“My dear princess, I’ll give you the whole world.”
Her father, Count Ohara, was not like other nobles. To phrase it kindly, he was a free spirit; to be blunt, he was a man who was both detached and overly demanding of his daughter. Fortunately, in Roark’s high society, the former description prevailed—thanks solely to one undeniable fact.
He was the wealthiest man in the empire.
The Ohara family had once been a decently established house with a long history. But in Roark—the capital of the Belice Empire—such lineages were a dime a dozen. In a continent-spanning empire built over millennia, noble titles were so abundant they could be tripped over.
If one were to be honest, Count Ohara’s lineage was just another among many. Respectable, yes—but hardly exceptional.
That is, until the Count took over the family estate.
Having studied abroad for much of his youth, Count Ohara returned home with an aggressive vision and a remarkably liberal worldview. Starting with tobacco plantations and breweries in the colonies, he steadily expanded his influence. Then, leveraging those profits, he dove headfirst into the southern mining industry.
People had scoffed at him, clicking their tongues. Risking everything on such a gamble, they said, would ruin him.
But they were wrong.
His gamble paid off beyond even his own wildest dreams. He uncovered not just one, but multiple veins of gold and precious stones—some of the richest on the continent. In just a few short years, he had transformed from a modest nobleman to the wealthiest man in all of Roark.
And at the heart of it all stood his only child, his sole heir:
Evangeline Ohara.
He had divorced Evangeline’s mother before she was even one year old, citing irreconcilable differences. From then on, his world revolved entirely around his daughter. Unlike other noble girls, who were raised with strict tutors behind closed doors, Evangeline traveled across the continent at her father’s side.
It was unconventional—scandalously so.
But Count Ohara didn’t care.
“If she’s my daughter, then she should know how to do anything.”
Horseback riding, fencing, card games, foreign languages—he taught her everything, caring little for social convention or gender norms.
Evangeline lived freely until her late teens, finally settling down in Roark just before her official debut in society. Unsurprisingly, Count Ohara had rather strong opinions about her marriage.
He rejected the entire premise of the debut season—the traditional process of mingling with suitors, accepting gifts, entertaining proposals.
He had only one condition:
The best possible groom for my daughter.
He saw no reason to waste time. Before the social season had even begun, he marched straight to the Duke of Thèse’s household. A dukedom so powerful that most noble families wouldn’t even dare dream of it.
But Count Ohara was no ordinary man—he was a businessman. And where others saw an unapproachable peak, he saw opportunity.
After all, hadn’t he always said?
“The mine that everyone avoids is the one that holds the treasure.”
With that mindset, he approached the Duchess of Thèse—Decarno’s mother—with a portrait of his daughter in one hand and a land deed in the other. He offered her a deal, declaring boldly:
“No one in this empire would make a finer duchess than my daughter.”
The Duchess accepted on the spot.
Naturally, this sent shockwaves through the aristocracy.
Rumors spread like wildfire. People speculated she had done something improper behind the scenes, or whispered bitterly that their own daughters should’ve been considered. But it was too late—the agreement had already been made. Even more astonishingly, the Duke of Thèse himself, known for his cold, calculating nature, accepted the engagement without protest.
And once people laid eyes on Evangeline’s beauty, admiration quickly drowned out the murmurs. The union was swiftly recognized as a fait accompli.
Not that other families accepted their defeat quietly.
They placed all their hopes on a single clause insisted upon by the former Duchess:
“She must be educated in the duties of the duchess within our household.”
Everyone expected the free-spirited, foreign-raised girl to crumble under the iron discipline of the stern Duchess of Thèse.
But Evangeline did not falter.
On the contrary, she adapted flawlessly, showing herself even more capable and poised than her predecessor. She was elegant, intelligent, restrained. In just two years, she silenced every whisper of doubt.
When the former Duchess passed away, Evangeline oversaw the funeral rites. In accordance with her late mother-in-law’s wishes, she inherited the duchess’s wing of the estate and its vast garden—a symbol of her status as the future matriarch.
Backed by her father’s unconditional support and his unimaginable wealth, she rose to become the uncontested queen of society.
Until just before her twenty-second birthday.
“Tell me everything. What happened?”
Evangeline sat upright, hands folded neatly on her lap as she summoned Philip, the manager of her father’s trading company. It had been nearly a year since Count Ohara left for Addis, a city on the Eastern Continent, and he had been expected to return soon. In fact, he was supposed to be arriving in Belice in preparation for her upcoming wedding.
Instead, he had vanished without a trace.
“The ship sank? How could that be…?”
“I’m terribly sorry, my lady. We received the message only just now.”
Philip looked as pale as a ghost, clearly shaken. He clutched at his chest, eyes wide in disbelief.
“We heard the Count wrapped up business in Addis two months ago. But… there was a storm in the Leman Sea.”
“That’s not possible. His last letter said he wouldn’t be leaving until next month. How could he have boarded the ship early?”
“Well… He told us not to inform you. He said he wanted to surprise you with an early return.”
“Ah…”
Evangeline pressed her hand to her forehead, biting her lower lip. That did sound like him. Always extravagant, always dramatic. She had hoped—foolishly—that it was a mistake. But the hope was fading.
“Then… Father is really…”
“The storm was massive. They say there were no survivors. A merchant ship passing nearby found pieces of the wreckage floating in the sea.”
“Are you certain?”
“We don’t know all the details. All we’ve confirmed is that the ship sank and… the Count is missing.”
Philip lowered his head, his voice trembling. He expected her to break down in tears.
But Evangeline remained strangely composed.
Her clear pink eyes blinked slowly, like a delicate porcelain doll—but there was no panic, no hysteria.
“So, they haven’t found his body.”
“No, but… given the circumstances…”
“Then we must begin a search immediately. Check the nearby islands and waters. We need to determine if anyone survived. Also, compile a full list of valuables aboard the ship—jewels, cargo—everything. And tell me what remains of our holdings.”
Her voice was calm and precise.
Though she now held the title of duchess-to-be, she had once traveled aboard her father’s merchant ships, crisscrossing the oceans. She hadn’t worked the trade routes herself, but she hadn’t forgotten how the system operated.
“Well? Why are you still standing here?”
“That’s… Miss…”
Philip hesitated, sweat beading on his brow. No matter how composed she appeared, there was one thing Evangeline had forgotten—something crucial.
“We no longer have the money to do that, my lady.”
◇ ◆ ◇
The long table stretched across the Senate’s grand conference room in the imperial palace. At its center sat Decarno von Thèse, quill in hand, mechanically reviewing another stack of proposals.
Once he reached the final item, he set the quill down—a silent cue.
It was time for a short recess.
“Shall I bring you more tea, Your Grace?”
“No. That won’t be necessary.”
He gave a curt nod to his aide, Michael. He hadn’t paused to rest, anyway. If he didn’t break the session soon, half the men in this room would continue nodding along without even realizing what was being discussed.
As expected, a man in a navy uniform approached him quietly while the rest of the nobles filed out.
“How long has this been going on? Does anyone even know anymore?”
“….”
The words were borderline insolent, considering they were directed at the de facto commander of the imperial army. But the man didn’t hesitate to sit across from him.
Pylon, eldest son of the Earl of Summerton, was a naval captain—and one of the very few people who could speak to Decarno like an equal.
