Chapter 140
The Ghost of Diane Brook
She had to find the blood-stained wedding dress before it disappeared.
That was the only proof that Olivia hadn’t been seeing things.
Her hurried footsteps quickened, but before she could even leave the bedroom, someone grabbed her arm.
“Let go of me.”
Olivia whipped around at the pull and glared at Johann.
“I’ll find it.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“……”
With sharp eyes, Olivia shook off Johann’s hand. Their gazes collided in a silence as tense as the calm before a storm.
In that dangerous quiet, Johann stared at his wife. Her fear-stricken eyes darkened like an abyss, building walls around themselves.
“Step aside.”
“Olivia.”
Johann exhaled her name like a sigh.
She was showing symptoms similar to when she had once been addicted to alcohol and pills.
Diane Brook. Johann recalled the ghost of that dead woman—the one who had etched into his bones the truth that what you see is not always reality.
When he thought back on how that woman’s cunning tricks had made him misunderstand Olivia, he couldn’t entirely dismiss his wife’s words now.
He only needed solid confirmation before taking action.
“I believe you.”
His firm voice cut through the deep stillness, as heavy as the night.
Someone was deliberately trying to trap his wife—through such vile, childish games.
How dare they.
“I believe you, Olivia.”
Johann pulled into his arms the wife who glared at him with anger in her eyes.
He whispered, low and contrite, a confession like atonement. His deep gray eyes stared into the pitch-black beyond the window.
Outside, the cedar trees swaying and twisting in the autumn wind looked eerily like the ghost of Diane Brook clinging to the glass.
Olivia stood at the window, watching the sun rise between the mountain peaks encircling Greythill.
“It could not be found, madam.”
At dawn, the butler ended the search of the estate and delivered the expected report.
Nowhere had the bloodied wedding dress been discovered.
There were no traces of it having been burned in the kitchen hearth or in the back garden. Nor was there any sign of fresh digging on the estate grounds.
It had simply vanished into thin air.
Olivia felt like a madwoman.
If this was what Clara had aimed for, she had already half succeeded. Olivia frowned against the dazzling sunlight.
The item Johann had publicly ordered to be searched for was the jewelry set Olivia had worn yesterday.
But what the butler and Johann’s confidants were actually looking for in secret was the missing dress.
She still remembered vividly the looks on their faces when they received their master’s bizarre order.
“Get some rest.”
Rising from where he had sunk deep into his wing chair, Johann spoke.
Olivia didn’t turn around. She had no desire to check his expression.
Did he take the medicine?
Olivia bit her lip. Even though he had told her he believed her, the only words etched painfully into her chest were the ones that implied doubt.
They had become wounds.
“For the time being, stay in my chambers.”
His curt voice lingered in the chilly morning air. Olivia heard his footsteps heading for the bathroom, but she continued staring silently out the window.
Then, in the silence that followed, a knock sounded. The butler and a maid entered, carrying steaming coffee and the morning paper.
“I didn’t know you were awake. I’ll have breakfast served immediately.”
“……No. Don’t.”
The butler bowed politely, awaiting the duchess’s instruction.
“Tell Miss Josephine I’d like to have breakfast with her. I want to apologize for yesterday’s commotion.”
“Understood, madam. I’ll arrange it.”
When they left, the room filled with the rich aroma of coffee.
Her mind began to clear.
She refused to show herself trembling to whoever had smiled as they watched last night’s uproar unfold.
She was no longer the Olivia Blanchet who escaped with alcohol and pills.
Olivia returned to her bedroom.
It was time to prepare her appearance, as befitted the lady of Greythill, for the breakfast table.
“I heard something valuable went missing. That must be upsetting.”
Clara’s first words were of sympathy.
Her clear voice rang through the dining room in the pale autumn sunlight, unmarred by deceit or malice.
“I’m only sorry something so unfortunate happened while you’re visiting, Miss Josephine. It must have been unpleasant. I truly apologize.”
Sitting straight-backed, Olivia smiled serenely, with no trace of the sleepless night on her face.
“It’s natural to help. I do hope you find it.”
