“Welcome, Marquis.”
Employees in sleek black suits greeted Edgar politely.
Eyes widened inside the boutique as if they’d just seen a ghost in broad daylight.
Edgar returned a refined nod to the familiar faces who recognized him.
“This way, sir—”
“No, I want to see for myself.”
Rejecting the VIP reception room, Edgar strode gracefully toward the display cases.
Since Edgar had never personally chosen a gift for a lover, Gerald’s face twisted in near shock.
Please… Gerald prayed this scene would remain unnoticed by those vulture-like journalists—most of all, that it wouldn’t reach the Duke of Lancelot’s ears.
“Give the gift of joy!” read the golden letters across the wall, sparkling under the brilliant chandeliers even in broad daylight.
Beneath them, delicately crafted jewels gleamed through the transparent glass.
Edgar’s calm gaze scanned each item one by one—until it halted on a ring adorned with a sapphire blue gem.
Gerald felt his heart plummet.
Not a necklace set, brooch, or hair ornament—items he often gifted—but a ring?
No way…
“Would you like to see it up close?”
Instead of answering, Edgar simply nodded.
The busy Halo Street was filled with elite passersby. This was the most famous jewelry shop in all of Britt—and now, a ring?
Just as planned, there were plenty of eyes watching, both inside and outside the store.
This was enough to ensure the rumors would reach the palace by the end of the day.
The Ghost of the Leopold Hotel, they called her.
Edgar sneered inwardly.
A gloved employee carefully retrieved the box and placed it on the display counter.
Under the spotlight, the blue diamond scattered light in every direction.
Its vivid blue hue resembled Olivia’s eyes.
“Is this an engagement ring, sir?”
At the employee’s question, Edgar gave a subtle smirk.
You shake me, I’ll break you. In the cruelest way possible.
His blue-gray eyes chilled as they stared down at the blue diamond ring.
He knew it was an impulsive act—far from the calculated life he usually led.
It wasn’t like him.
But Anblin had to pay for tarnishing the sacred light of divinity.
“This one,” Edgar said.
“An excellent choice, sir.”
Gerald was horrified.
If the Duke of Lancelot ever found out about this, his own life would be in danger.
Customers who had been peeking now stared openly, stunned.
Good heavens! Edgar Langester Lancelot is proposing?
Despite the quiet uproar around him, Edgar remained composed.
“Wrap it with a blue ribbon,” he added with a charming smile.
The blue diamond ring that had captivated him at first sight—there could be no better ring to propose to Olivia Blanchet with.
His eyes narrowed as he calmly stared at the perfect ring.
He had shaken Olivia’s composure—so it was only fair that Anblin’s peace of mind be completely shattered.
And it didn’t take long for the shocking news to reach Anblin’s ears.
As the sun dipped behind the clock tower, shadows and an eerie silence settled over the Western Palace.
Dismissing the maids and attendants who had been anxiously pacing, Alex took one look around the wrecked bedroom and let out a deep sigh.
The sharp crashing noises coming from Anblin’s bedroom had briefly died down—but even after he entered, they resumed.
A white porcelain vase flew toward the wall and shattered into pieces, flowers scattering wildly.
A scream, nearly a wail, pierced the air.
“Calm down.”
“How can I?! How could I possibly stay calm?!”
Staggering toward him, barefoot, Anblin screamed with wild eyes.
Worried she’d cut her feet on the shards, Alex scanned the room, found her slippers, and set them down at her feet.
“Put these on.”
“This is all your fault. Yours, brother!”
Anblin beat her fists against his chest, then collapsed to the floor in sobs.
Alex clenched his jaw. His sister was gravely mistaken.
Even if she hadn’t married the Argent prince, Edgar never would have proposed to her.
That was the kind of man he was—unfit to be a good husband, no matter how generous one tried to be.
“I told you not to touch that woman.”
Alex had seen the article about the so-called Ghost of the Leopold Hotel.
Knowing full well the details of Olivia Blanchet’s kidnapping, he couldn’t help but suspect Anblin.
“You provoked Edgar.”
The gossip article dropped just two days before the finals was clearly meant to psychologically sabotage Olivia. The move was cheap—and transparent.
