9. Little Beast
“Haa!”
With a sharp breath, a woman reached toward the sky. In that moment, it felt as if time had stopped, and the only thing moving was her—Olivia Blanchet.
Bathed in the clear morning sunlight, she leapt into the air.
Edgar let out a small sigh.
Her blouse lifted, revealing a sliver of bare skin at her waist as she swung her racket without hesitation, striking the ball.
Landing lightly, the woman let out a cheer.
Edgar, leaning sideways against the window frame, gazed down at her.
Her fresh cheeks were flushed a rosy pink, like flowers blooming in spring. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
The way she lightly flicked her tennis racket felt strangely familiar. Her hair, tied up in a high ponytail, swayed softly with her movements.
She had a habit of tapping the toe of her shoe with her racket before serving, then bouncing the ball on the ground exactly three times.
Once again, the little beast growled.
Like a predator leaping toward its prey, she jumped for the ball she had tossed into the air.
“Ha-ha!”
He could almost hear her breathless laughter from where he stood, her flushed face glowing.
The way she returned the opponent’s ball cleanly over the net was powerful and precise, with no wasted movement. She was like a sleek, black panther, moving with flexible grace.
When she struggled for a return, she would use a two-handed backhand, letting out a sharp cry that had disturbed his morning sleep.
Edgar let out a chuckle.
In tennis, known as a gentleman’s sport, it was considered polite for both players and spectators to remain quiet during matches. Ladies, in particular, were expected to maintain grace even while returning the ball, never flinging themselves around like that.
She was a frighteningly determined woman when it came to competition.
Edgar’s gaze deepened.
Had Johann’s wife always possessed such talent?
Britte was a country obsessed with roses and tennis. The endless annual Ritten Flower Festival and the Dumblin Tennis Tournament were prime examples.
The newly completed Dumblin Stadium had been a Lancelot family project.
The stadium beside the Dumblin Club housed 19 grass courts for competition, 22 practice grass courts, 8 clay courts, and 5 indoor courts—undoubtedly the largest in the world.
Alongside it were a museum, restaurant, café, and gift shop.
Edgar had plans to turn Dumblin, the domain of the eccentric tennis-mad prince, into the sacred land of tennis.
And the fruits of his five years of work would return in two months.
Olivia Blanchet.
His gaze grew intent as he watched her running across the grass.
For a successful launch, she could become the perfect publicity tool. Especially in the women’s singles category, where Princess Anblin had become a headache.
An illegitimate child cast aside by Johann Leopold, a beautiful divorcée who was living proof of scandal, and the potential winner of the Dumblin Trophy.
There could be no story more dramatic than this. Her unique playing style would also provide plenty of spectacle.
The only question was whether she had any interest in the Dumblin Championship.
A faint smile curved Edgar’s lips.
The friendly match between the two ladies ended quickly. The victorious woman’s radiant smile glittered in the morning sunlight.
Feeling rather satisfied, Edgar finally turned away. Running a hand through his disheveled hair, he walked over to the nightstand and rang the bell. Soon, Gerald entered.
“I’ll take a quick shower and head over. I’ll just have scrambled eggs with mushrooms and cheese, and coffee.”
“I’ll get it ready.”
Olivia replied with a light smile to Elaine’s request. They had decided to have a late breakfast together in Olivia’s room.
After stepping off the elevator and parting ways with Elaine, a faint smile lingered on Olivia’s face. It had been a while since she had moved enough to work up a real sweat, and it left her feeling refreshed.
“Weren’t you bored?”
“No, it was fun.”
Anne replied with a laugh.
Though Olivia had told Elaine she occasionally played with Johann, Anne surely knew that wasn’t true, yet she hadn’t said a word.
Anne had been watching over Olivia since she was six. Perhaps she could sense it—the woman wearing Olivia’s skin.
“Do you… have something you want to say?”
“Hm? Oh, no.”
Walking while looking at Anne’s profile, Olivia shook her head.
“Let’s play together next time. I’ll teach you.”
“No way. They’d kick me off the court before I even stepped on it.”
Anne shook her head, and as they arrived at the room, she pulled out the key from her handbag and slid it into the lock.
“…Miss. Did I forget to lock the door?”
“What’s wrong?”
“The door…”
Anne’s face stiffened.
“…It’s open.”
Olivia and Anne’s eyes widened as they looked at each other.
Anne swallowed hard and pressed her ear to the door.
Someone was inside.
‘What should we do?’
Anne glanced at Olivia, silently asking.
“Let’s go in.”