Clara, too, seemed to have passed a restful night despite the previous evening’s turmoil. Her bright expression confirmed it.
With a cheerful smile, Clara began her meal. Olivia glanced at her.
The stains on the ruined dress hadn’t been only blood. There had been red paint.
“Ah! Could you take those things to the studio?”
Olivia recalled the moment Clara gave instructions to the servants moving her boxes.
Several crates had been redirected to the studio. Perhaps the wedding dress was among them.
She was thinking this as she picked up her cutlery when Clara suddenly asked:
“Aren’t you going to report it to the police?”
“……”
Olivia, who had been pushing her fork into boiled chickpeas, instinctively looked up at her.
“They were jewels the Duke gifted you, weren’t they? Something so meaningful. If they haven’t turned up yet, there’s a good chance they’ve already been disposed of.”
Olivia’s eyes wavered slightly.
Was that genuine concern—or provocation?
Her gaze was so guilelessly clear that Olivia found herself at a loss for words.
“I’d rather not let household matters leak outside. And…… I do have a suspect in mind.”
Olivia lowered her voice.
She was curious how Clara would react.
Would her eyes twitch, would her hand sweat on the cutlery, would she wipe her palm on her skirt, or at least avert her gaze?
“You must be very fond of this servant. It must hurt. In any case, I hope it resolves well.”
Her words implied Olivia already knew the culprit but was too attached to report them.
Either she was a skilled actress—or she was innocent.
Which was it? Olivia couldn’t tell. Only her confusion deepened.
“If tomorrow’s work proves difficult, please say so. I can adjust the schedule.”
“I’ll be fine, Miss Josephine. Thank you for your concern.”
But Olivia’s curiosity about her studio grew.
She hadn’t yet been inside—on the first day Clara had only sketched in the central hall.
Someone capable of masking her expression so perfectly surely wouldn’t leave behind obvious clues, but still…
Olivia turned her eyes away. On the table, low bowls of bluish-purple flowers glowed in the sunlight.
Did you take the medicine?
Johann’s cold voice echoed in her ears. Olivia’s grip on her crystal glass tightened.
That red dress—something only she had seen.
It was that easy to make a person look insane.
If she wanted to prove she hadn’t been hallucinating, she needed evidence.
But the breakfast with Clara ended without gain.
Johann closed his bloodshot eyes and pressed the back of his hand to his forehead.
With the other hand, he tugged loose his tie and unbuttoned his collar.
“It was a dead bird. Drenched in blood, feathers and all, and set on a plate.”
He was exhausted from his trip. Skipping dinner, he had chosen rest, and was just drifting into sleep when his wife burst into the room, ranting about something absurd.
Reeking of liquor, she had dragged him to the dining room.
“Where is that bird you’re talking about?”
That night’s menu had been roast ortolan, and Olivia had taken tranquilizers with brandy.
It was a scene that had repeated in the past—one he never wished to see again. Confronting his wife as she once was.
“The dress was torn, stained with blood, and lying right here……”
It hadn’t taken him long to grasp the situation.
But Olivia’s reaction set his nerves on edge.
The moment he saw her trembling blue eyes, he wondered again: had she returned to pills and liquor?
She had once been so addicted that she couldn’t last a single day without them.
“Who do you suspect?”
After dismissing the butler, who’d come back empty-handed, Johann asked Olivia.
“…Once I’m certain. I’ll tell you then.”
Her clear eyes and steady voice were nothing like the old Olivia’s slurred ramblings.
That should have been enough, but a strange unease lingered.
It was the same chronic dread that had plagued him ever since she first spoke of divorce.
Johann lifted his hand slightly from his brow.
The wristwatch Olivia had gifted him glinted sharply in the sunlight streaming at an angle through the window.
“You don’t believe me, do you. But it’s true. I saw it clearly.”
Johann covered his eyes with one large hand.
It was suspicious how quiet his grandmother had been—but it wasn’t her style to plant someone and orchestrate such despicable tricks.
Could it be Amblin’s cousin, Chase Andrew MacLaine?
And if not him, then who?
His thoughts tangled endlessly, until—knock, knock—a sound at the door broke through. Johann slowly opened his eyes.
