“Could you stop the carriage for a moment?”
Olivia asked the coachman. They were about four blocks away from Golden Avenue.
“What’s wrong, my lady?”
Anne asked, her tone concerned. Olivia’s gaze was calm.
She knew it was rude, but no matter how much she thought about it, today didn’t feel right to go to Golden Avenue.
Every one of her senses was sounding an alarm.
“Anne. I have a favor to ask.”
Olivia paused for a moment, carefully choosing her words.
“…It’s not a good idea for me to go there today. Could you go in my place and deliver the message?”
“Of course.”
Anne had been feeling uneasy about it too.
It wouldn’t do any good to run into the Marquis by coincidence.
If something like that were to happen, the gossipmongers would pounce like wolves, tearing into the poor lady without mercy.
“I’ll go instead.”
“Tell him I’m sorry.”
Olivia gave her a faint smile.
“Don’t worry, my lady.”
Anne stepped down from the carriage.
Through the curtain, Olivia could see Anne weaving her way through the bustling crowd.
Once Anne had completely disappeared from view, Olivia let go of the curtain and turned her head slightly toward the side window.
“You may proceed now.”
The carriage began to move, turning in a different direction.
The unexpected visitor turned out to be none other than Olivia’s maid.
“Oh, Miss Anne? What brings you here?”
Gerald asked, surprised.
“My lady sends her deepest apologies. She asks for your understanding for rudely declining today’s meeting so unilaterally—”
“Meeting?”
Edgar interrupted the maid’s hurried explanation.
His face, which had worn a slight smile just moments ago, gradually hardened. He narrowed his eyes and stared at the maid.
The maid blinked blankly before hesitantly opening her mouth.
“She couldn’t make it… so…”
“Where.”
“H-here. To this place… You invited her, my lord.”
A visible crack formed between Edgar’s brows. Anne began to tremble. Something was wrong. Her instincts screamed it.
A red silence filled the office as the setting sun streamed in.
“Why were you so sure it was from me?”
Edgar slowly ran a hand over his perfectly slicked-back hair, his voice low and measured.
“Because… she received a letter, so I, I assumed…”
The maid’s face had gone ghostly pale, on the verge of tears.
“What did it say?”
His chilling eyes were dangerously calm now. His patience was reaching its limit.
“…My lady read it herself. I… didn’t see it.”
Her lips trembled as she barely held back her tears.
Edgar yanked at his tight tie, turning slowly to place both hands on the window ledge. He took a deep breath.
“My lord…” Gerald called hesitantly, but Edgar seemed not to hear.
The blood-red sun illuminated the man’s pale face as he gazed out.
“Send someone to Marie. She may have returned.”
He spoke softly, looking down at the Leopold Hotel.
Carriages carrying high society figures of the Litton social scene swarmed toward the brightly lit Leopold Hotel like moths to a flame.
Carriages carrying beautiful princesses arrived as well. Camera flashes burst like fireworks across the crimson-tinted city.
Just then, Princess Anneblin turned away from the photographers.
Her long legs paused halfway up the red-carpeted steps.
“Princess Anneblin! One more look this way, please!”
She turned her head slowly. Another wave of silver flashes exploded.
Anneblin’s smile, as she stared at the Lancelot Hotel, was as vividly red as the sunset—like a blooming rose.
Prince Britt’s dull speech continued.
But the noblewomen, mesmerized by the sculpture-like Johan, didn’t feel bored in the slightest.
“Oh, my…”
Admiring sighs slipped from behind their fans.
After repeatedly emphasizing the strengthening of ties between the two nations and contributions to Britt’s economic growth, the prince finally finished his speech to thunderous applause and handed the stage over to Johan.
Johan bowed politely and stood tall at the podium.
Clad in a formal evening suit, his well-built figure was striking.
Gasps echoed through the room as the ladies took in his presence.
Johan began with brief thanks to Britt and its guests and wrapped up his short speech.
There wasn’t a trace of the smile Maurice had insisted on.
As the prince and his wife, Johan, and Princess Kranz gathered for a commemorative photo, the photographer stepped behind the screen.
Pop! A white puff of smoke spread in the air.
Johan had popped a champagne bottle.
