MLS Chapter 40

Lorena’s face turned pale as she recalled the events from two days ago.

‘Still, pregnancy? Really?’

The woman in the newspaper article had a face she barely recognized. A woman gasping for breath, half-collapsed in a man’s embrace, covering her mouth with her hand. Of all things, to be caught retching in front of food.

She thought she had grown accustomed to having her picture taken, but the way her entire body felt exposed proved otherwise.

‘If Father sees this article, he’ll faint. Alfonso might storm into Bessen this very moment.’

Lorena had gone years without any news of a child. Her father and brother had always remained tactfully silent, respecting her feelings. But that didn’t mean they hadn’t secretly wished for it.

They had always worried about the state of her marriage. After all, the only person left to protect and love their precious daughter and sister in a foreign land was Vaye. A child would have been undeniable proof that Lorena was cherished in the Levantes household.

And yet, after all that anticipation, there was now a newspaper article claiming she was filing for divorce while carrying her lover’s child.

“I don’t mind it.”

Miguel summarized the situation in a single sentence.

“It’s certainly more effective than wandering all over Motrel every other night. And I’ll get to see my grandfather for the first time in a while.”

He had taken advantage of the quiet hours of midnight to knock on the door of the Klein residence. He waved a letter stamped with the golden rooster crest—an emblem of the Bessen royal family.

“Don’t worry too much. The smartest way to handle rumors is neither to confirm nor deny them. Just let people assume what they want. Most of what they say isn’t true anyway.”

“I’m not worried about myself.”

Lorena, who had been absentmindedly fiddling with the corner of the newspaper, slowly shook her head.

“My reputation? I sold that to the devil long ago. I’ve already made peace with being labeled a wicked seductress. What I’m worried about is you, Miguel.”

“Me? Why me?”

“People are painting you as the pinnacle of immorality. Some even have the audacity to call you a… whore.”

“And weren’t they right?”

“Not at all!”

Lorena snapped, her voice rising in frustration.

“And that’s not even the worst of it. There are those who go as far as to question your lineage. How dare they be so rude…!”

Her concerns were not unfounded.

On the surface, Miguel’s position in Bessen seemed unshakable. But if one were to dig deeper, the foundation was unsettlingly weak—because the identity of his biological father remained a mystery.

Where there were devoted followers, there were bound to be detractors as well. It was impossible to believe there weren’t people who resented Princess Adriana and her son.

Particularly, those who placed their faith deeply in religion viewed Miguel with contempt. When they attacked him, their primary argument was always the same—”No matter how you dress it up, he’s still a bastard.”

They claimed his indolent nature and blatant denial of God’s existence were surely traits inherited from an unworthy father.

At times like those, Miguel often imagined exposing his father’s identity to the world. At the very least, it would shut those fools up.

Lorena was still engrossed in the newspaper, unable to tear her eyes away. Miguel casually snatched it from her hands and flung it across the table.

“I appreciate the outrage on my behalf, but you don’t need to waste your energy on this.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s amusing. No one could’ve seen this twist coming.”

“……”

“Me? A father? Now that’s something new.”

His voice was unnervingly cheerful, as if he genuinely found the situation entertaining.

Lorena shut her eyes for a long moment, then opened them again, visibly dizzy.

“Please, for the love of God, do not use such blunt language in front of His Majesty.”

Miguel simply shrugged. No promises.

No doubt, once he entered the palace, he’d have another confrontation with the king. Every year, without fail, King Remen III—his grandfather and the aging ruler of Bessen—summoned Miguel at least once to issue his usual empty threat:

“If you sire another bastard like yourself, I’ll have you exiled from the royal family.”

But Miguel’s skin was far too thick to be rattled by the blustering threats of an old man whose belly sagged with age.

Besides, wasn’t this situation rather thrilling?

Ever since his beloved daughter had appeared before him, heavily pregnant, the king had become obsessively fixated on monitoring both her and his young grandson’s every move. He had truly believed the princess was carrying Satan’s child and feared nothing more than that cursed bloodline continuing.

