Chapter 44
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 44
“My lady, did you happen to purchase anything here today?”
At the question, the woman’s face flushed a deep red.
Charlotte smiled, a smile so beautiful it could disarm anyone.
“Then I suppose you have no reason to be curious, do you?”
It was a sharp reminder that one without the means to pay had no right to ask.
The tactless noblewoman hastily rose from her seat and bustled away. Charlotte chuckled, murmuring that this was the downside of such an open space.
The other ladies, who had been watching Charlotte from a slight distance, joined her laughter as if nothing had happened and began to steer the conversation elsewhere. Charlotte played along, pretending not to notice their true feelings. The heavy atmosphere was just beginning to lift when…
“Mother!”
Sabine arrived, taking the seat that had been empty all this time. The moment she sat down, the mood didn't just lift—it felt as if the very season had changed. As if on cue, the noble ladies let out gasps of admiration.
“Oh, Young Lady!”
Sabine was wearing a deep green velvet dress. Though unadorned, the gown was a perfect match for her lustrous golden hair that shone like spun gold, making her seem more dazzling than anyone else present.
“You look as lovely as ever, Young Lady.”
Sabine folded her hands gracefully and smiled winsomely.
“Thank you for always saying so.”
After accepting another round of gushing praise, she turned to her mother, only to be met with a sharp gaze that swept over her. Sabine faltered for a moment before linking arms with her mother and turning to the other ladies.
“Excuse me, I need to whisper something to my mother for a moment. Please, forgive me.”
At Sabine’s charming display, the ladies shot them feigned glares of envy.
“Oh, of course, go right ahead.”
“I'm so envious. To have such an affectionate and lovely daughter.”
“Let's all turn away, shall we?”
As the ladies all turned their heads, Sabine smiled and leaned toward her mother. She whispered something and pulled back, and Charlotte feigned a frown as she chided her.
“Your brother already gave you an expensive gift, and you received an extravagant one from His Majesty. Must you insist on getting one from me, too?”
Sabine’s eyes widened at her mother, and she raised her voice in feigned surprise.
“Mother! I whispered because I was embarrassed. How could you say it so loudly!”
The ladies, who still had their heads turned, burst into laughter.
“Your birthday is the day your mother suffered to bring you into this world. If anything, you should be the one giving me a gift.”
“Ah, Mother!”
As Sabine whined, the ladies' laughter grew louder. Charlotte shook her head as if deeming her daughter incorrigible and rose from her seat.
“It seems things will only get more boisterous if we stay any longer, so we shall take our leave.”
Sabine stood up with her mother, linking her arm tightly through hers. The others urged them on, remarking how daughters always wanted to receive gifts from their mothers.
The beautiful and glamorous mother-daughter pair left the lounge, drawing the eyes of everyone they passed. Waving off those who tried to follow, they strolled along the fifth-floor railing. As it was the highest floor, the people moving about on the levels below were clearly visible.
They had gone a fair distance from the lounge.
Sabine stopped walking and voiced her displeasure.
“Must you always make me look like a spoiled child?”
“Not spoiled. You’ve become someone everyone else will envy.”
“You could have just said you were stepping out for a moment. Why do you always use me for things like this?”
“Use you? Did it not occur to you that I had my reasons?”
Sabine, who had been complaining, fell silent as her mother's response grew sharp.
The atmosphere between them turned icy in an instant. The two, who had been standing face-to-face, turned toward the railing in unison, as if by silent agreement.
Swallowing her resentment, Sabine looked down at the scene below like a queen surveying her domain. The department store's open-atrium design made the floors look like a well-stacked tower. Amidst a feast of dazzling splendor that almost hurt the eyes, she could see people milling about.
But then, something snatched her attention.
It was something that completely consumed her, banishing the resentment she'd felt for her mother just moments before.
There are some things in this world you notice in a single glance. Whether an object, a work of art, or a person, some things draw the eye even when lost in a crowd of thousands.
And in this scene, there was such a thing. In a world so dazzling it stung the eyes, one thing stood alone, utterly out of place.
“Mother. Look at that.”
When Sabine, who had spoken as if to herself, turned to Charlotte, she found her mother was already staring intently at the same spot.
“The woman with the red ribbon in her hair… are you watching her?”
