That family.
They behaved like great nobles, as though they possessed something grand, but it was all a lie. The drawing room on the second floor—one she had been forbidden even to approach—was no better than a single exhibition room in one of the many museums in Vues. The family history they boasted of as a venerable tradition was so meager it failed to draw even a glance from the true nobles who resided in Vues.
Judging by their daily conduct, they must have done something to bring about the family’s ruin. And moreover, the King claimed that Marquis Reinhardt had led the destruction of her family—but could such a thing have happened without the King’s approval?
Charlotte was no fool.
If she could obtain a new status and a brilliant future in exchange for the destruction of a family that had treated her as less than human, was that not a bargain too trivial even to be called a transaction?
On the day she shed the suffocating label of the bastard of a low-ranking noble, Charlotte felt reborn—and she vowed:
For the rest of her life, she would live solely for herself.
Nothing in this world mattered more than herself. If anything threatened her well-being, she would remove it from her path, no matter what it was.
That resolve had never changed.
“……”
Charlotte’s retinas reflected a clear sky, but her gaze was fixed on the rainy landscape beyond.
On a certain rainy night—
That night was when she mercilessly abandoned her only son for the sake of her own survival.
“Um… Viscount Reinhardt—no, the Marquis is waiting.”
Oscar, who usually neither laughed nor cried, had said he was waiting for her in the pouring rain. He said he would wait, no matter how many times she told him to go back.
Even then, he resembled his deceased father in his uncanny ability to make others uncomfortable.
Eventually, Charlotte took an umbrella and went to where Oscar was.
Barbara Valt.
That tiresome woman stood behind him, and Oscar himself stood motionless, like a dead tree. In the rain so heavy it turned the world white; Charlotte knew that Oscar’s gaze was fixed on her.
He was strange even in moments like that.
He did not run toward her crying, Mother.He did not cling to her skirt and sob.
He simply stood there, looking at her with those pale blue eyes—eyes so like Ernst’s—as if trying to pierce her very soul.
Swoooosh.
The white rain poured down in thick, visible streams, rendering the umbrella above her head useless. Her shoes were soaked, and the hem of her rain-heavy dress clung to her legs.
This won’t do.
It was at the moment Charlotte turned to leave—
“When are you coming.”
She could not be sure she had heard it properly.
Charlotte paused and turned her gaze back to Oscar.
“……”
“……”
Amid the downpour roaring like thunder, Oscar still stood like a dead tree. There were no tears on his face—no sadness, not even a trace.
And in rain so loud she could barely hear her own voice, there was no way he could have heard hers.
She must have misheard.
Why would she hear such a hallucination?
And yet, even as she questioned herself, Charlotte whispered a reply to that imagined voice in the pouring rain.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not going back to that ruin.”
Oscar probably did not hear it. The words did not even reach her own ears.
With that, Charlotte turned away from her son.
Oscar, left behind, neither stopped her nor burst into tears. He simply stood there for a long time after she disappeared—before finally turning back.
From that day on, Oscar never once came to find her of his own accord.
“Do you have a headache?”
A low voice broke Charlotte’s long reverie.
Charlotte, who had been standing by the window, turned at the sound—and there stood her long-time lover.
Dietrich von Jerome.
Her connection with Dietrich predated even her meeting with Ernst.
His neatly combed hair and perfectly tailored suit, free of a single wrinkle, accentuated his sharp features. The medals pinned to his chest did the same.
“Are you on your way to the palace?”
Dietrich did not answer. He merely approached.
“You must not have slept because of the rain.”
Charlotte shrugged, but Dietrich’s brow furrowed.
“How long are you going to be like this every time it rains?”
Charlotte brushed past him and replied coolly,
“Blame what needs to be blamed.”
At the sharpness of her retort, Dietrich swallowed a low breath. Then he turned to follow her.
Charlotte poured more lemon water into her cup and drank again. Dietrich fully faced her and lowered his voice.
“The woman your son brought here. Have you found out who she is?”
Her slender throat, mid-swallow, stilled.
Yes.
A woman.
Charlotte realized that she had momentarily forgotten about that existence because of the rainy night.
After a brief pause, she slowly finished the glass of water and set the cup down. Her beautiful eyes narrowed.