Even after giving birth to a son, Princess Adriana had been confined to a solitary chamber in the marquis’s estate for the rest of her life. Miguel had been no exception, and if not for being taken away by his father after his mother’s death, his fate wouldn’t have changed either.

He had always thought it was a blessing in disguise that his father had claimed him. Between imprisonment and violence, Miguel would choose the latter without hesitation.

And now, with this scandal spreading like wildfire, the king must be shaking in his boots. The mere thought of his grandfather’s horrified expression filled Miguel with amusement.

Meanwhile, Lorena’s complexion remained grim. In a subdued voice, she murmured:

“Did you know that I’ve been praying for two hours every night lately?”

“To send me to heaven?”

“I can’t let you go to hell. At the very least, we need to make it to purgatory—both of us.”

Miguel swallowed a laugh. There was no need to remind her that he had already boarded a one-way train straight to hell.

‘Still, maybe I should reassure her a little.’

But then again, the way she sulked over his ruined reputation was utterly adorable.

So much so that—

“I feel like I’m corrupting you.”

—if the rumors had been true, he wouldn’t have minded one bit.

“We need to set the record straight later. I can’t let you be labeled as a philanderer.”

Lorena, resolved and determined, dove back into the newspaper as if she intended to memorize every word. The wide-spread pages obscured her vision, making her completely unaware of the way the man beside her was gazing at her—like he wanted to sink his teeth into her.

“…But I have to admit, this is an unexpected turn of events.”

Even if the rumor was absurd, it wasn’t necessarily harmful to her. Lorena murmured as she finished reading the last paragraph of the article.

“It might even throw Vaye into turmoil.”

“…Why is this suddenly about him?”

“Because it’s long been assumed that I was infertile.”

The smile that had been playing on Miguel’s lips vanished like a ripple swept away by a tide. Lorena, still fixated on the newspaper, didn’t notice.

At one time, her ability to conceive had been one of Bessen’s most popular topics of speculation. People, both in formal and informal settings, had asked about it to her face without a shred of tact. Of course, she couldn’t very well admit that her husband simply had no interest in planting his seed in her. Instead, she had always dodged the questions with a practiced, awkward smile.

“This article really is amusing in its own way. It would be quite the sight if the duke had to publicly explain that I’m not actually infertile.”

For seven years, she had never conceived while in her husband’s bed. And yet, now, a rumor was circulating that she had gotten pregnant so easily. Naturally, suspicion would turn toward her husband. No one would dare to question him outright, but whispers behind closed doors had always been far more irritating than direct accusations.

“I doubt any healthy, able-bodied man would enjoy being suspected of impotence.”

There was something cold about Miguel’s tone.

Lorena, though startled by his choice of words, couldn’t suppress the laughter that slipped out.

The idea of that arrogant man being called impotent? The most absurd combination imaginable.

“What a shame. I should have been there to see his face when he read this article. I’ve never seen what he looks like when his pride is wounded.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

“What do you mean?”

“It must mean that your husband’s reproductive abilities were perfectly fine.”

Miguel had a way of choosing the most cutting remarks. His words seemed to imply: if there was nothing wrong with the duke, and nothing wrong with you, then what exactly was the issue?

Lorena averted her gaze, suddenly flustered.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to assume he was just very thorough with contraception?”

“…….”

“Honestly, I never really knew what the issue was either. I thought he simply didn’t want an heir from me. But then, at Soto, he said…”

<I need a child now.>

The words roared through her mind like thunder.

Lorena clutched one side of her head, pressing a hand over her ear as if to block out the echo. Ever since Vaye Levantes had uttered those words, her body had begun rejecting even the thought of him. Every time he resurfaced in her mind, nausea threatened to overtake her.

She had tried to find a way to overcome the trauma. She had tried. But even now, there had been no progress.

And worse—her expression always betrayed her. Whenever she thought about him, her face twisted as if she were about to burst into tears.

And that, in turn, was enough to instantly sour the mood of the man beside her.

“Ah.”