The man who spoke those words so casually wore an expression of utter calm.

Only Olivia’s heart seemed to be beating irregularly. Probably the alcohol.

Why me?

She wanted to ask but couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud. Her lips, pressed together tight, trembled as she just stared blankly at him.

“You’re not suddenly falling for me, are you?”

He tilted his head. A few pale golden strands slipped over his forehead, brushing against his neat eyebrows.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“…It’s not like that.”

Her gaze, unconsciously fixed on him, finally dropped to the floor.

Olivia was simply confused. I’m not the one you should want.

Johan’s eyes swept over her slowly, searchingly.

A breeze came through the open window, sharpening her scent.

The heavy musk that had always clung to his wife had disappeared some time ago. What lingered now was the faint fragrance of clean soap.

A scent that had never existed in Johan’s memory—sickeningly sweet.

His eyes traveled down to the ribbon on her pale beige shoes, then back up, fastening on her face.

Thick brown hair braided neatly, round forehead, bright blue eyes, coral-tinted lips. All unmistakably her. And yet—

Different.

Not something simple like knowing how to play tennis, or a changed taste in perfume. Not even suddenly liking fish dishes she used to loathe.

It was something deeper. An essential change. That subtle gap had been pricking at Johan ever since the moment his wife first spoke of divorce.

He closed the distance.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Startled, Olivia flinched and instinctively leaned back. The sudden change in his gaze tightened around her like a snare.

Did he notice? Olivia held her breath. Just as she was about to retreat in instinctive fear, he broke the silence.

“Have a drink.”

“…”

His eyes were as still as the midnight sky.

“No. I’ve had enough. I think I should go now.”

Facing him—so suddenly different—Olivia stiffened and forced each word out with deliberate care.

“Just one glass. Is even that too much to ask?”

“…”

Johan tilted his head, his gaze narrowing.

Olivia swallowed dryly.

Right now, she was holding onto reason with all her strength.

One more drink, and that fragile thread might snap. Then she would surely seek out her grandmother.

Or her senior. Or the mother who left home, or the father who passed away. She might call out to them in her longing—and cry.

“I really think it’s better if I just leave.”

Johan stared at her face, bathed in red lamplight.

“Not even one drink?”

“…”

Olivia turned her eyes away—that was answer enough.

Faintly, the chimes of the clock tower rang out, marking ten o’clock.

What had he expected, spending such a late night in intimacy with another woman?

A bitter laugh slipped between his lips. With a slow sigh, Johan pulled off his tie.

“Reporters are everywhere outside.”

Olivia’s eyes widened slightly through her haze of alcohol.

It wasn’t a lie, though whether they were still camped out there was anyone’s guess. She had surely seen the press wagons chasing after theirs as they left the Supreme Court.

“Stay the night. Maurice will show you to a room.”

Johan brushed past her.

He could have forced her—but chose not to.

If he indulged in his mood as it was, he couldn’t trust his self-control. And that would cause more trouble for himself than for her.

The night was deep, but his mind was still clear enough to make the colder, wiser choice.

The day was fine.

Edgar leaned casually by the window of his office, autumn sunlight streaming in. Today was the day of Amblin’s sentence execution.

He placed a cigarette between his lips.

With a snap, the match flared just as a black carriage came into view across the avenue, swarmed with an immense crowd.

The curses and jeers of onlookers shook the clear blue sky.

From the top floor of the Lancelot Hotel, Edgar watched and let the smoke drift lazily upward.

It had been only a week since Amblin Grace Britt was sentenced to death.

A princess of the realm—condemned to die.

The shocking news had swept beyond Britt, across the sea, and through the continent. Nobles lamented, wondering what madness had overtaken the world.

But her tragedy did not end there. The royal family stripped Amblin of her princess title, a desperate move to placate the rage boiling from the lowest classes upward.

The only stroke of fortune: that Amblin was the king’s daughter.

Through her father’s tireless efforts, she was spared the shadow of death.

Thus, the former Princess Amblin was reduced to a commoner—sentenced to life imprisonment, exiled to St. Augustine Convent.

“—Murderer!”

“You wicked liar!”

Furious citizens hurled eggs at the carriage, smearing it in yellow blotches in no time.

“Evil left-hander!”

Tearful testimonies poured in from players like Evangeline Seymour, whom the princess had bribed to protect her throne as queen of tennis.

Fans who once adored Amblin, athletes who had sacrificed victories because of her—all their anger erupted in madness.

Edgar watched, unmoved, as the exile procession rolled on.

The cracks of eggs bursting yellow against the black coach, the relentless flash of cameras capturing it all, filled Golden Avenue with brutal light.

Like a man removed from the world’s noise, Edgar inhaled deeply, his cheeks hollowing, then exhaled slowly.

The clear autumn sun blazed painfully over the roof of the wretched carriage.

A perfect day for one last glimpse of the world. But behind the drawn black curtains, there was nothing but shadows trembling with the coach’s sway.

Edgar drew again, exhaled again. Smoke, pale and thin, dispersed into the flawless blue sky.

It was the season when roses could wither with grace. Autumn—high and clear.

Goodbye, Princess.

With that brief farewell, Edgar paid his last respects to the woman who had once been both his lover and Britt’s princess.

When the carriage turned the corner and disappeared with the smoke at the end of Golden Avenue, Edgar turned away.

Back at his desk, he crushed the stub of his cigarette in the ashtray just as Gerald entered with Amblin’s secretary.

“Young master. Miss Cecile has brought something for you.”

The secretary approached, setting a letter down politely, though her eyes brimmed with resentment.

“It’s from the Princess.”

Edgar’s gaze, lingering on the dying ember, shifted to the letter. Elegant handwriting adorned the edge of the white envelope.

Amblin.

He gave the faintest nod—that was all.

“If you write a reply, I’ll deliver it back to her.”

“There will be no reply. You may go, Miss Cecile.”

“My lord Marquis!”

“Don’t call me that. I, too, have been stripped of my title.”

Edgar smiled faintly.

“Please—think of it as the last favor. I beg you.”

Cecile bowed her head. Edgar looked down at her coldly and signaled to Gerald.

“How can you be so cruel? Don’t you pity her at all? That pure woman—look at what she’s become because of you. Because of you! Don’t you care?”

“Miss Cecile, let’s go.”

Gerald caught her arm, firmly but not harshly.

“My lord, please! At least tell her to stay healthy… just those words, I beg you, my lord!”

Edgar lowered his eyes back to his papers, unyielding.

Tears streaming, Cecile was finally dragged out by Gerald’s men. Her cries faded as the office doors shut.

“You could have written a line,” Gerald muttered bitterly. Surely there had been good times, once.

Edgar lit another cigarette.

The flame leapt, first to the corner of the white stationery.

Edges curled black, paper consumed.

Ash wavered, then lifted on the breeze through the open window.

Edgar let the charred remnants fall into the ashtray. His eyes moved to a framed photograph reflecting the morning light.

Perhaps he hadn’t realized that moment had been captured.

Olivia, lifting her face to gaze only at him, smiling innocently.

That was why he had chosen this photo—because he couldn’t help loving a woman who looked at him as though he were her entire world.

Never look at me again.

You know exactly how I see you. Could you really never forgive me?

Tracing the corner of the frame, he whispered:

“Check where Olivia is.”

“Young master…”

“I want to see her.”

Edgar smiled faintly. A hollow, empty smile.

Enough time had passed for rage and betrayal to fade. Enough, at least, for an apology to matter.

Kneel. Ask forgiveness.

It was the simplest thing in the world.