INWY~25

Chapter 25

“You haven’t changed a bit, Riena.”

Dante pulled a cigar from his pocket and set it between his lips.

“Well, of course. For someone like you, a single year is far too short to bring about any change.”

Click.

He lit it, lips curving faintly as the smoke curled upward.

“I don’t… understand what you’re trying to say.”

Riena frowned slightly at his sudden, incomprehensible words.

Dante exhaled a long stream of smoke, then parted his lips again.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

“…”

“I’m asking if it amused you—seeing me fooled by your lies, watching me grant you the annulment you wanted, and even holding your funeral for you.”

The smile on his lips only sharpened, carrying a simmer of rage. 

He didn’t give her the chance to answer.

It was unlike him, this loss of composure, this surrender to heat and chaos. 

He despised such moments.

Yet the fury inside him had become unbearable.

“Oh, that’s right. It wasn’t even a divorce. As you wished, I declared the marriage null so no ‘title’ would cling to you.”

“Your Grace, I never meant—”

“When you dared to lecture me about what you needed, whining about how hard it was, how miserable you were… back then…”

His jaw clenched so hard it cut his words short.

She didn’t need him to finish. 

She already knew what he had been about to say.

Tch. 

He clicked his tongue and flicked the ash from the cigar, then set it back between his lips.

“This is treason against the royal house.”

His tilted head, his mocking tone—it all asked the same thing: Can you bear the consequences?

“If that is what you wish, I will apologize as many times as it takes.”

“An apology?”

Dante gave a mirthless laugh.

“How fitting. You’ve never once apologized to me before.”

Thud.

The cigar fell from his lips, and he ground it beneath his heel. 

When he straightened, his voice carried a cold command.

“Apologize, Riena.”

Say it, Riena.

Just like back then.

Her dark brown eyes, once steady, trembled violently.

Forcing her lips apart, she drew in a shaky breath. 

After a long silence, the words finally fell from her tongue.

“…I’m sorry.”

“Again.”

Again. 

Again. 

Greet me properly, Riena.

Exactly as it had been before.

He’s doing this on purpose.

Her heart pounded with a sickening thud. 

She looked at him, bewildered. 

What could he possibly gain from this? No—there was something.

She realized, bitterly, that to Dante, humiliation itself was reason enough. 

The more shame she felt, the more pleasure he took in it. 

Perhaps he even hoped she would cry.

But she would never give him that satisfaction.

Drawing a steadying breath, she clasped her hands together and bowed her head, her movements practiced, as if rehearsed for this very moment.

If she could just get through it once…

Her voice came, calm and formal, every word deliberate.

“I accept the weight of my crime in deceiving Your Grace, Grand Duke Venachert. I do not seek forgiveness, but I humbly repent. I am sorry.”

Dante watched her in silence, his gaze fixed on her bent figure. 

Only after a long moment did he finally look away.

***

Clink.

“Riena! Are you alright? Where’s that lunatic? Did he leave?”

The moment Riena stepped back into the café, Sharon rushed over, abandoning the customer she had been serving. 

She pressed close, speaking in a hurried whisper as if sharing a secret.

“Lunatic.”

The blunt word made Riena let out the faintest laugh. 

Sharon had called him that before, even to his face. 

Somehow, it was funny.

“Yes. We just talked a little and then parted. Did things stay busy while I was gone?”

“No, thank goodness! And thank heavens no one saw him.”

Sharon let out a great sigh of relief, clenching her fists. 

Something in Riena’s chest stirred warmly.

She was worried about me.

Forcing her lips into a brighter smile, Riena tied her apron back on. 

Her insides still churned, but she could not let it show. 

To reveal her feelings now would invite nothing but pity—or scorn.

“But… who was he? Really?”

As Riena tried to calm herself, Sharon’s curiosity got the better of her.

“Ah… Sharon. Can you keep a secret?”

At Riena’s lowered voice, Sharon nodded frantically, eyes round and glimmering with curiosity.

Riena chuckled faintly. 

