“Wherever you go, whomever you meet—it doesn’t matter.”
The woman’s face was hidden beneath a parasol. There was no emotion in the voice that floated from beneath it.
“But I can’t bear becoming a pitiful woman.”
She turned around.
The outline of her hand bones stood out clearly under the lace glove gripping the parasol’s handle.
“Just promise me that one thing.”
It meant: do whatever you want, just don’t make a spectacle of yourself.
Her lips were pressed tightly together in resolve, and her deep brown eyes were cold as they stared straight ahead without flinching.
“What,” Yohan’s voice dropped low, “have I done?”
Her eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected response and looked up at him.
It was laughable and pathetic. To harbor feelings for another man right in front of her fiancé.
He hadn’t done anything. Not a single thing.
The sun was scorching. Irritation flared.
“…I meant, please be careful in the future.”
Irenne replied, not breaking eye contact. Sunlight scattered over her golden hair, so similar to Christian’s.
Her long, thick lashes, the ashen-gray eyes beneath them—everything about her reminded him of Christian. It was an inevitability.
“I’m sorry if I upset you.”
Judging by his reaction, it didn’t seem like he had visited that woman yesterday. Irenne slowly averted her gaze and turned her body.
If she couldn’t have Christian, then marrying this man who resembled him didn’t seem so bad.
But this man was far too different from him.
“Is that all you have to say?”
The man checked his watch in a disinterested tone as he asked.
“Yes.”
“From now on.”
Irenne paused just as she was about to walk away.
“Don’t give me reason to expect an apology.”
His piercing gaze was haughty.
She wondered—if he treated a princess from a minor nation like this, how did he treat the lowborn bastard girl?
Irenne began to feel a measure of pity for that woman.
Olivia sat in a daze, lost in thought. Suddenly, she shook her head. Her neatly cut hair swayed lightly at her nape.
“Miss?”
Anne called out to her worriedly. Olivia had been acting a bit strange since yesterday.
It was hard to pinpoint exactly what was off. Her cheeks were flushed—maybe she had a slight fever.
It must be because the Duke had returned. And with his fiancée, the princess, no less.
A love that burns so selflessly, like a candle, doesn’t just extinguish because someone blew on it.
Anne’s heart ached seeing her mistress like that. But there was something she had to say.
“Miss?”
She leaned in closer and raised her voice a little. Startled, Olivia turned with a flushed face.
“…Ah! Anne. Did you call me?”
Her heart pounded like a child caught misbehaving.
And it was all because of him.
Since yesterday, that man’s face kept flashing before her eyes. It was strange.
Even the moment she opened her eyes in the morning, his snow-gray eyes lingered in the air like a winter drizzle.
She squeezed her eyes shut in surprise, but the image only became clearer. And when she opened them again…
I must be going mad.
That thought alone made her face flush again. She avoided Anne’s gaze and fidgeted with her fingers.
“What is it? Did something happen?”
“The carriage seems to be taking a strange route.”
“What?”
Startled, Olivia pulled back the curtains she’d drawn to avoid the press and peeked outside.
Anne was right. The carriage had entered the main avenue instead of turning left toward Riverside.
She opened the side window toward the coachman’s seat.
“Where are we going right now?”
“Pardon?”
The coachman, startled by her question, replied with one of his own.
“The Marquess instructed me to pick you up. I thought you already knew. You didn’t?”
“…This was the first I heard of it.” Olivia asked again, confused.
“Did Mr. Gerald come by?”
“Someone claiming to be from Lancelot Company came. I don’t know the name, but he said he was under orders from the Marquess. He gave me this.”
With one hand still on the reins, the coachman pulled a white envelope from his coat pocket and handed it through the window.
It was a letter. Olivia stared at the clean, undecorated envelope for a moment before taking it.
The unpleasant incident from yesterday made her heart uneasy.
Could it be that he was avoiding her out of awkwardness?
No way.
She quickly shook her head.
He must be busy. He’s always busy.
She wasn’t particularly perceptive in those matters, but those eyes… she couldn’t mistake that look. His desires had been all too clear.
How could she not notice when he revealed his feelings so plainly?
Olivia’s earlobes turned bright red.
She rubbed her face and lifted the postcard-sized letter. She opened the envelope and pulled out the contents.
At the top of the stationery, the golden Lancelot Company logo shimmered under the filtered sunlight.
“Escort her with utmost courtesy.”
The slanted cursive handwriting exuded aristocratic elegance.
She didn’t know Edgar’s handwriting, but the signature at the bottom was familiar.
