8. The Great Hill Lake Incident
Diane stepped into the study, gave a light bow, and approached the cherrywood desk where he sat.
A faint scent of brandy hung in the air.
The man had unbuttoned the top two buttons of his collar and rolled up his shirt sleeves, looking impossibly handsome.
Broad, squared shoulders, muscles filling out the soft fabric of his shirt with no gaps. Johann Leopold possessed not only a raw masculine energy but also an exquisitely noble bloodline.
He was studying documents, and even the faint line of concentration between his brows was captivating. To think that while living with such a magnificent husband, that woman had led such a pathetic life.
Clicking her tongue inwardly, Diane allowed herself a moment to admire him before speaking.
“I have a report, Your Grace.”
“Go on.”
He spoke dryly, eyes still fixed on what he was reading.
“The final invoice and the dresses Miss Olivia Blanchet ordered have arrived.”
Only then did the man’s perfectly shaped forehead turn toward her. The tips of his thick brows lifted slightly.
Diane wanted to make Olivia anger this man just a little more.
She carefully laid the invoices on the desk. Johann’s gaze naturally shifted to them.
Each figure was larger than Diane’s annual salary.
She sneered inwardly at that wretched illegitimate child.
Stupid thing.
Diane hated that woman with a burning disgust.
So she had painted Olivia as a frivolous, self-indulgent duchess who didn’t know her place. It hadn’t been hard; there had been plenty of opportunities.
In the end, as if rewarded for her efforts, the two had divorced, leaving the position of duchess vacant. Now it was time to reap the fruit.
Diane Leopold, Duchess.
Ah, what a sweet fruit that would be!
“How would you like to handle it?”
Diane’s voice rose slightly with anticipation.
“Handle it as you always do.”
He turned his head away indifferently, his ash-gray eyes betraying no emotion.
She wanted to suggest sending the invoices back to Olivia, but Diane bit down on her lower lip and restrained herself. A few pieces of paper, such trivial amounts of money, meant nothing to him.
The truth was, she had come with something else she wanted to say.
“I was thinking of clearing out the duchess’s bedroom.”
A dense silence settled over the room. The spring breeze coming through the window felt chillier than it should have.
“No.”
His gaze, which had returned to the documents, shifted back to her.
“Later.”
His eyes briefly flicked to the invoices piled on the desk before sweeping over the contracts. His expression, seen in that instant, softened into detached indifference, losing interest.
Diane, who had desperately wanted to erase every last trace of that presumptuous woman, clenched her interlaced hands tightly and replied meekly.
“Understood.”
There would be plenty of days ahead to clear out that empty room.
For now, capturing this man’s heart was her top priority.
Once the wife’s secretary left, silence enveloped the study. The slanting rays of the setting sun shamelessly illuminated the invoices left behind by their former owner.
Johann lifted his head and quietly stared at them.
Seeing the remnants left by the impudent wife who had dared demand a divorce, he let out a short, mirthless laugh. It hadn’t been a divorce executed without error or thoroughness.
It must have been quite an impulsive divorce.
Otherwise, there was no way to explain these invoices.
At some point, the actions of the woman who had been his wife had become completely unpredictable.
Olivia Blanchet and Edgar Langster Lancelot.
According to today’s report, the two had met. Coincidentally, of course.
Johann pulled his gaze away from the invoices and placed a cigar between his lips. The smoke he drew in deeply spread slowly through the air. He reached out and filled his empty glass with brandy.
“Please grant me a divorce.”
Amidst the heady fragrance of the well-aged fruit brandy and the cigar smoke rising like mist, his wife’s clear voice echoed in his ears. The glow of the sunset filtering through the window reflected in Johann’s eyes.
He had thought she was living quietly without any issues. What a perfectly arrogant delusion that had been.
Johann tapped the ash from his cigar, picked up his glass, and grabbed the invoices with his free hand.
“……”
As his gaze swept indifferently over the invoice from Gabriel Boutique, it stopped, frozen on one detail.
His narrowed eyes turned cold and still.
The date in the “Order Date” column felt strangely out of place.
March 27th…
Johann sank into thought.
That was the day the Prime Minister had announced his resignation. The sudden declaration had thrown all of Rondos into uproar. The royal family had urgently summoned the royalists to fill the vacant position, and as a member of the royal family, Johann had been called as well.
The meeting, which had begun at noon, had continued until dusk was settling, when a message from Great Hill arrived.
Johann began recalling the events of that day, one by one.
March 27th…
That was the day Olivia had thrown herself into the lake.
He slowly lowered his eyes.
At last, a question arose.
Why?
His cigar burned down. No matter how he thought about it, he could not understand her mindset.
Why?
Why would someone planning to commit suicide order six dresses?
