Stifled Schemes and Fierce Ambitions
“What the hell does that mean? You can’t do a background check?!”
At that very moment, Genevieve was fuming in her bedroom, her face flushed red with rage.
“E-every time we try to dig into it, something goes wrong. On the way back from placing a request, legs get broken. Or after grabbing a drink at a tavern, some thugs pick a fight and beat us up. Th-they’re all grumbling that they want out.”
“And they call that an excuse after taking my money?!”
Genevieve flopped onto the sofa with a huff. Emma, who had been watching her warily, hurried over with a damp cloth pressed to her forehead and began fanning her.
Emma had stuck close to Genevieve all this time, reaping all sorts of perks.
For instance, when winter passed and spring arrived, she’d mysteriously skip out on washing the heavy blankets alone. Or take unapproved vacations without consulting the head maid. Showing up late was practically routine.
And that wasn’t all.
When the master of the house was away, she’d sneak bites from the boys’ meals.
If chicken came out, she’d pick off the legs. With strawberry cake, she’d devour the strawberries.
Whatever. As long as she got hers, it was fine.
Damian was dim enough to gobble it down anyway, calling it good.
Anselm had eyed her suspiciously a few times, but what could he do? He couldn’t touch her.
The young masters had no say in the household.
The true head of the Bayern Ducal Residence wasn’t the elusive master who might or might not show up—it was Genevieve.
She’d thought she’d played her cards right all this time…
“Hah. She studied medicine abroad, but they can’t even tell which country or university? And a woman doctor, of all things!”
Genevieve pounded her chest in frustration.
Her plan to hire investigators through Emma and publicly humiliate Ibel was hitting wall after wall.
There was clearly something fishy, but without proof, it was driving her mad.
“Good thing I’m sharp enough not to trust those idiots blindly.”
With a snort, Genevieve recalled Cecily Bethel, whom she’d met that afternoon.
It grated on her to mingle with non-nobles, but this time, she had no choice.
Money!
She was short on that damned money.
They’ll want to marry their daughter off to Victor too. They need to scrub out that lowborn bloodline, after all.
Wealth sought honor, and once honor was secured, it craved elevated status.
Cecily entering the family wasn’t exactly delightful, but she beat that Ibel who’d dropped from the sky.
Better than someone who’ll ruin my house!
Gritting her teeth, Genevieve issued a cold command to Emma.
“Go check what Cecily Bethel’s up to, how she’s holding up. Make sure she hasn’t been slighted and taken offense. If she tries to leave, grab her by the ankle if you have to—keep her here.”
Cecily Bethel was an unusual woman.
In a world where noble birth equaled power and inequality reigned, how could the blood of her father—who’d bootstrapped an industry into becoming the Railroad King—stay idle?
Cecily had inherited her father’s fierce competitive streak and a touch of madness.
Her most infamous tale dated back to when she was thirteen.
Cecily had brought her beloved King Charles Spaniel to a pet-friendly social gathering, even commissioning a custom dress and hat for the pampered pup.
But that day, a noble who’d always looked down on her showed up with an Irish Wolfhound.
At first, all was well.
But the moment the leashes came off and the dogs romped freely, disaster struck.
The Irish Wolfhound, a breed prized for boar hunts with its massive size and aggression, tore into Cecily’s little dog in an instant and killed it…
The second she saw it, Cecily grabbed a knife and lunged, gouging out the wolfhound’s eye.
Screaming like a demon possessed, she strangled its throat and swung the blade wildly. Several nobles were injured trying to restrain her.
Naturally, noble families protested to the Bethels, but her father just scoffed.
Investigations later confirmed the wolfhound’s noble owner had targeted Cecily’s dog on purpose.
Of course, no apology or punishment followed.
Cecily pulled similar stunts afterward, and whispers spread through the capital’s social circles:
Don’t mess with the madwoman.
“Oh, I’m fine, really.”
“A-are you sure?”
“Of course. Tell her not to worry.”
Cecily sent Genevieve’s maid packing with a soft, lilting tone and a genuine smile—not just a facade, but true amusement.
To think she won’t even look at me.
Sure, plenty of nobles ignored her greetings. They practically stepped on her feet doing it.
But they were all broke.
What? Status?
Ridiculous. Not a one matched the Bethel family’s wealth.
In this industrial age, prized bloodlines were as worthless as gutter trash.
Victor Bayern’s different. He’ll stay rich even in the future.
The era could shift, but the Bayern name’s foundations were unshakable—even the Bethels couldn’t dream of toppling them.
That’s why I want him.
A surge of possessiveness made Cecily tremble.
Had she ever failed to claim what she desired since birth?
Never once.
Exotic treasures, sweet candies, the latest wonders from world expositions—all landed in her hands with a word. And she tired of them swiftly.
Marrying the Bayern Duke… how fun would every day be?
She’d first met him half a year ago at a yacht party, and her blood had run hot ever since.
She loved those eyes holding no meaning for her. His air of annoyance thrilled her.
This treatment was expected, arriving uninvited at his estate.
I want to beg him never to change his attitude.
With a smirk, Cecily sank into the sofa, humming a tune. Three dilemmas occupied her mind.
First: How to grate on the Bayern Duke’s nerves?
Second: How to corner him into marriage?
Third: How to dispose of that insignificant wife-candidate glued to his side?
That was her father’s charge before she’d come here.
Her father’s ambitions meant nothing to her.
But personally, she wanted Victor Bayern.
No one else could spice up her dull life like him.
So I can’t give up.
Giggling, she closed her eyes, picturing his striking features.
If such a man declared his disgust for her… how exhilarating would that be?
It left her shivering, sleep a distant thought.
Weeks had passed since Ibel ordered a full house deep clean, and the mansion had transformed.
Curtains were entirely replaced with dust-resistant fabrics to cut indoor dust.
New carpets lined the floors, and dusty spots like the basement and old study got scrubbed spotless.
Mold in brick crevices vanished, and air-purifying rosemary plants dotted every corner.
Unable to rip out all suspicious fireproofing yet, she’d moved the children’s rooms downstairs and swapped hers and Victor’s bedrooms too.
The asbestos fireproofing was mostly on the second floor.
The refreshed home felt worlds apart from before, and servants’ faces bloomed with smiles.
The stuffy, clogged air was gone—cleaning and chores felt effortless now.
Anselm’s checkups showed steady improvement too.
Probably thanks to balanced nutrition from his managed meals.
“Madam! I’ve got what you ordered!”