Chapter 133
Clara
The woman seated on the sofa, showing only her back, slowly rose and turned around.
Her hair, black as the night sky, rippled gracefully with her movement.
A flushed face, eyes sparkling like a lake, lips parted slightly in surprise beneath them—her beauty was dazzling. And her name was—
“Hello, Duchess. My name is Josephine Clara Sinclair.”
Clara.
Another name for death.
“I look forward to working with you.”
With a radiant smile, the woman inclined her head slightly.
The heroine of the novel. Johan’s destined counterpart.
The common girl known only by her first name now stood before Olivia with a grand name, complete with surname and middle name. Olivia’s vision went white, as though she’d been struck hard at the back of the head.
“Olivia?”
Johan tilted his head, calling to his wife who stood frozen in a daze. She gave no response, as if her spirit had left her body.
“My lady…?”
Clara looked at Olivia with a troubled expression.
“Olivia.”
Johan stepped closer, cupped her pale cheek with one hand, and drew her gaze toward him.
Empty eyes lifted to meet his. Tears welled up in an instant.
Johan’s eyes narrowed.
That day Olivia had met her grandmother at the Leopholt Hotel in Litton.
What had her grandmother said about Josephine then?
Once he reached that thought, he understood Olivia’s reaction. Johan himself was no less unsettled.
Josephine, Josephine—the name he’d heard endlessly from his grandmother.
That the era’s last “proper lady,” said to dance nothing but quadrilles, would appear at Greythill as the Royal Academy’s recommended painter—
It was truly unexpected.
“Are you all right?”
“…”
Olivia’s chin trembled, but she said nothing.
“Olivia.”
She lifted her eyes to Johan, caught between confusion and fear.
This wasn’t something to react to emotionally. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known it would happen—only that the timing differed from what she’d expected. That was all.
“…I’m sorry. I felt a bit dizzy. I must be tired.”
The tears dried quickly, and a smile returned to her face as color rose again.
“I was discourteous. My apologies, Miss Clara. My name is Olivia.”
She offered a proper greeting, apologizing for her lapse—
—to the woman destined to become Johan’s everything.
“Please, call me Josephine.”
With a soft smile, Clara spoke gently.
It was as if ordinary sunlight suddenly turned dazzling, shining upon her face.
Everything was twisted from the original story.
At last, the curtain of the novel had risen.
“I’m not sure you’ll like it… but it’s a gift for you, Duchess.”
Clara handed Olivia something she had kept beside her. It was wrapped in brown paper, tied with a dark green ribbon. When unwrapped, it revealed a framed painting.
“This is…”
Johan leaned in from beside her, his shoulder brushing against hers, one brow slightly arched.
It was a painting of Olivia, in a water-colored dress, holding the Dublin Cup and smiling radiantly.
At the same time, it evoked the image of Edgar Lanchester Lancelot.
Johan’s heart twisted oddly as he looked at the picture of his wife, smiling in such unguarded happiness.
“I used the photo and article in the paper as reference. I’m actually a huge fan of yours, Duchess.”
Olivia, staring blankly at the painting, raised her head. Her eyes met Clara’s. The same blue eyes curved without a trace of falsehood.
“Thank you. I love it.”
Clara had proven her skill. According to Morris, the Royal Academy’s director had praised her highly; she was set to graduate top of her class that year.
For a woman to surpass male students and graduate at the top—it was unprecedented in the Academy’s history.
“When shall we begin the work?” Clara asked.
“I must apologize, Miss Josephine.” Johan regarded her quietly.
“Why suddenly…? Is this about the Dowager Marchioness of Wellington?”
“I can’t deny it.”
“Then I think we must clear this up right now.” Clara’s blue eyes grew firm.
“That is only the Marchioness’s opinion.”
She pleaded her case.
“Duchess, I completely understand how offended you must feel. But if you reject me for that reason, it would be so unfair. Please, judge me only by my ability.”