“No, no! It wasn’t me!!! I’m not that stupid!”
Anblin sobbed in frustration.
She couldn’t accept her breakup with Edgar.
The reasons she’d fallen for him still gleamed just as brightly—if not more—than before.
“Why not me? Why her?”
Tears dripped onto the back of her hand as she clutched her lace-trimmed dress.
For a while, she was in denial. A proposal to a woman like that?
Unforgivable.
Her love had warped into obsession. And it began to draw out the darkness inside her.
“They’ll never be happy. I won’t let them. Never.”
“Please, An…”
Alex sighed, almost in anguish.
Just as there were children one would love even if they were a pain—there were siblings one would love even if they broke your heart.
Watching his precious sister descend into darkness, Alex slowly dropped to one knee.
“Don’t cling to what’s already over.”
He met her gaze, his expression grim.
There was no law against a single man proposing to a woman.
Even if that man was her ex-lover and she was hurt by it—there was no legal ground for punishment.
Alex cupped her tear-soaked cheek with one hand. Her amber eyes shimmered with sorrow.
“…Brother.”
Fresh tears streamed down, wetting his hand.
“Don’t cry, An. He’s not worth it.”
If he couldn’t be held accountable on personal grounds—then a public reason would do.
It was at that moment, as Alex wiped away her tears, that he made his decision.
After he left, the maids returned quietly to clean up the wrecked bedroom.
They occasionally cast furtive glances at the princess, worried the fragile silence would shatter at any moment.
Only when Kaila entered with a gentle knock did the maids finally breathe a sigh of relief.
Anblin, in a new dress, sat expressionless with her swollen eyes, gazing at them blankly.
“It’s chamomile tea. Try some, An.”
A maid placed a cup on the table. As Kaila poured from the teapot, the yellow chamomile flower bloomed in the white porcelain cup.
Placing the cup in front of Anblin, Kaila instinctively studied her expression.
Anblin sat rigidly upright, unmoving. Her slow gaze eventually met Kaila’s.
“Kaila.”
Kaila paused mid-pour and looked at her.
“Quietly—there’s something I need you to find out.”
Her voice was low, but it carried a steely tone. The clink of the teapot being set down echoed after it.
“What is it? Tell me, An.”
“The Ghost of the Leopold Hotel… I want to know who started it.”
In her shadowed eyes, the flame of the golden candleholder flickered.
The candlelight cast shadows under her sharp nose, beneath her fierce eyes, below her cheekbones—Anblin herself looked like a pale, hauntingly beautiful ghost.
Perhaps that was why Kaila felt a cold chill run down her spine.
From afar, a train whistle sounded.
Johan, seated on a bench in the waiting room, stood up.
Startled by the movement, Morris jolted awake, causing the hat perched precariously on his head to fall and roll across the floor.
He hastily picked it up and followed Johan.
The train pulled into the station, releasing steam into the hot summer night air.
The platform trembled under its heavy weight.
Gradually slowing, the train came to a complete stop.
At the conductor’s whistle, passengers began to disembark. In the chaos, a station employee swapped out the train’s sign:
To LeMont.
The stern-faced stationmaster bowed politely as Johan boarded.
As Johan and Morris entered the passenger car, Johan accidentally bumped into a late disembarking woman.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!”
Johan barely nodded and stepped aside to let her pass.
“Oh my, Duke of Leopold?”
Only then did Johan look up to meet her gaze. He didn’t recognize her.
The woman raised her neatly shaped eyebrows.
With an air of confidence, she locked eyes with him, clearly expecting him to remember her.
But Johan’s indifferent stare prompted her to lower her brows, and she spoke with resignation.
“I saw you at the Kindrapalga Ship Launch Ceremony.”
At her clarification, Johan’s sharp eyes narrowed.
“Must I go?”
He had responded with silence to the queen’s question—that silence had meant yes, but irritation had already been plain on his face.
After a week of sleepless nights filling in for the crown prince—and dragging Mikhail, blackout drunk, out of the Doherty Club—he’d finally escaped the palace.
Exhausted in both mind and body, he had neither the interest nor the energy to care who this woman was.
Sensing the fatigue on his silent face, the woman revealed her identity.
