MLS Chapter 11

The morning mass at St. Bergos Cathedral stretched well past noon. Being a Sunday, the congregation was massive. Inside the cathedral, distinctions of class and occupation dissolved, with nobles and commoners alike mingling together.

Lorena, who had hoped to catch another glimpse of the Marquis from a distance after the mass, had to abandon her plan.

As she finally managed to steady herself by gripping the handrail of the stairs leading to the entrance, a group of commoner children came running from behind and roughly shoved her.

“Ah! Sorry, Señora!”

The incident happened so suddenly that Lorena didn’t even have time to scream. Just as she stumbled, someone skillfully wrapped an arm around her waist, preventing her from falling.

Guided by the firm grip of thick forearms, Lorena found herself unintentionally pulled into the embrace of an unfamiliar man.

“Careful.”

A rich, musky scent wafted over her—a distinctly sensual fragrance.

The spot where Lorena had just stood was quickly swallowed by the moving crowd. Had she fallen in that chaos, she might have been seriously injured, trampled underfoot.

The man who had firmly steadied her glanced up the stairs, gauging the surging crowd spilling out of the cathedral. His sharp jawline connected seamlessly with the prominent Adam’s apple above his collar.

Forgetting her situation, Lorena looked up at him in a daze.

It was the first time she had encountered this striking man since their brief meeting at the monastery in Soto—a future that had since disappeared.

In the past, Lorena had no direct connection to this man. However, she was as familiar with his face as anyone who regularly appeared in the headlines. It was why she had instantly recognized him at Soto.

Afraid that speaking might give away her identity, Lorena lowered her head slightly in silent acknowledgment.

She had expected to be released right away, but the Marquis only let go after the crowd sweeping down the stairs had cleared.

“Well then.”

It seemed he had no other intentions beyond helping a woman who had nearly fallen. As abruptly as he had appeared, the man offered his parting words with two syllables and turned his back on her without hesitation.

Lorena stood there for a long time, staring after him as his figure receded down the stairs.

* * *

Perhaps today was a day guided by fate. Lorena, who had intended to return to the mansion, changed her mind and decided to wait until the crowd thinned. Then, she approached a priest.

“I wish to make a confession.”

“Do you? Please, this way.”

An elderly priest with kind eyes led her to the underground confessional. Those seeking absolution were seated in a row of hard wooden chairs, patiently waiting for their turn.

Her turn came quickly. Lorena stepped into the cramped confessional, knelt before the partition, and straightened her back. After making the sign of the cross, she clasped her hands together in a prayer-like gesture and lowered her gaze. From the other side of the partition came the sound of someone entering.

The priest, who had briefly stepped away, had returned to the confessional. He hesitated slightly, sensing her presence, before slowly taking his seat.

After a moment of silence, the priest spoke.

“Confess your sins to God.”

His voice was unexpectedly young—a voice untouched by the passage of time, belonging to a man in his prime. It wasn’t unusual for some cathedrals to have designated confession priests, so it wasn’t particularly strange.

Not that it mattered. Lorena smiled faintly.

“Father, I committed suicide.”

A shocked silence fell.

Even a priest would think this was madness. But the real story was only beginning.

Lorena continued without hesitation.

“But by God’s miracle, I returned from beyond death.”

“…”

“Is that a common occurrence?”

“If miracles happen repeatedly, they are no longer miracles but phenomena.”

“Then perhaps I merely had a dream.”

“…”

“Whether it was a dream, a miracle, or simply that I’ve gone insane—it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’ve returned, and I will not live as I once did.”

A soft sigh came from the other side of the partition.

“Señora, this is a time for confessing sins and seeking repentance.”

Yet, the priest’s tone was not particularly stern. Lorena nodded slightly, murmuring, “Indeed.”

However, the story she continued to tell had little to do with repentance or contrition.

“I lived a life devoted to my husband and my family.”

She had strived not to bring shame to her family. She endured days without privacy, where her every move was laid bare in the press. She tolerated her husband’s mistresses. She tried not to be hurt by his deliberate efforts to avoid having children with her.

Some, like Arisa Menendo, might dismiss her struggles as privileged grievances. After all, hadn’t the saints themselves advised over the ages?

Be grateful for what you have, not for what you lack. Be humble and gentle.

“…Yet I received nothing in return for any of it.”

The result of enduring seven years was this.

Her father’s mysterious death, her brother’s suicide, the bankruptcy of her father’s bank, and the devastation of her homeland. Though these were events yet to occur, to Lorena, they were a painful past.