No.
That was an extremely unnatural act.
Then why?
Johann slowly opened his eyes, taking in a mouthful of cigar smoke before exhaling it in a long stream, rubbing at the dryness around his eyes.
The first time Olivia had attempted self-harm had been on her birthday.
“Am I important to you, or is your promise more important?”
When he had told her he could not have dinner with her due to an unavoidable prior engagement, she had gone back to their bedroom with tears hanging from her lashes and slit her wrist.
The second time had been under similar circumstances. It was a warm August day with roses in full bloom, just before her birthday, on the day he left for a planned two-week business trip.
She had always been unusually fixated on her birthday and desperately needed him. Johann had never understood her and had avoided meaningless arguments by simply ignoring her.
And yet, this woman, who had previously attempted suicide only around her birthday, had suddenly tried to take her life at an odd time, for no apparent reason, and then, upon waking, had demanded a divorce…
It didn’t add up.
What change of heart had occurred between ordering those dresses and jumping into the lake?
Johann, now, found himself curious—strangely, belatedly so.
Could it be related to Edgar?
If not, there would be no reason for her to run to him the moment she left.
Johann, who had been quietly staring at the invoices, put out his cigar, rang the bell, and soon Morris entered.
“You called, sir?”
“Investigate the day of the lake incident. Olivia’s movements that day.”
“…Sir?”
Morris, taken aback by the sudden order, belatedly fumbled for his notebook.
“Everyone she met. Every letter she received. Every single movement she made, without missing a detail.”
Johann’s eyes, heavy with fatigue, remained calm as he spoke.
“Everything.”
His tired face turned toward the window. Beyond it, the familiar landscape was bathed in the falling sunset. In the distance, in the heart of the dense forest, the lake glowed red under the dusk sky, shining more vividly than usual.
Under the clear morning sunlight, the sound of a light-green tennis ball bouncing over the net echoed across the hotel grounds.
“Thinking of it as my husband’s face makes this so satisfying.”
Though she had lost the first set to Olivia, Elaine looked cheerful.
Taking a short break, the two sat on a bench under the shade, sipping cool soda water. Olivia wrinkled her nose at the sharp lemon scent.
“When did you learn to play tennis?”
Elaine asked, wiping sweat from her forehead.
It was widely known that Olivia Blanchet had been locked away in the attic until she was nearly sixteen. For such a woman to play tennis at this level was suspicious.
Elaine had asked out of pure curiosity, but Olivia felt a sharp pang, as if struck directly in the center of her chest.
“After I got married… I played often with my husband.”
It was such a transparent lie that Olivia avoided Elaine’s gaze, fidgeting with the rim of her glass.
Elaine, oblivious, simply thought her humble.
It was clear you couldn’t trust rumors or tabloid gossip. And to think she had reached this level of skill just by playing occasionally—Elaine was certain Olivia had a natural talent for tennis.
“You should enter the Dumblin Tournament. You’d have no competition.”
Every guidebook about the Kingdom of Britte mentioned the Dumblin Tennis Tournament without fail.
It was a prestigious competition held for forty years since a prince of the Dumblin royal family had hosted a match at his personal tennis club.
“I’ll consider it when the alimony runs out.”
Olivia said as she tied her loose hair back again.
“My grandmother won’t take you in.”
Elaine joked playfully.
“Let’s go to three sets.”
“All right.”
The two stood up and returned to the court. Olivia’s hair, tied high in a ponytail, swayed at the nape of her neck. The cool spring breeze made it the perfect early morning for tennis.
It was Olivia’s turn to serve.
From early morning, sharp cries of exertion could be heard. They were different from the deep, short shouts of men with competitive spirit, but that didn’t mean they didn’t disturb one’s sleep.
“Hah!”
Edgar, burying his face deep into the soft pillow, scowled.
“Hah! Hah! Haa!”
The strange noises sneaking into the dim bedroom tickled Edgar’s ears.
Who on earth…
Lazy nobles never moved their bodies with such enthusiasm so early in the morning. As for hotel guests, most stayed up all night in the casino, so it wasn’t them either.
“Ahh!”
A shriek inhuman in tone, followed by bright laughter, invaded his space again.
Damn it.
Giving up on sleep, Edgar let out a sigh mixed with a curse and sat up.
His head felt like it was splitting from the alcohol he had drunk until dawn.
Loosely draping a robe around himself, he walked to the window from which the noise was coming. Pulling back the heavy curtains, sunlight poured in. Edgar closed his eyes momentarily, blinking slowly before opening them.
Beyond the red walls covered in ivy, on the wide green grass of the tennis court, a woman bounced up like a lively rubber ball.
It was that woman he had been seeing often lately.
Olivia Blanchet.
