“I don’t think I’ll be able to watch your match tomorrow. Something urgent came up. I’ll probably be back the day after.”
His voice was low and gentle.
“Ah… I see.”
Though her excited heart sank a little, Olivia didn’t want Edgar to worry, so she smiled as she answered.
“That’s your response?”
“Pardon?”
Her gaze, which had been drifting to the balcony floor to hide her disappointment, shot up again to meet his.
“I was expecting a bit more of a sulky reaction.”
Edgar spoke playfully, a teasing smile on his lips.
“But it’s an important matter, right?”
“What if I told you not to go?”
He slid an arm around Olivia’s slender waist and pulled her into his embrace.
“Then maybe… I’d have to reconsider.”
“D-Don’t do that…”
Startled by the sudden intimacy in broad daylight, Olivia flailed slightly and glanced nervously toward the glass.
Edgar let out a soft chuckle.
The midday sun shone through the glass, making Olivia’s flushed cheeks glow even redder.
A few strands of her hair had slipped down along her pale nape.
“You tied your hair up today.”
Edgar whispered near her ear, his gaze brushing along the alluring line of her neck.
Then, without warning, he leaned down and kissed her smooth neck. Olivia trembled as if struck by lightning.
“Please, Edgar. We can’t do this here.”
“Then where?”
He chuckled mischievously, watching as she squirmed in his arms.
“If you keep moving like that, things might get… complicated. Not that I’d mind.”
Edgar spoke while gently biting her earlobe.
His languid tone and the smile on his handsome face gave off a seductive heat—unsuited for a bright afternoon.
Realizing what he meant, Olivia froze like a log.
She stared up at him, eyes wide, motionless.
She looked so irresistibly lovable in that moment that Edgar nearly lost his mind—but he let her go.
Honestly, it would only get complicated for him.
Olivia placed both hands over her chest and exhaled quietly, as if relieved. Her entire body felt hot.
“I’ll be back soon.”
Edgar, now composed once more, spoke gently.
Olivia couldn’t even meet his eyes. She only nodded.
“Good luck on your match.”
Edgar cupped her face with a soft touch and pressed his lips to her round forehead.
Olivia flinched in surprise, her eyes widening.
“And don’t smile too much at Russell Jr.”
He added with a sly grin as he pulled away.
“You’ll do that for me, won’t you?”
He looked down, admiring Olivia still caught in his embrace.
Under the bright sunlight, her flushed face was more beautiful than ever.
Her smile was directed only at him, her eyes reflected only him—and yet, rather than joy, Edgar was filled with fear.
The woman he had long desired was now openly showing her love for him with her entire being—but he was afraid it might all fall apart.
Afraid she’d leave him if she ever learned just how despicable he truly was.
So he prayed—for the first time in his life.
Please, God. Let her never find out.
Let that brilliant smile always be meant for me.
—
Wait, what did I just see?
Elaine and Russell Jr. were frozen for entirely different reasons.
This crazy…!
The cigarette that had been dangling from Russell Jr.’s lips fell to the floor with a soft plop. His large, deer-like eyes blinked slowly in disbelief.
Beyond the sheer lace curtain hanging like a veil, the silhouette of two figures moved suspiciously.
They look exactly like lovers, don’t they?
No way.
Russell Jr., staring at the taller figure, suddenly cried out—“Ow! Hot!”—and jumped up like a rooster with its tail on fire.
Even while flailing, his mouth didn’t stop cursing.
“She’s supposed to be focusing on her match! What the hell is this—trying to shake up a player right before a tournament? Isn’t that just plain evil?”
For the first time, Elaine agreed with Russell Jr.
Edgar Langster Lancelot was, indeed, a bad man.
What was the Marquis of Lancelot thinking?
The atmosphere between those two was far from ordinary.
Was it truly love? Or just a passing curiosity about an attractive divorcée?
Elaine was filled with regret.
She should’ve told the truth that night—when she had dinner with Olivia, right before she left for Brier.
“Edgar. Be careful of that man.”
That was as far as Elaine could bring herself to say.
“He belongs to the princess. And you said you were going to keep living here, right? You don’t want to get entangled.”
After all, she had accepted money from him. Elaine couldn’t claim to be completely honest with Olivia either.
But now, for the first time in her life, she had something that felt like real friendship.
And with that, came fear—the fear that grew stronger the more she liked Olivia.
She didn’t want to break that bond.
But at the same time, if she wanted it to be genuine, she had to tell Olivia everything.
