The night of the closing ceremony was deepening.
In the office, where the noise from the ongoing party in the banquet hall couldn’t reach, a heavy silence settled like the darkness.
As the Marquis’s silence lengthened, the journalist, becoming increasingly anxious, changed his demeanor and began to threaten.
“So, if you help me this time, I will never appear before you again. Not in front of the Marquis, that is.”
His eyes, consumed by greed, gleamed with a murky sheen.
“Or in front of Miss Blanchet.”
The man emphasized the last word with a heavy stress. A greasy smile glistened on his oily face.
Gerard was certain that if he gave the man money again, he would lose it all in a gambling den and cause trouble again within a week, as sure as the sun would rise. What couldn’t a man do when he had even dared to barge into a hotel?
“Of course, I could go find Miss Blanchet myself, but no gentleman wants to make a lady cry. I’m surprisingly weak to a lady’s tears, you see. And I’m quite confident that Miss Blanchet would be very interested in my story. In that case, the relationship between the two of you-”
Edgar smirked. He had underestimated the pitfalls of a public relationship.
Edgar took a puff from his cigarette and poured whiskey into a thick glass on the table. He exhaled a long plume of smoke he had held in his mouth and filled the journalist’s glass as well. The journalist, a true drinker, licked his lips at the sight of the top-shelf liquor. The lavish hospitality suggested that the Marquis was going to hand over money again.
Edgar silently set the bottle down and flicked his chin. Gerard took a small bottle from his pocket, uncapped it, and poured the contents into the glass. The journalist froze.
“Drink.”
Edgar smiled, pulling his lips back. The man stared intently at the glass with the unknown additive, then declined.
“No, thank you.”
“Why? Afraid you’ll die?”
The humorless eyes shone like blades. The man sobered up instantly. His legs began to tremble.
“Did you come to me without even that much guts?”
“…”
Sweat beaded on his palm, which was resting on his thigh.
“If you’re going to act like this, I’ll just go straight to Miss Blanchet…”
“Have you ever considered that you might die before you can do that?”
Edgar crossed his long legs and stared at the man with an indifferent gaze.
“The only reason you’ve been alive this long is because I can do whatever I want with you, whenever I want.”
“…”
“And because I judged you to be a man who at least knows some shame.”
The man’s face turned ashen. He finally understood who he had dared to threaten and where he had crawled into on his own accord.
“How much do you want?”
Edgar asked with a smile.
“N-no, I’m fine.”
“I’ll believe that it’s the last time. Oh! And don’t go to Bigfoot. There are more con artists there than gamblers.”
The man froze completely. Bigfoot was a seedy place he frequented, an illegal gambling den disguised as an ordinary pub. Furthermore, it was where he had lost his entire fortune today. That meant he had been under constant surveillance. The obvious warning sent a chill down his spine, and he wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.
Edgar gestured to Gerard with his chin. Gerard went to the office safe, took out a box of gold bars, and placed it on the table. The journalist opened the black ebony lid. Five golden gold bars glittered heavily in the light.
“You may go.”
The man’s mind was in a whirl. He couldn’t figure out the Marquis’s true intentions. Was it really okay for him to take the gold bars in front of him, or was this a test? Would he suddenly find himself dead if he grabbed it and left? Sweat began to trickle down his forehead.
“N-no, I’m fine. I think I was a bit drunk and lost my reason for a moment. I apologize for intruding so rudely…”
“Take it. And then you disappear quietly. Is that so difficult?”
“N-no. Of course not.”
The journalist waved his hands, stammered, took the box of gold bars, tucked it under his arm, and stood up.
“Thank you.”
He bowed unsteadily and scurried away. Edgar watched him go calmly. He tossed the half-smoked cigarette into an ashtray and said,
“Make sure she doesn’t see her. Get rid of him.”
“Understood.”
His tired eyes were chilling.
Olivia sat quietly, waiting for Edgar. His empty seat felt huge. It was clear that something had happened recently. She decided to ask him when he returned. She wanted to be a help if there was anything she could do.
As darkness deepened, the lights in the banquet hall became even brighter and more splendid. Olivia’s gaze wandered through the dazzling hall, filled with cheerful dance music and people’s laughter.
“Hello, Miss Blanchet.”
Olivia, who had been silently watching the direction Edgar had disappeared, turned her head. Several well-dressed noblewomen were standing demurely.
“Hello.”
Olivia smiled faintly and greeted them.
“It’s such an honor to meet you. Congratulations on your victory.”
“Thank you. Please, have a seat.”
By this point, Olivia was feeling a little tired. The endless pleasantries and superficial conversations.