“Ah, no, Miss. What if it’s a thief? Let me go get someone.”
Anne whispered so softly it was barely audible, her tension evident.
“If it’s a clumsy thief who can’t even lock the door, the two of us can handle it, Anne.”
Besides, it was too bright and open for someone to be stealing things at this hour. Only a fool would try.
“Still…”
Anne hesitated.
Olivia—no, Han Jian—was skilled in martial arts and marksmanship. While she couldn’t overpower large men empty-handed, things would be different if she had a weapon.
Olivia gripped her racket like a wooden sword, while Anne raised her parasol like a longsword.
After a tense breath, the two exchanged a glance.
One.
Two.
They burst in on three, flinging the door open.
“Are you just now arriving?”
“…”
A woman in a maid’s uniform stopped what she was doing and bowed her head. It was Olivia and Anne who were caught off guard. Olivia, recovering first, asked Anne,
“Did you leave a ‘please clean’ sign on the door?”
“No, Miss.”
Slowly, Olivia and Anne turned their heads toward the woman.
“Lord Lancelot sent me. My name is Marie, and I will be assisting you during your stay here. It is a pleasure to serve you.”
The woman bowed deeply again.
Olivia’s eyes calmly swept over the neatly arranged room. Clothes, slippers, bedding, and the vanity table that had been left in disarray were all perfectly cleaned up.
Annoyance at the invasion of her private space outweighed any sense of gratitude.
Setting the racket on the table, Olivia stepped forward, her sharp gaze studying the woman.
“Is this service provided to all guests?”
“Only to VIP guests.”
The tall, slim woman with dark brown hair and eyes answered politely but firmly.
Olivia raised her brows slightly in surprise.
“This is my first time staying here.”
“Lord Lancelot determines who qualifies as a VIP.”
“I see. Then I suppose I should be grateful.”
There was no sign of deceit in the woman’s demeanor. She showed no nervousness about being caught doing something suspicious or hiding anything.
Yet Olivia still did not want strangers coming in and out of her space.
“Could you relay a message to him?”
“Please, go ahead.”
“Tell him that while I appreciate the kind gesture, I must decline. Politely.”
For the first time, an emotion flickered in the woman’s eyes as she raised her head to meet Olivia’s gaze.
“Have I done something wrong? Or is there something unsatisfactory about the room’s condition?”
“It’s perfect. Absolutely flawless.”
“Then, may I ask why? Could you share your reason?”
“I simply wish to rest comfortably.”
“….”
The woman hesitated for a moment, then bowed her head.
“Understood. Then, please rest well.”
The maid carefully backed out of the room without turning her back.
Anne immediately rushed to the dressing room and checked the hidden compartment at the bottom of the trunk, confirming the certificates of deposit, checkbooks, identification, and passports from the International Bank were still there. Olivia chuckled at the sight.
“Anne. She was sent by the hotel’s owner himself. Do you really think she would steal?”
“It doesn’t hurt to be sure.”
Anne firmly believed in knocking on even the sturdiest bridge before crossing it. Even if it had been His Majesty the King of Britte who had sent the maid, Anne would have checked.
“All right. I’m hungry, Anne. Order me the same breakfast as Elaine.”
Olivia said with a smile.
“Yes, Miss.”
Anne went down to the restaurant to place the room service order, while Olivia headed to the bathroom.
After a light shower, Olivia came out wrapped in a flannel robe. Standing by the window that offered a beautiful view of Ritten’s cityscape, she patted her damp hair dry with a towel when there was a knock at the door.
‘She’s here early.’
Crossing the room and standing by the door, Olivia opened it with a bright smile.
“Welcome—”
Her eyes widened like full moons, momentarily caught off guard. It wasn’t Elaine.
Why is he here…
Edgar Langster Lancelot looked down at Olivia with an amused glint in his eyes.
The woman was in a robe.
The thin flannel fabric clung dangerously to her slender yet full figure.
Through the overlapping front, he could see the soft curve of her pale chest, damp strands of dark brown hair clinging to her skin, teasing his nerves.
To Edgar, women were nothing more, nothing less than objects for relieving desire.
He never went out of his way for a woman he would spend only a single night with.
And yet, driven by a desire that felt somehow different, he found himself unable to tear his gaze away from Olivia Blanchet’s body.
A flush rose to her cheeks, then spread quickly to her forehead and neck before—
Bang!
The door slammed shut.
“J-Just a moment! Please wait a moment!”
Her flustered voice, tinged with the faint scent of roses she left behind, came urgently from beyond the door.
Edgar’s lips curled into a slow smile.
