Chapter : 65
“Your time to leave has come.”
Anna slowly opened her eyes at Silla’s blunt voice. Looking out the window, she noticed the sun had already begun to sink low in the sky. The noise outside had quieted, as if the guests had already gone to the chapel.
Standing from her seat, Anna asked,
“Where’s Raiden?”
“…….”
Silla didn’t answer, and Lucy tried to speak cheerfully.
“There’s still some time before sunset. He’ll come to the chapel directly.”
“…….”
When Anna didn’t reply, the childish smile on Lucy’s face vanished. Drooping her shoulders, Lucy gently draped the veil over Anna’s head. As soon as she blinked, the semi-transparent white fabric separated her from the world.
“Be careful, Miss.”
Lucy held Anna firmly for support. On the other side, Silla stepped forward and grabbed her arm.
The three of them stepped out of the waiting room and crossed the courtyard. A few guests who hadn’t yet entered the chapel noticed Anna and gasped in surprise.
Her face, visible through the delicate lace, was familiar. She was the noblewoman she had briefly greeted at the racetrack, the one said to be involved with Raiden in business…
The genuinely envious gazes made Anna’s heart feel even heavier. She lifted her head slightly to look at the sky. The dazzling sunset she had once watched with Raiden at the Everclain mansion unfolded before her eyes.
It was a beautiful day. It had to be a beautiful day.
Anna clenched her trembling hands tightly and prayed silently.
“Please, as Lucy said… may he come running… please be back in time.”
She walked as slowly as possible, but eventually, she reached the chapel. Time had crawled so slowly during the five years of waiting—why was it now flying by like an arrow?
Stopping at the door, Lucy, her eyes reddened, and the expressionless Silla stepped back, leaving her alone. The wooden doors of the chapel creaked open, and everyone seated inside turned to look.
“Oh my.”
“My goodness… look at that veil.”
“I wonder which atelier made that dress?”
“The rumors weren’t wrong. Truly beautiful.”
Everyone admired the bride draped in a snow-white veil and wearing a gorgeous gown. But Anna didn’t hear a thing.
Her eyes rolled across the crowd as if searching for someone and landed on Henry in the front row, his face pale and biting his lips. It was as if he already knew her future. Yet even his grief didn’t reach her.
Her gaze moved again and stopped somewhere else.
In a shadowed corner of the chapel stood Louis. His expression was unreadable as he looked at her.
Was he feeling regret? Satisfaction? It was impossible to tell.
“…….”
Anna turned her head toward the altar. There stood the archbishop, wearing a mozetta of black fabric with elaborate gold embroidery, holding a staff in one hand and a Bible in the other, his expression solemn as he waited.
Before him lay the marriage contract, its gold-lettered text dazzling. Anna and Raiden were supposed to kneel together and sign it.
“…….”
Anna’s feet moved almost of their own accord toward the altar. Her multicolored shadow stretched across the floor through the stained glass on the west side, then finally disappeared.
The ceremony began… and Raiden never came.
The next day, the capital’s social scene was in upheaval.
Every newspaper, including the gossip-obsessed Daily Chronicle, ran headlines about “The Ill-Fated Bride.”
Allianna Everclain—no, as of yesterday, Allianna Marcus—became a figure universally pitied and ridiculed. Every salon and tea time was abuzz with her name, and her once-celebrated beauty atop the cliff became trampled, as if sunk in mud.
The world was cruel. The fall of someone once exalted was merely a source of amusement.
“Came out quite well.”
Louis, scanning the newspapers, smiled like a well-fed cat. He set the papers down, interlaced his fingers over his stomach, and closed his eyes with satisfaction.
The joy of seeing a plan, long and painstakingly prepared, executed perfectly was incomparable.
‘Even the tragedy in the West worked to my advantage.’
No matter how ruthless it seemed, it was natural to use all means for a goal.
“From now on, it begins.”
To a bride who had been left alone on her wedding day, the words were cruel—but this was only the beginning. The abyss prepared for Allianna Everclain had much more in store. Louis was curious how long the proud woman could endure.