And yet, she was terrified of the Marquis’s retaliation.
Elaine’s heart grew heavier.
She wished this would turn out to be nothing more than a passing emotion.
Edgar seemed like the perfect man to enjoy the sweetness of honey and leave before drowning in it.
So she prayed that Olivia wouldn’t get hurt.
That was all she could do.
—
Catherine slowly read through the letter bearing the royal seal of the Kingdom of Rondos.
And as her eyes passed a certain line, they lost their calm and began to tremble. Tears pooled rapidly.
Her hands, still holding the paper, started to shake.
“What’s wrong, Catherine?”
As Catherine dropped her gaze from the letter and stared blankly into space, a tear fell.
Her pale hands trembled as she covered her mouth.
She had just returned to the west palace in Britte after watching Princess Anneblin’s fourth-round match.
Irenne had felt uneasy the moment she saw the silver tray bearing the express international mail from the Kingdom of Rondos, bearing the royal seal.
“Catherine?”
As Irenne called out again, Catherine—who had gone ghostly pale—finally burst into tears.
“M-My brother… my brother…”
Unable to finish her sentence, Catherine buried her face in her hands and wept over her knees.
The letter slipped onto the carpet. Irenne picked it up.
Though the ink had smudged in places, it was still perfectly legible.
“…!”
Even Irenne’s hand trembled slightly. The midday sun streaming through the large window was so bright it made her dizzy.
“To my beloved daughter,”
It was a personal letter from Queen Katrina—delivering the news of her son’s accident.
Irenne read to the end, her breath shaky.
If there is a God, please break that man’s legs and keep him by my side.
For two years, she had desperately and bitterly prayed for this.
The prince, Christian—arrogant and beautiful—was now crippled.
—
Despite it being midday, the Crown Prince’s chambers were shrouded in curtains, the air filled with the scent of herbal aroma candles.
“Get out.”
The small voice was muffled by the cushion.
The once-arrogant tone was now broken and fading.
Johan, staring at the dust swirling in the shaft of light cutting through the curtains, pulled a chair over and sat down.
“The royal family of Argent has sent an official request to break off the engagement.”
“That bastard.”
Christian still lay on the bed, his head turned into the cushion.
“You’re not even going to ask how I’m doing?”
“I’m not in the best mood myself right now.”
They had lived together for three years, yet Olivia had never once shown interest in watching him play polo.
And now, Olivia Blanchet—that Olivia—had made it to the finals of the Dumblin Championship.
Meanwhile, he had gotten drunk, fallen from his horse, and ended up paralyzed from the waist down.
Christian let out a deranged laugh.
He ran his hand roughly through his matted blond hair and turned his head.
“I’m going to live the rest of my life a cripple. So tell me—what could be more upsetting than that? Huh?!”
He screamed suddenly, his face turning red.
The supposed calming aroma candles didn’t seem to be helping. If anything, they only made the air heavier.
Perhaps the sedatives had worn off, for Christian’s eyes were wild with violent energy.
He still hadn’t come to terms with his condition. His mind and body were both unstable.
“Stop making things harder for everyone around you. Think about your future.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“And saying it harder would change what, exactly?”
“You cold-hearted bastard. Get out.”
Christian slammed his face back into the pillow and began cursing uncontrollably.
Unable to control his fury, he began punching the pillow and screaming.
Then he reached out and started throwing whatever he could grab.
A glass bottle narrowly missed Johan’s shoulder and shattered on the marble table.
Christian grabbed a crystal glass in his hand.
Johan’s patience had run out.
He stood up, bent over, and grabbed Christian by the jaw—forcing his face up.
The strength in Christian’s hand disappeared, and the glass fell limply onto the bed.
“Y-You dare…”
Christian choked as he gasped for air, flailing his arms.
“You dare lay hands on me?! I’m still the Crown Prince of this country! The Crown Prince!!!”
Johan stared at him coldly, his gaze devoid of warmth.
“Then act like one. Stop behaving like a brat.”
He let go of Christian’s chin.
Christian rubbed at the red mark on his neck and gasped for air.
Even as he caught his breath, he glared up at Johan.
Tears pooled at the corners of his deeply set eyes.
“Don’t cry in front of me.”
“I’d cry somewhere else if my legs weren’t like this.”
Christian laughed bitterly as he covered his eyes with a rough hand. Tears slid down his temples.
They weren’t tears of repentance for a life of indulgence.
They were tears of unbearable rage.
