Chapter 72
The maids entered, carrying trays of tea and snacks. Diana picked up her teacup and nodded her thanks with a gentle smile.
She breathed in the warm aroma and pulled something from her pocket.
“Here, the cultivation instructions.”
Diana handed Calypso a rolled-up parchment. He smiled as he slowly read through it—but the further his eyes went down the page, the more his smile faded.
“…This is…”
His hands trembled slightly.
“Yes. To grow this plant, it needs conditions we don’t have in our territory.”
Calypso swallowed hard and pressed his temples.
You thought making money would be easy, didn’t you, Calypso?
Watching his confused face made Diana want to laugh. She bit her lip to suppress it and continued calmly:
“It needs extremely fertile land.”
The Grand Duchy of Erenst was dry and barren—only hardy, low-maintenance crops grew there.
That meant they’d need land from another region to grow the Laurel Bender.
“We need that kind of land, darling.”
“…Damn.”
He sighed. Buying or leasing such land would cost money. His face darkened.
Diana, pretending to be worried, moved closer and sat beside him.
“Since I stole the idea from my father, I can’t borrow money from him… What do we do?”
Calypso rubbed his chin. They didn’t have spare funds—Erenst was already stretched thin.
He frowned deeply.
If only we could start this plant business, riches would follow. After all, this was a Pereshte-exclusive product—a pain-relieving elixir.
He had to do it—no matter the cost.
Diana watched him spin in frustration.
“There is one way…”
Finally, she set her teacup down.
“What is it? Tell me!”
His eyes lit with hope. He had no idea she was dragging him deeper into the abyss.
“…But it’s dangerous.”
She hesitated, and Calypso grabbed her hand, practically begging.
“What is it?”
“Remember the orphanage I supported since I was young?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Someone from there lends money—at a high interest rate.”
In other words, a loan shark.
But Diana had no plans to let Calypso simply repay interest.
She wanted something more valuable—everything he had left.
“But the duchy has no assets to cover those kinds of interest rates.”
Calypso couldn’t argue with that. He bowed his head slightly.
Borrowing money required having money—how ironic.
Still, if the business succeeded, he believed he could handle the interest—even if it meant selling the mansion’s luxury.
“Can you introduce me to them…?”
“You’re really going to do it?”
“…I have to. I can’t keep asking my father-in-law for help.”
“But how will we handle the interest…?”
“We’ll find a way.”
This is the man I married? Diana wanted to slap her past self.
She held back her disgust and sighed, pretending to think deeply.
“That person… doesn’t always want money.”
“What else?”
“…Territory. And titles.”
Calypso’s face froze.
“T-Territory and titles…?”
“You’ve heard of people buying noble titles with money, right? Especially with massive sums. And Erenst is a Grand Duchy—surely you could borrow enough that way.”
But even with her explanation, Calypso hesitated.
Money comes and goes, but a title… it was all he had.
Without his noble rank, would Pereshte’s daughter have ever married him?
“I guess… it’s too risky. Maybe we should give up on the business…”
“No.”
“What?”
“I’ll do it.”
Calypso stood up, went to his safe, and pulled out the documents granting him his noble title, a ceremonial sword, and his family seal.
“This should be enough.”
“…You’re really going to do it? What if something goes wrong…?”
Diana gave him a concerned, misty look. Calypso smiled faintly.
“Don’t worry. It’ll go well.”
“Then I’ll meet the lender myself. It wouldn’t look good for the head of Erenst to borrow money, right? Leave it to me.”
“Thank you, my wife.”
Calypso gently embraced her.
Diana, hidden in his arms, smiled coldly. Imagining his future—penniless and ruined.
“What’s this?”
Aicel looked curiously at the envelope Shane handed her.
“A letter. Clearly.”
Shane blinked slowly as she replied. Aicel inspected the letter—it was made from high-quality paper and scented.
The seal of House Aiberg was stamped on it.
“From Aiberg?”
She smirked. Only one person from that house would write to her: Lord Sawyer.
Aicel opened the letter with Shane’s knife.
Sawyer thanked her for their time at the party and hoped to visit the Grand Duchy soon.
She already knew he liked her, but this much? Even better—a perfect weapon against Catherine.
“Perfect. Time to write my reply.”
She stepped outside with the letter in hand, heading toward the garden.
Then came an annoying voice behind her.
“Where are you going in such a rush?”
“Oh, Catherine.”
Aicel thought Catherine would be crushed after the party, but apparently not.
She smiled cheerfully and waved.
“We’re not really on ‘friendly greeting’ terms, are we?”
Catherine sneered. But Aicel walked gracefully toward her.
“I’m just in such a good mood today.”
“Good mood?”
Catherine raised an eyebrow.
Aicel waved Sawyer’s letter like a flag.
“Guess what this is?”
Catherine snatched it and immediately recognized the seal.
“Th-this is…?”
She yanked out the letter and scanned it.
Her breathing grew ragged the more she read.
“You—you… Is this real?”
“Would I make a fake love letter?”
Aicel snatched it back and crossed her arms coolly.
“He even used scented paper. I was on my way to pick flowers for pressing into my reply.”
“No way… Not someone like you!”
“Wanna come with me, little sister?”
Catherine’s hands trembled in fury. She clenched her fists so hard her nails cut into her palms.
Now would be the perfect time for a slap, Aicel thought, raising her chin, daring her.
But Catherine did nothing—just glared, as if receiving instructions from somewhere else.
Then she spun around and stormed off.
Aicel narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
Behind Catherine, a dark, eerie shadow seemed to follow.
“What… is that?”
Her gaze locked on the writhing shadow behind her steps.
Then, within the darkness, a pair of blood-red, beast-like eyes flashed.
The chill ran down Aicel’s spine.
But in a blink, they vanished. She rubbed her eyes hard.
Catherine was already gone.
“…Maybe I imagined it.”
Aicel stared at Catherine’s door, then turned away.
