The woman sobbed with her head bowed.
“I… I did it.”
“Why.”
Yohan’s eyes, sleepless from the previous night, were sharp.
“I hated that woman. She dared to wear the necklace that belonged to the princess, shamelessly stole the marquis who used to be the princess’s lover…”
Her voice cracked, unable to finish through her tears.
“Go on.”
“Now the tennis tournament too… It hurt to see Her Highness suffering. A woman like that should know her place. So…”
“So you did it.”
The woman nodded as she blew her nose into a handkerchief, head hung low.
Angela Burkin.
Second daughter of the lowly Baron Burkin family and a low-ranking maid to Princess Anblin.
Unfortunately, the woman didn’t seem to be the kind of person who’d kidnap and confine someone into a weakened mental state to take advantage of them.
To put it politely, she was naive. Less politely—stupid.
Yohan, not in the mood for lengthy words, got straight to the point.
“How much were you paid.”
“I already told you. I acted alone. For the princess, my benefactor.”
‘Angela, you know you’re the only maid I trust. The only one I have.’
Angela tightly clasped her hands beneath the table.
She was the trusted servant of the noble princess.
Whenever she felt scared, she would recall the princess’s whispers. It made everything feel like a noble sacrifice, and that made it bearable.
“The McDowell family’s coachman, the grocer’s employee, the hotel staff. Each received ten thousand francs. But there’s no record of this in the Burkin family’s finances.”
“…I sold my jewelry.”
It must have been jewelry gifted by the princess. If the Burkin household had the funds, why would they resort to high-interest loans?
If only she’d come up with a more plausible story—he might have pretended to believe her.
“Where. The jeweler.”
“Cartina.”
Yohan glanced at Maurice, who gave a brief bow and left the office.
He must have gone to verify it, Angela thought. A wasted effort. That jeweler was already bought off by the princess.
“It’s no use. I acted alone. So please stop threatening the princess with this matter.”
Naivety was as dangerous as greed. The kind that didn’t realize it was being used, discarded—until life was already over.
Yohan lit the end of a cigar. After taking a drag, he leaned back into the sofa.
“Was it worth it?”
He exhaled a long breath of smoke and murmured,
“No matter how much you got paid.”
The woman’s eyes twisted with emotion.
“I’m asking if that’s worth spending your whole life in prison.”
His face was expressionless, terrifyingly so. Angela’s knees trembled.
Though sunlight streamed in through the office’s large window, warm and golden, Yohan Leopold looked cold and desolate sitting in it.
Despite his golden hair, the man evoked not day or dusk, but only night and dawn.
And with a low murmur, he declared,
“I don’t think so.”
“…”
Your whole life?
No.
‘Even if something goes wrong, it’ll only be three years. I’ll get you out before then. I’ll get the royal attorneys on it. Just trust me, Angela.’
She had to trust the princess. Stay strong.
Angela repeated the princess’s words to herself. As if reading her mind, Yohan calmly concluded:
“The princess won’t save you.”
“That’s not true! She—she’d never… the princess would never…”
“I need someone to go to prison. To end this.”
“!”
“And the princess,”
Yohan’s gaze grew even colder,
“Chose you as the scapegoat.”
“…”
It was cruel.
Angela trembled with anger and cried out.
“…No. That’s not true. You’re lying. Who would believe that? Such lies…”
“Really?”
Her lips, once defending the princess like a loyal servant, clamped shut.
She looked like a beast with its tail tucked between its legs. Her eyes welled up again.
“You’ll be held in detention starting today. If you change your mind after spending some time there…”
Detention.
Angela clenched her jaw.
She couldn’t betray Princess Anblin, not because of a cheap threat like this.
Even if she was relegated to tasks beneath higher-ranking maids.
The princess needed her. She would endure it.
…Could she, really?
Angela asked herself.
The princess said Angela was the only one, but how many times had they actually spoken?
How many important events had Angela accompanied her to?
Had the princess ever even smiled at her?
Still—even if that were all true—she couldn’t betray her…
“If it were me, I’d make a deal.”
At his calm, arrogant suggestion, Angela raised her eyes.