Yesterday, she had considered going to the Reinhardt mansion. But finding the place unpleasant, she had turned her carriage back just before arriving and headed instead to her son’s company. Fortunately, Oscar had been there.
His disheveled demeanor and attire were unchanged.
Barbara Valt.
Raised by someone without pedigree, it was inevitable that such a street-gangster manner would become habitual.
“Did you perhaps bring a woman home?”
Oscar, who had been tapping ash into an ashtray, merely lifted his gaze. Those fierce eyes—eyes that could never be mistaken for those of a mother looking at her child—were enough to convince Charlotte that the question she had once heard in the rain had indeed been a hallucination.
Charlotte savored that moment.
Perhaps because Oscar resembled Ernst, whose inner thoughts had always been inscrutable, she could never be certain of her son’s true intentions. All she could do was infer.
“Check carefully.”
“……”
“There are bastards, and then there are bastards. Regardless of gender, a bastard born of someone without roots is nothing more than an obstacle in life—nothing more, nothing less. How troublesome would it be if a commoner began to expect inheritance?”
Even after saying all that, her son remained silent. Although she had left behind precious medicine favored by the Emperor of Rioher, Oscar had likely thrown it away.
The moment she sensed that her son had discarded the medicine, the thought that he had indeed brought a woman home solidified. And it seemed this was not merely a woman to be used like a maid, but one brought for a deeply personal reason.
Her keen intuition—an instinct that had saved her countless times—sent a chill crawling down her spine.
And Dietrich was watching her.
Charlotte.
When her amethyst-colored eyes met his, Dietrich felt as though the world were in his grasp. Eyes that had once reminded him of delicate violets had, over the years, hardened into something closer to polished amethyst.
Are you still being manipulated by that selfish woman?Are you truly a mother who wouldn’t flinch even if your own daughter were called a bastard? You of all people know what kind of treatment bastards receive.
His mother’s sharp voice echoed in his ears.
Do you think that woman loves you?Mother.Perhaps she did in the past. No—thinking about it now, perhaps she was always like that. Only the circumstances changed.Mother!Charlotte is taking revenge on me.“……”
I told her that you and my son—a bastard—could never marry. So, to spite me, she made you her lover and my granddaughter a bastard.
Dietrich let out a thin laugh.
Who didn’t know that?
Turning to Charlotte, who had fallen into thought, he spoke.
“Your son…”
Charlotte’s amethyst eyes shifted to him. Dietrich met his long-time lover’s gaze and continued.
“That it’s problematic to have a child—whether a bastard or not.”
“……”
“You know that.”
Charlotte let out a sharp laugh. The sound struck Dietrich’s cheek, but he did not recoil. Instead, he stepped closer and lowered his voice in warning.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know, Char.”
“……”
“You know.”
She knew all too well.
“The lady you have in mind as the next Marquise Reinhardt—her parents are keeping it quiet, so no one knows, but…”
The smile vanished from Charlotte’s face.
“She’s barren.”
“Watch your words, Dit.”
“Don’t worry. No one knows but me.”
“Dietrich!”
Charlotte snapped, but Dietrich did not retreat.
“So be careful. You’re still too young to be a grandmother, aren’t you? Or rather—you don’t intend to be one at all, do you?”
Charlotte attempted to turn away, clearly unwilling to continue the conversation, but Dietrich caught her hand and pressed the matter.
“And if—by any chance—the Marquis decides to bring home a woman he has taken a fancy to and make her the Marquise, how do you plan to deal with the aftermath?”
A title like late Marquis’s wife held no real authority. And that was without even considering inheritance order.
Charlotte, who had grown sharper and angrier with each word, finally fell silent. Dietrich lifted the hand he was holding and pressed a kiss to its back.
“I’ll be going. You’re attending Sabine’s exhibition this afternoon, aren’t you?”
“……”
“Enjoy yourself. I won’t be able to attend until tomorrow, so at least go for our daughter.”
With that, he brushed past his lover. The moment he passed Charlotte; the smile vanished from Dietrich’s face.
Charlotte.
A woman he had wanted to abandon countless times—yet never could.
Love and hatred stood back-to-back, separated by a single sheet of paper. Whether this was love, hate, or both, Dietrich himself could no longer tell.
—