“Did the Duke buy it for you?”
“As if. If he had that kind of money, he’d have used it to expand the estate’s knight order instead.”
“Then what happened? Did your father buy it for you?”
Was that why she visited the Grand Duke’s castle? To beg him to buy her a house? No, that couldn’t be. Karia had never once asked the Grand Duke for anything in her life. Besides, he wasn’t the type to give gifts without a good reason.
Karia could practically hear Alkard’s brain working, which irritated her. She disliked how he was assuming from the start that she couldn’t possibly afford a house on her own. As if this house was worth that much to begin with.
Still, she couldn’t exactly scold him for his assumptions—because, technically, he wasn’t wrong. She hadn’t bought this house herself.
“I received it.”
“You received it? From whom?”
“—Some weirdo old man.”
“What? Old man?”
Karia shrugged with a sullen expression. Truthfully, she also found it strange that such a bizarre old man had given her a house. Even if they were distantly related—seventh cousins, who’d never even met before—he was practically a stranger. And their first meeting had been a disaster.
“I told him I was getting divorced and needed a place to stay, and he just said to take it.”
“What?”
Oh. I’m getting divorced. Alkard’s brain halted at her flat tone, which was as casual as saying she had soup for lunch. But the content and the tone didn’t match at all.
Divorce? Wait, that meant—two people separating and becoming strangers. That meant Karia Pandéon would no longer be Karia Pandéon. So… she was leaving the Duke of Pandéon?
“WHAT?! You’re separating from the Duke of Pandéon?!”
Exactly three seconds later, Alkard shouted loud enough to shake the mansion. Karia and the nearby staff all winced and covered their ears.
Alkard looked at her in disbelief, wondering if he had misheard. Just days ago, she had still been at the Pandéon estate—how could she be talking about divorce? The fact that she remained so calm while he was panicking made him feel dizzy.
When had she even started thinking this way? Hadn’t she been living just fine? What had gone wrong? Was it because of that incident with the Duchess hitting her?
If she was going to leave the Duke, shouldn’t she have come back home and discussed it with her family? Why hole up in some random mansion?
Alkard had a thousand questions swirling in his head, but couldn’t pick which one to ask first. At that moment, the front door slammed open, and a grumpy-looking man stormed in.
“Tsk, who’s yelling their lungs out in front of the door?”
A middle-aged man with neatly slicked-back platinum hair walked in as if the house were his own. His stiff demeanor was reflected in his buttoned-up shirt and polished shoes. Though he leaned on a lion-head cane, his body looked healthy enough that he didn’t need it.
Karia let out an annoyed sigh and didn’t bother to hide her irritation.
“Whether I’m shouting or singing in my house—why are you here again?”
“Came to do a surprise inspection. Just checking that you’re using the house properly.”
“Ugh. Damn old man.”
Karia scowled in open displeasure, but the man didn’t even twitch an eyebrow. The butler took his coat like it was the most natural thing in the world, and the man climbed the stairs uninvited.
To understand who he was and how he was connected to this house, we need to go back—exactly one week earlier.
—
One Week Earlier—
When Karia declared divorce to Rubidef Pandéon and left the estate, Chagall was waiting at the gate with her carriage as promised.
But the “modest carriage” Noah had supposedly picked out turned out to be unexpectedly large and extravagant. The guards at the estate gates had been stunned; it was grander and more expensive-looking than any carriage owned by the Pandéons.
Puffed up by the attention, Chagall had proudly taken the reins himself. But when Karia told him their destination, he almost fell out of the seat.
“You’re going to buy what?”
“I’m going house shopping. I just told him I want a divorce.”
She said it like she was going to browse jewelry. Chagall couldn’t help but admire her guts. He’d noticed before—like when she called 300,000 gold “just”—that her composure wasn’t mere bravado. He was dying to know where all that gold came from, and how much of it was left.
“Let’s head to the real estate offices on the townhouse street.”
Noble townhouses started at 200,000 gold, with some estates exceeding 500,000 if they had over a hundred rooms. Normally, even the wealthy spent weeks or months deliberating before purchasing. But Karia was planning to buy a house today.
She had the money, and she wanted the gossip to start—fast. Let the world know the Duke and Duchess of Pandéon were living separately.
“Well, unfortunately, immediate move-in isn’t possible. I apologize.”
But the real estate agent looked troubled at her request. She had overlooked one thing: the timing. Even with money, you can’t buy what’s not for sale.
“Most townhouses are owned by nobles and rarely go on the market. The few listings we had already got snatched up because of the social season.”
Winter was approaching, which meant nobles would flock to the capital to escape the cold and indulge in pleasure. How very noble of them.
Frustrated that there weren’t even any listings to view, Karia pressed her temple with a sigh. The agent began sweating as her expression grew colder.
“Well, there are a few plots of land available if you’re not in a rush. You could build a new house from scratch?”
“How long would that take?”
“Normally about a year—ah, but if we double the workers, we could do it in six months!”
Still too long. Karia needed a base in the capital for her divorce. In six months, the issue would be resolved, and she’d be off in a forest brewing elixirs. She didn’t need a house in six months—she needed it for the next six months.
Seeing she wasn’t swayed, the agent grew even more anxious.
“Well… there is one listing left, but…”
“There is? Why didn’t you say so before?”
“Because… the terms are, um, unusual.”
Even as he spoke, the agent looked unsure whether mentioning it was a good idea. When he kept hesitating, Karia stood up abruptly.
“Let’s go see it. You said it’s the only one left, right? Then show me.”
—
“What the? It’s perfectly fine!”
The property he took her to was a three-story white mansion not far from the luxury shopping district. It had a spacious garden and a nice view.
The third-floor terrace overlooked the street, perfect for breakfast or afternoon tea. The place was not only decent—it was beautiful. Karia instantly liked it. Smaller than her estate, yes, but still plenty to live in comfortably.
While the agent explained things to the guard, Karia stepped in on her own. There were no flowers in the garden due to the cold, but the well-trimmed trees pleased her.
As she examined a bare tree branch, a gasp came from behind. A house servant had seen her and was so startled they literally gasped.
What the…?
And it wasn’t just one person. A maid carrying laundry, a footman hauling food supplies—each dropped what they were holding or gasped in shock upon seeing her.
Things were clearly off. Chagall crept closer behind her.
Then came hurried footsteps. Someone suddenly grabbed her wrist.
“Anje?!”
She was spun around—facing a middle-aged man, breathless, his neat clothes disheveled.
He stared at her, panting. Then slowly let go of her wrist, blinking as recognition faded and uncertainty returned. He opened his mouth several times before finally speaking.
“—Who are you?”
“Oh dear, Count Lowell! It’s been so long! This lady is—”
The flustered agent tried to step in, but Karia didn’t even glance at him. She yanked her wrist free and said coolly:
“Shouldn’t you introduce yourself first before asking who I am? You were the one being rude.”
She stared him down with unwavering confidence. The man—Count Lowell—looked stunned, then embarrassed, his face flushing red as he turned and stomped back into the
mansion.
And that’s how Karia met Count Lowell—the grumpy old man who had been living in seclusion after losing his only daughter and granddaughter.