“…”
Olivia lifted her gaze, studying the autumn sunlight caught in Clara’s eyes.
Her face carried both the grace of a noble lady and the freshness of a young girl, creating an inexplicable aura.
A beautiful woman, Olivia thought.
“I first saw His Grace at the launch of the Trafalgar fleet. To be honest, the Great Blue Heron impressed me more.”
“The Great Blue Heron?” Johan asked, puzzled.
“You don’t know that bird?”
Clara fluttered her small, pale hands like a butterfly as she explained.
Olivia quietly watched the two of them. Clara’s voice was clear and gentle, and she laughed now and then—like starlight against her ebony hair.
Each time she smiled, it seemed Johan’s lips lifted too. His gray eyes were full of her.
“On the train, I admit I was surprised. I never expected to see you there.”
So they had already met, on days she knew nothing about.
Olivia slowly blinked. Inevitability had come to pass.
The ominous premonition that had haunted her now stood before her in flesh and blood.
How does it feel, standing before your husband’s destined partner?
What are you feeling right now?
Olivia drew a deep breath, forcing down the surging tide of emotion.
But when laughter from the sitting room echoed down the hall, her resolve shattered easily.
“To have the honor of painting both of you would be the greatest glory of my life.”
Clara’s blue eyes shone clear in the sunlight streaming through the window, like the surface of a secret lake hidden in cedar woods.
“Olivia?”
Johan placed the sword hilt in Olivia’s hand. All she had to do was refuse.
But would that truly end things? Could the bond of destiny tying those two be severed so easily?
Rather than wither away doubting Johan while he met her in secret, it would be better to watch with her own eyes.
Olivia steadied her quickening heartbeat.
“I look forward to working with you, Miss Josephine.”
She smiled brightly at Clara.
“Thank you so much, Duchess. You won’t regret it. I promise.”
Olivia watched her rejoice with genuine delight.
“What do you think?” Johan asked.
“…Sorry, what did you say?”
His voice dropped as he studied her.
“We were discussing the attire. Olivia.”
His sharp eyes slid past her to the painting propped against the sofa’s armrest.
Clearly, that was what kept distracting her.
For a woman who once raced across tennis courts, Greythill could easily feel like a suffocating cage.
Morris’s speculation—that her trip to Nostia had been for the National Championship—fed Johan’s inner turmoil.
After staring hard at the painting, Johan finally said,
“Ceremonial dress might not be bad.”
“Ceremonial dress?”
“A wedding gown.”
“Oh!”
“What do you think?”
“…I don’t mind.”
After all, the one who would walk down the aisle holding his hand would be Clara.
Whatever picture they painted, whatever they hung on the wall, it would soon be torn down. And then…
Nausea hit her suddenly. The image of Olivia Blanchet, wrists bound and a noose around her neck, flashed before her.
Meanwhile, Johan and Clara were discussing schedules and details.
“I’m not feeling well, so I’ll excuse myself. Please continue.”
Rising from her seat, Olivia offered Clara a brief farewell and turned away.
She wasn’t sure how she managed to open the parlor door or walk down the hall. She just wanted to return to her room and rest.
Maybe after a sleep, she would wake from this dream. Maybe she would open her eyes in her familiar one-room flat.
Yet, part of her hoped Johan would come—bursting out the parlor door to follow her.
Unknowingly, Olivia was testing him. Cowardly.
What I wanted was you, Olivia Blanchet.
Her steps halted.
If everything had changed—
Then perhaps the ending could change as well. So don’t run away, Han Jian.
Standing in the middle of the corridor, Olivia slowly turned. At the same moment, the parlor door opened.
“…”
But the one who stepped out was none other than Clara.
She walked down the corridor, sunlight from the row of windows casting alternating patches of light and shadow over her face—making her look like an angel one moment, a devil the next.
Finally reaching Olivia, Clara broke the silence.