“I’ve always thought you were so beautiful. Is your dress today a Madame Laurent creation?”
“Yes.”
Olivia gave a short nod. They praised everything from the tiara sparkling on her dark brown hair to the jewels on the ribbon decorating her shoes, all while discreetly glancing at Olivia’s ring finger. The rumors of a blue diamond ring she had purchased were everywhere, but the ring itself was not yet on her hand.
“Our Laurent family has been in the perfume business for generations. The roses we grow on our land are the finest in the Britt Kingdom. I think their sensual scent would suit your image perfectly, Miss Blanchet. I brought a sample as a gift, but I’m not sure if you’ll like it.”
Olivia was taken aback and accepted the small box that was thrust into her hands. It was a product from a company she had already sent a refusal letter to.
“My husband is starting a new business related to tennis equipment. So I was wondering, what would you think about being the model for our products, Miss Blanchet? Hohoho.”
The woman smiled sweetly behind her fan and began to explain the products.
“My family is in the wine business.”
Olivia tried to hide her discomfort, maintaining a faint smile. If the postal service had been working normally, they would have surely received her refusal letter.
“Thank you, but I…”
Just as she was choosing her words for a polite refusal and about to speak, Olivia’s eyes widened.
Through the glass window of the terrace, someone entering the garden entrance, illuminated by colorful stained-glass lights, came into her view.
“…”
As Olivia’s expression hardened, the flustered noblewomen stammered.
“We certainly don’t mean to pressure you. We just wanted you to reconsider, so please don’t be upset.”
“Yes, that’s right. We just want to have an exchange of friendship with Miss Blanchet. I hope there’s no misunderstanding.”
“Oh! No, it’s not that. I just thought I saw someone I know.”
Olivia looked at them with a look of dismay.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go say hello. Would that be alright?”
“Of course, of course. Take your time. The party has just begun.”
The noblewomen smiled readily and let Olivia go. Olivia got up from her seat and walked across the hall.
If there are good days, there are also bad days.
Unfortunately for Edgar, today seemed to be one of those days. For some reason, he felt like things were constantly getting messed up.
No, it wasn’t just a feeling; it was the reality. That’s why this woman, Sarah Pavlova, was standing in front of him. Edgar let out a hollow laugh.
“I asked you why you showed up.”
The woman was being reckless.
“Would you mind lighting this for me?”
Sarah Pavlova took a cigarette out of a thin silver case, put it in her mouth, and stared at Edgar defiantly.
Edgar, with his gaze fixed, took a matchbox from his inner jacket pocket. Crack, a flame erupted.
“This is a party for the participants of the Dumbledore Championship. Is there a problem with that? Or is it that players who are eliminated in the first round of the preliminaries don’t deserve an invitation?”
Phew, Sarah Pavlova exhaled a plume of smoke and scoffed openly.
He had just left his office after dealing with the blackmailing journalist and was heading to the banquet hall. The elevator door had opened on the first floor, and the butler, who seemed to be waiting for him, handed him a note.
“I’ll be waiting at the pergola. Sarah Pavlova.”
Clouds were gathering in the clear night sky. As the moonlight disappeared, the colors emitted by the stained-glass lights became even more vivid.
Edgar ran his hand roughly over the space between his eyebrows, where a headache was forming, and asked the woman,
“What is your business with me?”
He was a man who would threaten, not be threatened, and it went against his nature. Nevertheless, he endured the unpleasantness. It was all a situation he had brought upon himself, and it was something that must not reach Olivia’s ears.
“I want Lancelot’s sponsorship for next year’s tournament.”
Sarah Pavlova said, pulling up her painted red lips.
“It’s simple, isn’t it?”
In front of the Marquis, who had become the weaker party, she had no reservations. Sarah Pavlova leaned against a marble pillar, crossed her arms, and stared at the man.
Edgar tilted his head slightly to stretch his stiff neck muscles.
Sarah Pavlova.
A bitter laugh escaped his lips. He rubbed his temples with a greasy finger, then fumbled in his inner jacket pocket for a cigarette and put it in his mouth.
Crack, a second flame erupted. He took a deep drag from the cigarette and lowered his gaze. His eyes locked with Sarah Pavlova’s.
“How tiresome.”
She was just as shameless as that journalist.
She was sure he had gone this way.
Olivia carefully moved her feet to avoid worsening the slight pain on the top of her foot. The garden of the Lancelot Hotel was vast, and her steps were slow. As a result, she lost track of Sarah Pavlova. Olivia, who wanted to say hello to her, looked around again carefully.
