Chapter 29
After spending quite a while doing something that those pampered young noblemen could never begin to understand, Scarlett finally set down her tools. Then, without hesitation—as if her very life weren’t dangling on the line—she pulled the lever.
In that instant, a loud humming roar filled the warehouse.
“It works.”
Scarlett lifted her head as she spoke. Even amidst that cacophony, the tension between the navy and the army was palpable.
She flashed a somewhat sheepish smile.
“It works, doesn’t it?”
Evan was the first to react, pulling his hands out of his pockets and applauding.
“Impressive, Miss Scarlett. You really fixed it!”
The others looked equally dumbfounded.
Blight admitted honestly,
“The Crimson family is incredible… I didn’t think you’d actually repair it.”
Scarlett laughed.
“You didn’t trust me?”
“Honestly, not at all. I was seriously preparing for what we’d do if you failed.”
“What do you mean?”
At that, Waldo jabbed at Viktor, half-mocking.
“Weren’t you planning to kill us?”
Viktor only gave a dry laugh, pulling off his coat and tossing it aside. He searched his pockets—but there was no gun.
Evan scolded,
“Really, how are we supposed to manage without trust?”
“You trust people only when they deserve it.”
Even as they bickered, the engine continued to run. Perhaps because of that steady hum, what might have become a long quarrel quickly dissolved into smiles.
Then someone shouted,
“A technician from the Crimson family is here!”
Scarlett flinched, and others immediately picked up the cry.
“A technician!”
“We’re saved!”
The voices rose in chorus, and startled, Scarlett scurried to hide behind the engine—her only refuge. Viktor, exasperated, caught her arm and pulled her behind his back.
To celebrate the repair of the engine, the soldiers drank.
Scarlett, however, was too drained to even feel relieved; she was about to collapse. She had climbed a mountain the day before, spent the entire night awake, and now had repaired the engine. It felt as though she’d wrung out every last drop of strength from her body.
For now, she borrowed Viktor’s private bath attached to his room. She thought of soaking in warm water, but feared she’d fall asleep right there, so she settled for a cold wash.
“This week has been… too much…”
She muttered to herself, then changed into the spare clothes she’d brought. Unfortunately, she hadn’t expected to meet Viktor, so she’d only packed old things she intended to throw away. If Viktor, who never missed a chance to criticize her way of living, saw her in her worn pajamas, she was sure to hear about it. But she had no other option.
As expected, when she stepped out, Viktor’s gaze swept over her.
“Is this your way of protesting that I never paid you alimony?”
Just as she predicted. Rationally, it wasn’t something to be ashamed of—but her cheeks burned anyway.
“I just brought old clothes to throw away, that’s all. Didn’t want to carry too much weight.”
“So in other words, you wore them until they got that bad.”
“…Think of it as frugality.”
Viktor chuckled, amused.
Embarrassed, Scarlett clutched her collar and asked,
“Is there a spare room?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll sleep outside. It seems warm enough.”
“Hm.”
Viktor didn’t argue. Instead, he walked over and personally opened a door that had been shut. As on the day he’d signed the divorce papers, he wouldn’t stop her twice.
Scarlett slung her sleeping bag over her shoulder and stepped outside. But at the sight of a crawling insect in the lobby, she recoiled in fright.
“Ah, forgive me.”
One of the young guards crushed the bug under his boot and flicked it aside.
Scarlett grimaced.
“Why… why are they so big?”
“Ah, it’s the south, miss!” the youth answered cheerfully.
Scarlett was still trembling in the lobby when another soldier approached.
“You wouldn’t believe the kinds of bugs that appear down here. Things you’d never imagine back in the capital.”
“L-like what?”
Scarlett had assumed no beasts could possibly appear near an elite garrison, and that had been why she dared consider camping outdoors. But compared to those bugs, she would’ve preferred a wild animal.
The men eagerly shared their tales.
“I once saw a centipede the size of my forearm—”
“W-what? There’s no such thing!”
“No, it’s true! If you don’t believe me, I’ll risk my life to find one and prove—”
“That’s enough!” Scarlett clapped her hands over her ears, refusing to hear more.
At that moment, Viktor came down, draped an arm around her shoulders, and teased,
“Better to sleep with your ex-husband than with those things, isn’t it?”
Scarlett rubbed her goosebumped arms.
“You’re lying, right?”
“If you’re curious, come find out.”
She shook her head vigorously.
In the end, she returned to Viktor’s room. Looking around, she pointed at one of the doors.
“What’s that?”
