Chapter 06
Hyde
“About that bearer bond, the one the chairman—who claimed to be acting on His Excellency’s behalf—asked us to trace…”
The organization’s lawyer spoke. Edmund nodded absentmindedly in response, as he always did during routine progress reports, then climbed into the pitch-black saloon waiting for him.
Once the door shut and the buildings outside the window began to recede, the lawyer, riding with him, spoke again—this time with the air of someone offering an apology for a recurring nuisance.
“It seems the intelligence agent we abducted is a former army officer. Keeping him confined has proven more difficult than expected.”
He continued calmly, making it clear he wasn’t trying to excuse the field operatives who had resorted to drugs.
“There will not be a fourth incident.”
“Go on.”
As he listened to the rest of the report, Edmund fell into thought.
Hyde.
It was the middle name his great-grandfather had given him in childhood. A foreign word meaning “snake.”
To most of the adults around him, the only thing Edmund had in common with that species was his jet-black hair, dark as scales. But one of the Senowick elders had once described the boy Edmund as “cunning and quick-witted.”
Though it had replaced his perfectly respectable middle name and settled in as a kind of insult, Edmund had adopted it as his own—flattering his great-grandfather with the same sly cleverness they accused him of.
After all, to that relic of an old-era aristocrat, Edmund’s father—Colt, the young man who worked in public service—must have been little more than an upstart son-in-law.
Even if that young man had risen through the Empire’s elite political ranks.
Knowing that full well, why wouldn’t Edmund play along with the old nobleman’s temper?
His efforts, never truly rewarded, often earned him pity from his maternal relatives. Especially from his childless uncle, who comforted him and held him dear—the man now known as the Duke of Senowick.
Everything had unfolded exactly as Edmund Colt had wanted.
“….”
The reason those stale memories resurfaced was absurdly trivial.
Hyde.
That was the name the Criminal Intelligence Bureau had given to the project that placed an agent in the basement of that building.
Cleverly chosen—a word that echoed Edmund’s own middle name, allowing only those in the know to instantly grasp the project’s nature.
It amused him that the term unintentionally reflected his own double life.
Not that he was some brilliant doctor—just a bastard who’d ridden his father’s carefully bred political lineage to an easy life.
Colt, the man once dismissed as an inadequate son-in-law, was now the Empire’s Prime Minister.
And Edmund, the Prime Minister’s son, ruled the sleepless streets as their undisputed master.
He had secured a stand-in—created at his father’s behest—to approach Vivienne Mergoville.
The agent’s first escape occurred at dawn on the very day Vivienne was brought to the villa. The agent was recaptured before morning, and Vivienne was dropped off at an electronics shop—but the agent escaped again that same dawn. That time, Edmund had to abandon the villa for three days and physically fight to subdue him.
And now, the third time.
In the brief window after returning from seeing Vivienne’s face, the man had fled again. This time, branch officers and field agents intercepted him at a public phone booth while he tried to contact headquarters.
Despite all that trouble, the cleanup itself was simple. The information the Bureau demanded to confirm the survival of “Edmund Colt” was information Edmund already possessed.
Misleading them was effortless—though they had grown tense due to recent noise. By tomorrow morning, all suspicions would fade.
“I hear you purchased clothing and a handbag for the woman who accompanied you to the Salenner Hotel yesterday. The checks you scattered through the upper-class district were retrieved and replaced with ones bearing the agent’s forged signature, but there are still a few loose ends…”
Vivienne.
Vivienne Mergoville.
The foreign lawyer’s voice trailed off, and Edmund frowned, glancing sideways. The lawyer averted his gaze and continued.
“We’ve arranged to host the heads of leather and apparel families in Mirabolta. Coincidentally, one of our foreign associates has connections with them. Securing the meeting was easy.”
Most luxury stores in the Empire were branches of overseas headquarters, and the organization’s multinational nature proved useful in luring in those haughty executives.
Pages turned. After a brief silence, something more personal slipped out.
“Your cheek is injured.”
“It is.”
Now Edmund understood why the lawyer had been circling the subject.
“It’s the woman I live with.”
Not the marks left when the basement-bound agent tried to escape again, nor a question about who’d applied ointment—just a cautious probe.
“Then it must be the woman who accompanied you through the elite district yesterday.”
“……”
“I heard the shop clerks treated you and your mistress with exceptional care. We’ll reflect that in how we host the executives today.”
“She’s not a mistress. Just a woman I keep.”
More like a helpless fledgling. She couldn’t read his desire, nor hide her own emotions—skilled at neither.
The lawyer changed the subject.
“Ah, and the coat you left at the boutique near your villa.”
Perhaps because he was already thinking of Vivienne, her face surfaced, along with their exchange on the street.
“By the way, where did you leave your coat?”
“I threw it away.”
Edmund nodded slowly.
“We couldn’t recover it. A noble young lady bought it for a considerable sum, claiming she knew you. She paid and took it with her.”
Edmund remained silent. The lawyer added the conclusion.
“Cynthia Eastwell. The beloved only daughter of the Eastwell family.”
Annoyances, everywhere.
Though, given the reckless moves he’d made, it would have been stranger if no one found his actions suspicious. Threats were better when they remained within predictable bounds.