She had remembered it from the day he signed the affidavit at the Rondos Consulate—his flamboyant penmanship had left an impression.
It was undoubtedly his signature.
“So where exactly are we going?”
The man’s sweet voice from yesterday rang in her ears—he had said they’d dine at the Grand Bleu.
“To the Lancelot Hotel, miss. Escorting you with courtesy.”
“!”
Olivia’s blue eyes widened.
Today was the grand opening party of the Leopold Hotel—mentioned all over the morning paper and by the members of the Dumblin Club.
And the carriage was heading straight down Golden Avenue.
Oh no!
This couldn’t be good.
Golden Avenue at dusk, as always, glittered under the crimson sunset and extravagant lights.
Among all the splendor, the perfectly renovated Leopold Hotel stood out with its refined classical beauty.
Reporters were already gathered at the entrance, creating a buzz of excitement.
As dignitaries continued to arrive, silver flashes from cameras lit up the crimson sky.
High above in the hotel’s top floor, Yohan—who had spent the night there—finished reviewing the preparations and began to dress.
In front of him, as he buttoned his black suit, Maurice recited the schedule once more.
“Don’t forget to smile during the photo session after the unveiling. Okay? Please, smile. And during your speech—you’re up right after His Highness the Crown Prince—smile on stage, too—”
“Enough.”
Yohan interrupted him coolly as he fastened his watch strap and flicked his wrist.
The black jacket with gold buttons gleamed under the soft yellow light, matching his neatly combed blond hair.
Gold was the signature color of the Leopold Hotel. Naturally, the party’s dress code was also gold.
Yohan turned from the mirror. His elegant nobility exuded a cold grace. Maurice was struck again by how regal he looked.
“The princess?”
“She’s en route, I was just informed.”
Yohan nodded briefly and instinctively checked the time again.
His soft gray eyes dropped to the watch face. That was all, and yet—his gaze remained there for a moment, unreadable.
If Edgar was coming…
Would Olivia come too?
Yohan looked down at the birthday gift for his wife. His expression tightened.
A sudden pang stabbed through his chest. He turned away.
The feeling was so sharp and undeniable, yet probing further felt dangerous—like something best left alone.
What would even be the point now?
Returning to his composed, emotionless expression, Yohan adjusted the front of his jacket.
It was time. The Leopold Hotel’s grand opening party—five years in the making—was about to begin.
The dress Catherine picked at first glance was a champagne-gold evening gown with elegant draping.
Its cut emphasized Anneblin’s toned figure, honed from years of tennis.
“You look amazing, Anne. So beautiful.”
Catherine felt proud of her taste.
“You too, Catherine.”
Anneblin slowly tore her gaze from the mirror and flashed a seductive smile. Her red lips looked luscious.
Edgar would be there.
He was the head of Britain’s leading corporation—of course he would come. And if he came, then so would that woman.
She dearly hoped that lowborn illegitimate girl would attend and grace the event with her presence. Anneblin turned away, anticipation gleaming in her eyes.
“Let’s head out.”
She linked arms with Catherine.
As she stepped forward, the gold fringe cascading from below her knees swayed, revealing pale legs.
The sound of her heels on the ivory marble echoed rhythmically.
“Irenne.”
Catherine, wearing a satin gown overlaid with golden lace, beamed and reached for Irenne’s hand.
Irenne took it gently.
In her understated black dress, Irenne’s golden diamond necklace shimmered at her neck.
Soon, a luxurious carriage carrying the princesses pulled away from the palace, heading for the Leopold Hotel.
“Are you really not going?”
“No.”
Leaning against the window frame of the Palais Hotel, Edgar’s answer was firm as he gazed at the towering Leopold Hotel.
It looked like everyone in Ritten’s social scene was attending. Carriages lined up like ants.
“You really shouldn’t—”
“I have a prior engagement.”
As Edgar lowered his arms and casually tucked his hands into his pockets, Gerald jumped in surprise.
“A prior engagement? But I’m your aide—how do I not know this schedule?”
“It’s personal.”
A faint smile lifted the end of Edgar’s plain reply.
What in the world had gotten into him? Gerald looked at him suspiciously.
Edgar simply chuckled, picked up the jacket he’d draped over the chair, and swung it over his shoulder.
“You go instead, Gerald. Say hello to Yohan for me.”
Sliding his arms into the jacket, Edgar flashed a grin. As he adjusted his collar and turned to leave, a knock sounded.
It was his secretary.
“You have a visitor, sir.”
The secretary politely announced the arrival of an unexpected guest.