“A closet.”
“…And that one?”
“My office. You’re not an insider enough to be let in there.”
She tried to figure out the best way to sleep as far from her ex-husband as possible. But aside from the sofa, there was no choice.
When she moved toward it, Viktor tugged her arm.
“You’ve been stubborn enough. Now behave and sleep properly.”
“On the sofa…”
“How could I let a lady sleep on a sofa? We lived together long enough for you to know at least that much.”
He led her to sit on the bed. Fortunately, the room was so large that it didn’t feel like they were sharing it.
Scarlett slipped off her slippers and climbed onto the bed. Through the huge window, stars spilled across the night sky in dazzling clusters.
“…Beautiful.”
It was as though all the stars that could no longer be seen from the capital had moved here to this canyon. They were so dense it almost felt wrong.
She wondered how she could possibly sleep in the same room as her ex-husband—but sleep came quickly. Closing her eyes for just a moment beneath the covers, she drifted off.
A while later, Viktor, who had been reading on the sofa, stood and walked over. Gently, he drew her left hand out from under the blanket to check. The wound was still there.
“…Self-harm,” he murmured, recalling her words.
Her claim of not remembering was absurd. The wound on her wrist made it even more unbelievable. The lie of memory loss didn’t line up with the scar. Still, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her wrist.
His mother had been royalty, but because his father was not, every time they visited the palace, he was treated as a half-blood. His mother, fearful of giving the royals any excuse, permitted his tutors to discipline him harshly. When they returned, his father would hold him close, drilling into him that someday he must put those arrogant royals beneath his feet.
As a boy, his body was always covered in welts. To him, family was something sticky and suffocating, like a spider’s web.
Scarlett Crimson had fallen for him the instant they met. All she had was a beautiful, slightly sensual face, yet she was desperate to give him more.
She’d pry into what he’d done all day, initiate intimacy herself, and even after their lovemaking—which wasn’t always tender—she would fall asleep facing him, only to whisper the next morning with flushed cheeks and shy voice:
“I love you.”
Or,
“Waking up beside you makes me so happy.”
One day, she even sat beside him as he drank, insisting she would join because he looked lonely. She sipped little by little until she was drunk.
Eventually, she collapsed into his arms, muttering,
“I heard you build tolerance by drinking a lot, so I practiced all week. But I haven’t improved at all. So unfair…”
“Why would you do that?”
She forced her unfocused eyes to stay open and answered,
“Because you looked lonely…”
That might have been the first time since marriage that he truly smiled. The idea of her practicing drinking just to keep him company was absurd. He realized then: love isn’t about what you want—it’s about what you want to give.
She never burdened him. Even if he did nothing, she was happy. Not long after they married, he thought maybe it was fine to simply go on like that. She was always happy, and he didn’t need to lift a finger.
But the more he thought that, the more he began to fear she’d grow tired of him. That fear gradually became reality.
For a while, she seemed unchanged—attending gatherings, laughing at home. But eventually, she stopped saying she was happy. Then one day, she said she was unhappy. Finally, she handed him divorce papers.
Scarlett thought Viktor had signed them without much thought. But he had his reasons. His wife had been unhappy. He didn’t know how to make Scarlett Dummfeld love him again, nor how to make her happy again.
She had once been happy without him doing a thing. If his love hadn’t changed, but hers had cooled, what could he possibly do?
In the end, the only solution he saw was divorce.
He had expected from the start that he wasn’t fit for marriage. The only surprise was that Scarlett Dummfeld turned out to be someone who said “I love you” too often, and that his belief—that beauty was fleeting and she was no exception—was utterly wrong.
She was breathtaking even when she handed him the divorce papers. She was unbearably beautiful when she packed only her own belongings into a single suitcase, refusing to touch a coin of his wealth as per their prenuptial agreement.
Even as the door closed behind her, he believed divorce was no big deal.
He hadn’t realized how outrageous it was—to become strangers with Scarlett Dummfeld.
The house, missing only her, became barren as a desert. And so did his life.
She had to be the one who betrayed him. Otherwise, she would never feel guilt, and without guilt, she would never come back. For him, her guilt was essential.
Still gazing at her wrist, he fetched medicine and applied it to the wound. Scarlett flinched at the sting but, exhausted, didn’t wake.
Viktor wrapped it with a bandage, scowling at the clumsy result.
“…Pathetic job.”
He had no experience with such things, so the wrapping was a mess. He considered redoing it, but feared waking her. Instead, he left it and leaned against the bed with a book, beginning to read.