“Is it a problem if the coat is in an Eastwell residence?”
“No.”
As the neon-lit nightscape of Mirabolta drew near, Edmund answered.
“A clever woman will dispose of it herself.”
There was a reason he hadn’t gone looking for it.
❖ ❖ ❖
“The agent’s code name is—unusually—the same as His Excellency’s only son: Edmund Colt.”
Minutes earlier—
Cynthia clutched her mouth as she leaned against her father’s study door. An agent…?
“And the project name is…”
At the sound of Senator Eastwell’s voice, a chill ran down her spine.
“Hyde—after that son’s middle name.”
Cynthia turned her head, peering through the crack in the wooden door. In the darkness, her parents were speaking.
“What kind of incident is the Mergoville family involved in, that it warranted deploying an agent?”
“The second son of the Rex family—the one engaged to their daughter—is rumored to be connected to the infamous Daatro Family.”
The Rex family?
Cynthia was stunned. Ludvig? His family couldn’t possibly be tied to the underworld the radio spoke of every day.
That illustrious Rex family.
A trophy claimed by the Mergovilles—and near-absolute authority within the legal world.
“There are even rumors that the family businesses the Rexes run are actually owned by Don Becalone.”
Cynthia barely managed to keep her legs from giving out. How much did Vivienne Mergoville know?
“That’s impossible! There must be some mistake. I’ll call Olivia immediately.”
Olivia was Vivienne’s mother.
“It seems Cynthia has already found the agent’s residence. If we move Vivienne somewhere safe and discuss this slowly between families—”
“Mother!”
Cynthia burst into the room. Both adults turned to her.
The senator’s face hardened; his wife’s brightened.
“Cynthia, perfect timing. I don’t know how much you heard, but you understand enough. Let’s call Marchioness Mergoville.”
“…I don’t know anything.”
Cynthia brushed her mother’s hand aside.
She knew instinctively—this was no childish game.
This wasn’t about social dominance at salons.
A year from now, the Prime Minister would be re-elected. When he wrote the list of who would board the “ark,” there was no reason for the Eastwells to draw attention.
And she had no desire whatsoever to entangle herself with the Daatro underworld.
“But, my dear, this concerns your friend. Olivia hasn’t slept for days worrying. As a parent, how can I ignore that?”
“Why are you so blind, Mother?”
“Cynthia!”
After a long silence, she replied coldly.
“And she’s not my friend.”
It was a face her father had never seen before.
Recognizing the reflection of his own political blood, the senator fell silent.
Cynthia bowed politely and returned to her room. Normally, her father would have scolded her—but this time, he didn’t stop her.
She opened her wardrobe and pulled out a luxury men’s jacket.
The one the agent had discarded—purchased at several times its value.
Without hesitation, she threw it into the fireplace.
Hand it to the Bureau, and she’d become the Prime Minister’s dog.
Return it to the underworld, and she’d be no different from the Mergovilles.
Either choice made an enemy.
Between the Prime Minister and the underworld—locked in a fragile cold war—the best option for a rising power was neutrality.
As the flames faltered, Cynthia tossed her perfume into the hearth.
The fire flared, devouring the coat.
Die, Vivienne Mergoville.
If you’re going to die—die alone.
❖ ❖ ❖
Perhaps “freezing to death” was made for moments like this.
Vivienne curled beneath the blanket, pulling it over her head.
Even covered, her arms folded inward, her toes numb. Every brush of sheet against skin carried cold.
She blinked into the darkness.
It’s cold.
At this hour every night, the fireplace died as the fuel ran out.
If he was going to be angry that she’d survived on canned food, he could at least have taught her how to light the fire.
Or maybe he just wasn’t that considerate.
Unable to endure it, Vivienne rose and entered Edmund’s room.
Hours earlier, it had filled her with anticipation. Now warmth mattered more than emotion.
On the table lay a familiar metal object.
A lighter.
She’d use it and put it back—he wouldn’t know. He wasn’t coming back suddenly.
She glanced around—
And the phone rang.
The receiver beside Edmund Colt’s bed.
She hesitated. It wasn’t her family—they would never risk scandal.
Her marriage was the Mergovilles’ last means of preserving status.
“My mother said I’m the most valuable asset of the Mergoville family, didn’t she?”
They wouldn’t have called, even if they knew.
“Compared to me, my family deserves pity.”
“May I ask why?”
“Because they’ve lost me.”
If not family—
Madison?
She clung to that hope.
But how would Madison know?
Still—if anyone could find her—
Heart pounding, she picked up the receiver.
“Hello…?”
—God, it’s you.
The voice overflowed with relief.
Not even her mother had sounded like that.
“Mrs. Eastwell.”
Not Madison.
After the call ended, Vivienne kissed the receiver lightly and set it down.
She sat barefoot on Edmund’s bed, knees drawn up, and wondered how long it would take for him to return.
Then she remembered—she had to stand alone.
“If I ask for help… will you help me?”
“As long as Don Becalone isn’t involved.”
When she needed strength most, he wouldn’t be there.
So she reached into his jacket and took the pistol.
I can do this alone.
Love wasn’t something you begged for.
She knew that better than anyone.