The golden liquid cascaded from the top glass of a champagne tower, sparkling as it flowed. Cheers and applause erupted.
The party had begun.
“Amazing.”
The towering ceiling, ornate wooden panels, gilded friezes, and elegant columns created an atmosphere somewhere between an ancient temple and a Renaissance hall. The decor left noblewomen in awe.
“You look radiant as always, Your Highness.”
Under the dazzling chandelier, Anneblin glowed in her soft gold dress, drawing compliments from every gentleman around her.
Anneblin returned their flattery with a seductive smile.
All the while, she scanned the room, eyes searching between men’s shoulders—for Edgar.
“Your Highness.”
A lady-in-waiting whispered something in Anneblin’s ear. Her smile slowly widened as she listened.
Johan stood beside Irene, exchanging dull pleasantries with politicians.
Even in boredom, the refined smiles he occasionally offered radiated royal dignity.
Irene also responded with composed nods and subtle expressions that exuded innate superiority.
“Finally something fitting. What a lovely sight, don’t you agree?”
Admiration poured in for the perfect couple.
As the hotel’s owner and the evening’s symbolic pair moved to the center of the hall, the ballroom began to fill.
The first dance was a waltz.
The two stood neither too close nor too far—just the right distance to make a picturesque scene.
Johan lightly placed his hand on Irene’s back.
A gentle violin melody filled the grand hall. Johan led the dance.
Irene followed his lead effortlessly.
The man’s face was expressionless. He moved like someone simply performing a duty.
Yet his lead was smooth, and his striking features made even his aloofness seem dignified.
Was this how he was with his wife? Always this cold?
If only Christian had looked at her with such detachment. Then perhaps she could have let go.
Christian’s face overlapped with Johan’s.
He had known her heart and still got engaged to another, now casting her off to his cousin. She resented him.
“Say it.”
Near the end of the dance, Johan finally spoke.
“You have something to say to me, don’t you?”
His bored eyes fell on Irene. She didn’t avoid his gaze.
“I’ve decided to stay through the tennis tournament.”
“As you wish.”
The music swelled toward its climax.
“…I’d like to stay at the hotel.”
A crease formed between Johan’s brows.
Though Catherine was here, Irene didn’t know Anneblin well enough to feel at ease.
Even the princess’s overly friendly ladies and friends gave her the same pitiful look reserved for women from lesser nations. It was exhausting to pretend not to notice.
“I’ll have a room prepared.”
The warm breeze from the terrace made his voice seem even colder.
Was it because his face resembled Christian’s? Irene’s chest tightened slightly.
The dance ended.
Edgar strode up the red-carpeted steps and cut across the Leopold Hotel lobby. The opulent lights stung his eyes.
“She hasn’t returned yet.”
Olivia was gone.
His chest constricted. The lively music filling the hotel grated against his fraying nerves.
As the grand hall doors swung open, music thundered through like a crashing wave.
His eyes darted across the room and landed on Anneblin, standing proudly beside a column.
As if waiting for him, the princess stood in full view.
Their eyes met.
No matter how far apart they were, Edgar was unmistakable.
Anneblin watched him approach quickly and sipped her champagne.
Her party hadn’t even begun yet, but she was already enjoying herself.
“Where’s Olivia?”
Edgar’s face was cold, holding back emotion.
“At least greet me.”
Anneblin smiled, her amber eyes sparkling.
“I asked where she is.”
“Did she disappear or something?”
Anneblin blinked innocently, then let out a small laugh.
“Your face right now—do you even realize how funny you look?”
It amused her to see him act as though Olivia Blanchett were something precious to him.
“This kind of thing doesn’t suit you.”
“What kind of thing?”
“Being sincere.”
She heard her pride cracking, but Anneblin kept her elegant smile.
“You never had it in you. So don’t pretend you do.”
…Sincere.
Edgar felt like he’d been struck. His eyes wandered as if trying to grasp the meaning of a foreign word.
Sincerity—toward a woman meant to be used and discarded. A pawn to sell tickets. The term didn’t belong here.
Sincerity?
He let out a soft, bitter laugh. Looking down at an angle, he murmured:
“…The day you so much as lay a finger on her…”
A woman who deceived him—how pathetic.
“…That’ll be the day your life ends, Anne.”