He looked like the devil himself—tempting her with an offer she couldn’t refuse.
Though sunlight flooded the morning air, a dark aura seemed to hang over the man.
An irresistible devil’s temptation.
She had been awake. She remembered the sky slowly turning blue with dawn.
But when she opened her eyes, the spacious guest room was fully bright.
She must have dozed off while trying to deduce who was behind the kidnapping.
If only last night had been a dream—how she wished it had been.
But that was impossible. The sunlight piercing through the white lace curtains was too vivid.
Olivia shook her head and rose from bed.
With practiced hands, she tidied up the bedding as if to erase her presence.
She scanned every inch for stray hairs, smoothing the sheets and even inspecting the carpet around the bed before finally straightening up.
‘The reporters are swarming out there.’
Were they still there?
She tiptoed to the window, peeked through the curtain—and sighed.
Unfortunately, the room overlooked a rose-filled garden—not the front.
She wanted to leave immediately. More than Yohan himself, she couldn’t risk running into his fiancée.
But first, she needed something to wear. Underwear wouldn’t do.
And so the first challenge presented itself.
Sure enough—
“Ah…”
Olivia let out a soft sigh of despair.
After opening two wrong doors in this luxurious room—far grander than her suite at the Lancelot Hotel—she finally found the dressing room.
But there were no clothes for a woman.
Three walls were neatly filled with men’s garments. Even dressing in disguise wouldn’t work—Yohan’s clothes were too large.
What now?
Her eyebrows drooped in worry.
She couldn’t move recklessly. Much as she wanted to avoid Yohan Leopold, she had to admit she needed his help right now.
She bit her lip in frustration.
And then—someone knocked.
Startled, Olivia instinctively closed the door to the dressing room.
Another knock followed.
A thousand possibilities ran through her mind in an instant.
It could be Princess Kranz.
Just the thought of her made her heart race uncomfortably.
What would she say? “I’m sorry,” wasn’t nearly enough. She needed something heartfelt—but her thoughts froze.
Please, just go away…
As Olivia prayed silently, the door to the room opened without hesitation.
Her heart dropped.
To stifle a scream, she pressed a hand over her mouth.
Tiptoeing, she grabbed the nearest garment and threw it over herself.
Anything was better than underwear.
As she hastily dressed, her attention was entirely fixed on the noises outside.
Doors opened and closed one by one. The bathroom. The inner chamber.
Footsteps drew nearer.
Please…
Olivia pressed herself flat against the wall beside the door. At that moment, the dressing room door flung open.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
A long shadow stretched into the room over the red carpet.
And then the crisp scent of aftershave drifted in, along with the light.
That familiar scent from the night before.
A polished black shoe stepped forward.
“!”
Olivia sprang out from behind the door.
“It was you?”
At that moment, she was more relieved than she could say.
He hadn’t meant to startle her, but his storm-gray eyes widened slightly.
Yohan stared at her quietly.
“Oh! I’m sorry—I wore it without asking.”
Wrapped in a beige coat that fell to her ankles, she looked up at him with clear, sparkling blue eyes.
Something about it felt strange.
He’d never seen her like this before.
Like a child wearing oversized adult clothes.
And yet—why was this so arousing?
To feel this toward his wife—no, ex-wife—simply because she was wearing his clothes.
Idiot.
Realizing she’d gotten up without fixing her hair, Olivia brushed her hair behind one ear and asked:
“What’s the situation outside?”
A ray of sunlight through the small square window lit up her delicate ear, the blue veins beneath the translucent skin visible.
Yohan’s gaze traced her face and stopped there.
“You mean the reporters?”
If she was asking whether they were still crowding the place—no, not anymore.
They’d all rushed to the Britte Palace.
Only a few journalists, from papers the princess had paid off, remained.
“Worse than yesterday.”
He paused briefly, then added smoothly,
“Much worse.”
Pathetic.
Even he didn’t know what he was thinking.
But one thing was clear: he didn’t want to let her go.
Even though she no longer loved him.
It was a strange, unfamiliar feeling. And yet—it came naturally.
“Come eat.”
The words, though spoken lightly, sounded like a command.