At that, the elegant marchioness’s eyebrow rose and fell almost imperceptibly.
It was like looking at a dark, heavy oil canvas, only to find someone had secretly sketched over it with a colored pencil. The woman possessed a strange quality, one that could disrupt even the most frigid atmosphere. The gazes of the mother and daughter, so alike, followed the woman.
And somewhere else in the glamorous department store, another pair of eyes was watching her, too.
*
The classic model of wealth was built on two pillars: succession and inheritance.
For royalty and nobility alike, wealth was passed down from one’s parents, and the lifelong goal was to pass that wealth on to one’s sons. Because both status and assets were transmitted within this rigid framework, it was nearly impossible for those not born of good blood to acquire wealth. And even for those of noble birth, the same was true if they failed to inherit properly.
But now, the once-solid edifice of wealth had cracked, and there were those who had slipped through. A defining characteristic of those who slipped through the cracks was a flagrant disregard for custom and law.
Simon’s gaze drifted to the man leaning back in the seat of honor.
There sat a man who had personally torn the words ‘custom’ and ‘law’ from his own life.
A man who had rejected the Academy that every noble attended and descended to the very bottom. A man who wouldn't be satisfied until he had clawed his way to the very top with bloodied hands.
Oscar was leaning against the back of his chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
Several buttons of his shirt were already undone, and empty liquor bottles stood in rows around him. Under the ornate table, one leg was likely thrown carelessly over the other.
“Your Excellency, thank you so much.”
The man who had secured a contract from Oscar bowed so low to him—a man young enough to be his nephew—that his head nearly touched the table.
“I will never forget Your Excellency's grace.”
Oscar let out a short, dry laugh.
“Grace? This is for our mutual benefit, is it not?”
At that, the man who had been bowing with his forehead practically on the table lifted his face and smiled. Then, excusing himself for a moment, he left the room.
Simon watched the man's departure with only a shift of his eyes before turning his gaze back to Oscar.
…He was definitely in a bad mood. He had seemed strangely adrift all day. It wasn't excitement. It was more like a deeply annoying and grating problem had taken up residence in a corner of his mind.
Simon quietly lowered his eyes to check the time.
Thankfully, the day was almost over.
All he had to do was wait for the man to return, then smoothly intervene to end the meeting and head back to the manor. He didn't know what was occupying Oscar's mind, but for now, it seemed time was all that was needed—whether Oscar would resolve it himself or call on Simon with an order.
But there was something Simon had overlooked.
It was the fact that those who slipped through the cracks of wealth tended to disregard customs and laws—and the man who had just left the room was one of them.
The man who had excused himself was waiting for someone, his face flushed, while his secretary looked troubled.
“The Marquis's secretary said it himself. He wanted to keep it strictly business today.”
“Yes, yes.”
As the man answered dismissively, his secretary moved closer, trying once more to persuade him.
“Everything ended well. Is there really any need for this?”
The man just lit a cigarette and grinned.
“I've never met a man who made it this far and didn't like being entertained. Ended well? Don't make me laugh.”
“…”
“This is just the beginning. And for that, you need this sort of thing.”
He gave a lecherous smile and waved at someone behind his secretary. When the secretary turned, several glamorous beauties were crossing the formal hotel reception area, heading their way.
The man thought to himself.
Business is done by people, after all. And what animal is more irrational than a human? How many times had he entertained and been entertained to get this far? If he could find a woman to the Marquis's taste tonight, the reward would be as great as the contract itself.
The secretary, looking resigned, took a few steps back. The man turned toward the room where Oscar was.
A strange fear, and a contradictory, thrilling excitement, wrapped around his entire body. The more he felt it, the more he puffed out his chest and smiled with an air of confidence. Then, before fear could turn to hesitation, he knocked on the door.
“I'm coming in.”
He opened the door.
The moment he entered, Simon, who had been waiting for the right time to leave, cursed inwardly. All they had to do was say their goodbyes. What the hell was this idiot doing? Simon had the urge to crack the man's skull open and see what was inside.
While Simon was rubbing his exasperated face, a line of prostitutes followed the man into the room.
They were women styled in various ways, as if to say, ‘Take your pick.’ Different hair colors were a given, and their body types were just as diverse.
Forgetting to breathe, Simon snapped his gaze toward his master.