Vaye Levantes, with his composed and noble face, with the large hands that once fervently caressed her body, had pulled the trigger on her family and her country.

Thus, Lorena decided to cast aside laws, norms, and morality. There was no better place to solidify such a resolution than here.

“So I want my husband to be ruined. I want him to writhe in agony more dreadful than anything imaginable.”

The priest, who had been quietly listening, let out a resigned sigh.

“You’ve come to the confessional with no intention of repenting. You’ve got the sequence all wrong, Señora. In this state, I cannot offer you absolution or recite the Act of Contrition.”

“That’s fine. I’ve already made peace with the thought of falling into hellfire.”

“Then why did you come to the confessional?”

“Since God has sent me back to the past, I thought it proper to confess how I intend to live this second life.”

No matter how much she thought it over, Lorena couldn’t believe her return to the past wasn’t part of God’s will. That’s why she came to the cathedral, His cradle on earth, to confess honestly.

“I’m going to utterly destroy my husband. With my own hands.”

“…”

“I want to show him that a life worse than death exists. He has everything, so I want him to lose it all and walk into death of his own accord. I’m prepared to sacrifice everything to make that happen.”

“You don’t plan to kill him directly?”

“Perhaps one day I’ll want to. That much, I’m sure, is a sin.”

The conversation had crossed into dangerously uncharted territory. It wasn’t something a believer should confide to a priest, nor was it something a priest should ask of a believer.

A faintly stimulating musk lingered in the enclosed space.

“Are you so willing to share your plans, Señora? Do you think God will simply watch your dark, secret schemes unfold?”

“The omnipotent God knows everything, doesn’t He? Then He must have foreseen that I’d choose this life when given a second chance.”

Lorena paused for a moment, tilting her head slightly as she wore a quiet smile.

“And besides, isn’t it true that the one listening to my confession isn’t a priest at all?”

For a moment, there was no response from the other side of the partition, as though her remark had caught him off guard.

A faint silence followed before a soft laugh, like air escaping, echoed from the other side.

The man spoke with a tone of amusement.

“When did you notice?”

“From the beginning.”

“Ah, I see. I suppose my words didn’t quite align with those of a priest.”

“That’s true, but more importantly, I recognized your voice.”

The small window connecting the two compartments creaked open. It was originally meant to be blocked by a metal grate to prevent anything from passing through, but for some reason, the mesh had been crudely torn away.

A large hand suddenly emerged from the opening. Lorena unclasped her neatly folded hands and placed her right hand on the outstretched palm. The man on the other side tightened his grip and pulled her small hand into the opening.

Soon, warm lips pressed against the back of her hand.

From Lorena’s perspective through the small window, all she could see was the lips brushing against her hand, part of his sharp nose, and his strong jawline. Meanwhile, the man couldn’t see her face. The veil she wore still obscured her features.

The man holding her hand asked:

“If you’d like to continue your confession, shall I summon the bishop, Señora?”

“No, I didn’t come to confess my sins, so the listener doesn’t need to be a priest.”

“Then there’s no need for you to kneel, either.”

Lorena naturally withdrew her hand from his grasp and stood up. As the young man rose to his feet as well, they now stood facing each other with the partition between them.

“Have we ever had a conversation before? You said you recognized my voice.”

For some reason, Lorena imagined him standing with one hand tucked into his pocket, watching her with amused eyes.

“You wouldn’t remember. It was only for a brief moment.”

“Not a voice I’d easily forget.”

The man fell silent, as if searching his memory. But no matter how much he tried, nothing would come to mind. Their meeting at Soto had been the first time Lorena had ever spoken to or been close to him. Until then, she had only seen his strikingly handsome features in newspapers.

“Knowing my voice means you also know who I am, doesn’t it?”

“What do you think?”

“…You’re making this unnecessarily suspenseful.”

Lorena simply smiled in silence.

After a short pause, he asked,

“Would you like to step outside?”

It was an invitation to continue their conversation face-to-face.

“I’m curious about you.”

“…”

“And about that revenge you’re plotting in your head.”

Lorena’s half-lowered lashes quivered slightly. She had felt it before—his voice carried a peculiar allure that stirred something within her.

That low tone, his leisurely speech, and his straightforward words. The man spoke with a casual air, yet had no qualms about showing his interest. It felt almost as if her heart was being gently but firmly pressed.

“…If you see my face, will you report me?”