“Amelia Marsden will handle it fine too.”
He hadn’t asked for her help or expected it, but she wouldn’t sit idle. Noblewomen gnawed at their teeth when crossed, and she had the backing of the princess, a lady’s title, and the authority to command other noblewomen—paradoxical, but effective.
“Well, I should enjoy this for at least a month.”
Louis rose, patting his stomach like a satisfied predator, stretching his arms wide.
A week later, the situation had completely reversed. Every newspaper now praised her as “the wise bride who handled the groom’s absence with composure.”
“The Marcus Marquis Who Realized Noblesse Oblige”
Articles detailing the mine explosion in the West praised the marquis for attending to his duties despite being on the brink of marriage and lauded the bride for enduring her ruined wedding day without a single grimace.
“A True Ruler of Our Era Who Prioritized Public Duty over Personal Celebration”
One newspaper exalted the marquis and remarked that it was the prepared bride, Allianna, who had gently nudged her fiancé’s absence, spreading her virtue throughout the capital.
“A Groom Strong in Crisis, a Bride Matching Him”
Another article highlighted the bride’s composure in the groom’s absence, attributing her deft handling of the Everclain family and recent crises to her own brilliance. Though some of it wasn’t truly her doing, it was cleverly portrayed as her achievement—a white lie, if you will.
Every article ended by praising the absent Marcus Marquis and the capable marchioness holding her position, and public opinion shifted accordingly.
Crinkle! Louis crumpled a newspaper in his hand. Tossing it aside, he paced the office, grumbling.
“To think Henry, the Everclain butler, had such abilities.”
He let out a hollow laugh. He had underestimated him as just a fussy old noble, but it turned out he came from the information guild, had connections to sway public opinion, and the financial means to control newspapers.
Louis stopped pacing, taking a deep breath to calm himself.
‘That influence is over now, at least.’
The moment he realized his plan had failed, he had unleashed all means in anger. That method could never be used again.
“I should have investigated the surrounding people more thoroughly. This one’s on me.”
It was too late. Allianna Marcus had already become synonymous with generosity and wisdom on par with a saint. Her past record of reforming a notorious flirt was now well-known; anyone unaware of her today could hardly be called a citizen of the empire.
Louis fanned himself, trying to calm down. Stay composed. Stay composed.
Raiden, who had just returned from the West and sat across from him, said flatly,
“Leave it be.”
“But—!”
Calming down? Louis ground his teeth in frustration. Raiden inhaled a drag of his cigarette, exhaled, and Louis glanced at him. His sharp, lean face showed no sign of agitation. Calmly, he said,
“The result would be the same either way. The higher you climb, the worse the fall.”
Only then did Louis seem to regain some sense.
“……I suppose you’re right.”
He sighed deeply, then lifted his head and spoke cheerfully again.
“There’s some consolation, at least.”
“……?”
Raiden raised an eyebrow silently. Louis smirked grimly.
“When revenge is underway, someone will bring this incident back into the spotlight. They’ll reassess: Was the marchioness truly a saint?”
Raiden silently reflected on his words, stamping out his cigarette in a crystal ashtray. Leaning back, he rested his head against the chair, exhausted from days of relentless travel. He moved only his lips to ask,
“So what is she doing now?”
“Well….”
The prideful expression Louis had carried moments ago vanished, replaced by bitter frustration.
“She’s completely unbothered.”
“……?”
Raiden opened one eye. Louis glanced at him and then turned his head away.
“She seems resolute. Even when she was at her lowest, and even now, she remains composed.”
A person with depth is rarely shaken. Louis bit his lip at the uncomfortable realization.
‘And yet, she feared the Marquis Nomen so much…?’
At that moment, Raiden exhaled softly. Louis looked up; Raiden’s lips curved into a faint, elegant smile.
“Yes, that’s right.”
People assumed Allianna Everclain was just a good-looking, kind woman born with privilege. But Raiden, who had observed her closely, thought differently.