She had worried about Sharon’s tendency to gossip, but… this was something that couldn’t be hidden forever.

“Grand Duke Venachert.”

“…Oh, I see. Ri—what?”

Sharon’s eyes went wide, her face blanching pale.

“Th-the Grand Duke? Oh God… what do we do…?”

Her voice shook so badly it almost seemed she was more frightened than Riena had been.

It wasn’t funny. 

It wasn’t the time to laugh. 

And yet Riena found herself giving a helpless, weary laugh all the same.

“So I… I called the Grand Duke—a member of the royal family—a lunatic?”

“Don’t worry, Sharon. Nothing will happen.”

And she meant it. Surely, he wasn’t that petty of a man.

…Probably.

But despite her reassurance, Sharon’s face remained stricken, her voice a dazed murmur.

“This time I’ve really done it…”

***

Dante strode slowly into the resort annex lobby.

Calis was waiting, his face lighting with alarm the moment he saw him.

“Your Grace! Where in the world have you been? I’ve been searching everywhere—”

“Where were you?”

“I escorted you and returned directly to the resort, just as you instructed. You told me to come back in thirty minutes. But when I returned, you were gone, and—do you know how alarmed I was?”

Dante had simply stopped by the seaside café he’d noticed the day before. 

It seemed he and Calis had missed each other in passing.

Which meant… Calis hadn’t seen her.

Pressing his fingers against his temple, Dante ignored the flurry of words spilling from his aide and kept walking.

Instead of heading toward the central elevators, he pushed open a discreet side door, revealing a private lift.

“W-wait, Your Grace!”

Calis managed to slip in just before the doors shut, hastily pressing the button for the fourth floor—the private master suite and study reserved exclusively for Dante.

“Will you be resting? You still have about two hours before the dinner with Mayor Lester…”

He flipped between his watch and his notebook, checking the schedule.

Dante spared him a glance. 

The man had improved somewhat since being stationed here. 

Still, he had no patience for the chatter.

“Yes,” he said shortly.

Calis stopped in his tracks, relief softening his face.

“Very well! Then please rest well. I’ll return in two hours!”

He hurried away, leaving Dante to open the door into the master suite alone.

Collapsing onto the sofa in the grand sitting room, Dante leaned back, closing his weary eyes. 

Darkness filled his vision.

And immediately—damnably—her face returned.

The face he had erased from memory the moment he buried her.

A sharp, mirthless laugh escaped him.

She had died in that carriage accident. 

He had held her funeral with his own hands. 

And yet here she was—alive, under another name, standing by the very sea she once longed for.

It was absurd. 

Even that fool Reichert would have found it laughable.

At first, he thought she was hallucinating. 

Of course he had. 

What else could explain seeing a dead woman, unchanged, walking before him?

Then he thought she was merely a lookalike, like the woman he’d glimpsed yesterday.

But the moment he saw her eyes, wide with recognition and panic, he knew.

She was Riena Bronte—the woman who had dared demand annulment, only to die on her own terms.

He clenched his fists, forcing back the swell of fury. 

If he hadn’t restrained himself, he might have dragged her out of that café and locked her in the nearest room, never to leave again.

“Ridiculous…”

His temples throbbed. 

He pressed his fingers hard against them.

He loathed the unexpected. 

He loathed losing control.

Opening his reddened eyes, he glanced at his watch. 

Less than thirty minutes remained until Calis returned. 

Which meant he had spent nearly an hour and a half replaying the encounter in his head.

Tch. 

Clicking his tongue, Dante rose and walked into the dressing room.

He stripped off his wrinkled jacket and shirt, replacing them with crisp new ones.

Vest, cufflinks, tie, tie pin, pocket watch—every detail was immaculate.

Finally, he slicked back his golden hair with wax, donned his jacket, and faced the mirror.

The Grand Duke of Venachert stared back—composed, flawless, untouchable.

Dante smirked faintly.

Yes. Order could be restored. Control reclaimed.

And if something—or someone—defied that control, there were only ever two choices.

Remove it from sight.

Or bind it so tightly it could never escape.