Chapter 33
The Tyrant’s Triumphant Return
Even a full week after the much-talked-about cruise party came to an end, public fervor showed no sign of cooling. Every newspaper’s front page—yellow press included—and even radio broadcasts busied themselves recounting the sheer scale of the event and the scandals that had unfolded there.
It was only natural. When the elite of the capital’s social circles and reporters were all packed into a massive cruise ship, wandering glances and flashing camera lights were bound to follow.
Among the countless pieces of gossip, Vivienne felt relieved that none of them involved her.
That day, she had safely returned the ring to Edmund and left him after clearly stating that she wished to proceed with her engagement to Ludvig. She had not seen Ludvig since, so she had no way of knowing whether he had truly succeeded in digging into Edmund’s past.
6 a.m.
Vivienne blinked sluggishly from her bed, her eyes dry and reluctant to close again. The warmth beneath the covers was far too comforting to rise from, and the room—wrapped in the faint glow of dawn shadows—felt serene.
She tugged the blanket aside, letting only the tips of her toes peek out, then quickly drew back after the biting cold seeped in, settling once more into bed.
The room was utterly quiet.
In that stillness, Vivienne recalled the first morning she had spent at the duke’s residence. The radio had been on then. Ever since that day, wherever she went in the estate, the radio anchor’s voice seemed to follow her. Edmund had made sure the place was never silent when she was around.
Only now did she understand why.
She remembered the day she first met Edmund at the villa.
“I’ll turn on the radio. It’s too quiet.”
“Does silence frighten you?”
At the thought, Vivienne let out a long sigh and recalled how she had answered him.
As she blinked, her own voice echoed in her mind.
“Yes. It does.”
Only after truly ending things with him did she begin to see these things clearly. Of course, she had no intention of becoming entangled with him again.
Once Ludvig uncovered Edmund’s true nature, she would be free from the fear that Edmund might try to kill her again. With suspicion already gathering around Edmund, there would be no reason for him to seek her out—especially when he himself had once been embroiled in rumors of ties to the underworld. Meeting her again would only expose his identity.
Which meant that what her father referred to as an “agreement between the Colt and Mergoville families” was impossible from the start.
If he did not seek her out, this relationship would go nowhere, and the past would remain in the past.
Nothing more than a single night that had passed before marriage.
Vivienne knew now that she truly needed to prepare herself to become Lady Rex.
Yet for reasons she couldn’t explain, a vague nostalgia for the past welled up inside her. She rose from the bed and walked toward the radio.
As she turned the knob, the anchor’s voice filled the once-silent room.
“This is news from the Republic of Emmerheim. The republic’s currency has collapsed, and banks are failing one after another. At this rate, it seems unlikely that the republic will be able to pay its war reparations as a defeated nation. As public unrest grows, so do the calls for a leader capable of overcoming this crisis. The current administration lost public trust long ago, and should a re-election be held in the near future, the Beryl Party—currently enjoying the strongest support—is expected to gain the upper hand…”
Listening absently, Vivienne walked toward the window where she often sat.
This room had many windows. The one she used to look out of as a child faced the side of the estate—where Madison would stand on the roadside and fly a model glider up toward her window.
Now, as an adult, her gaze shifted to the window overlooking the estate’s main gate.
From there, she could tell whether a letter had arrived in the distant mailbox.
Out of habit, Vivienne glanced that way—and froze.
Despite the chill of early dawn, the estate’s servants were planting flowers in the front garden.
Since it clearly wasn’t her parents’ instruction, a single name surfaced in her mind.
Edmund.
She recalled what he had said on the day of her engagement announcement banquet.
“You seem curious about where they came from. As it happens, some maids were staying at a villa on my uncle’s Senowick estate. When they began working at your residence, they passed this letter on to me.”
The flowers being planted in the front garden were undoubtedly his doing.
Did he have the garden redone after hearing that I liked the flowers that bloomed here?
In times like these, there was only one man wealthy enough to do such a thing.
Vivienne let out a soft, incredulous laugh and took in the view as a whole. Her fingers brushed down the cold windowpane, wiping away the fog that had gathered there.
The garden was breathtaking.
Each section was filled with different winter flowers—some native to Daartro, others from distant nations across the continent, and even a few strikingly exotic varieties. One thing was certain: when they swayed together in the early winter wind, they were dazzling.
Vivienne felt a sharp ache ripple through her chest.
The last time she believed he was dead, she had felt only emptiness. Madison was gone. He was gone. All that remained were the bare trees lining the streets, an unwanted fiancé named Ludvig, and herself.
But now, life was taking root here.
The flowers seemed to bloom toward her, smiling.
Just then, droplets fell from the sky, tracing patterns across the glass. Vivienne watched the landscape beyond the window as the marks slowly multiplied.
She opened the window and surrendered herself to the wind and rain. The winter gusts surged in, sending her long hair rippling.
The sight was so beautiful it felt destined to linger in her memory forever.
Vivienne cried—without knowing when she had started—and smiled through her tears. The water droplets etching their way down the glass felt like her own stained heart.
The agent had come to her once again.
Yet because she still feared the man who had once tried to kill her, it all felt like nothing more than his honeyed deception. Even after Ludvig exposed his identity to the world, she hoped Edmund would never return to her again.
And still—she hated herself for loving him so dearly.
Why did he go to such lengths?
Among those flowers were rare foreign breeds, the kind that were difficult to obtain even a single cutting of.
Since social gatherings and banquets were often held at the estate, visitors would inevitably admire the garden as they talked. They would know, in their own way, that the Mergoville family did not possess the wealth to afford such extravagance. Using Edmund’s actions at the engagement announcement banquet as a clue, they would soon deduce who was responsible.
If this were merely the son of a “clean” prime minister flaunting his wealth, it would invite unnecessary attention. It was hardly ideal for someone trying to conceal his true identity.
So why did Edmund do all this—for her?
Vivienne couldn’t understand it.
That was when her gaze turned to the radio behind her.
“And now, returning to news from our own Daartro Empire. Mark Wagner reports.”
“Yes. This next report is rather shocking, even to me. Miss Janet Watkins has come forward with a revelation. At approximately 8 p.m. yesterday, she held a press conference, stating that the man who assaulted her was Ludvig Rex, and that she herself is his victim. She further claimed to have been Ludvig Rex’s mistress, describing the cruelty with which he treated his lovers. As evidence that Miss Carolina Russella had been in the same situation, she released a photograph of herself sitting with Carolina Russella at an outdoor café.”
The second photograph—the one the district chief had handed over.
In a flash, the image Vivienne had seen inside the Langston limousine crossed her mind.
She knew instinctively that it was the same photograph—the one Janet had given to the press.
Carolina Russella, seated outdoors, speaking with Watkins.
In that instant, Vivienne realized that the garden alone was not Edmund’s only work.
He had painted two pictures across the empire.
One was the garden.
The other was a counterattack against Ludvig Rex.
The murder of Carolina Russella’s follower had not been Ludvig’s doing—this, here, was likely the fullest extent of his retaliation.
But since Edmund truly was the head of the underworld, all that remained was for the truth to come to light.
Vivienne’s heart began to race.
She had wanted to abandon Edmund.
But she wasn’t sure whether she had also wished for his downfall.
