MLS Chapter 13

Once she reached the surface, Lorena was finally able to cool her flushed earlobes.

The fresh air outside helped her recall how she had ended up here. After waking up at dawn, she had spent the entire morning sending anonymous letters to a few influential newspapers in Bessen.

Then, a sudden wave of dizziness struck her. For reasons she couldn’t explain, an overwhelming urge to flee the mansion consumed her.

It was that compulsion that had driven her out of the duke’s estate and led her to the cathedral.

“Did I seek solace in the arms of the divine…?”

Still, she couldn’t quite understand why she had gone down to the confessional. Perhaps, on some subconscious level, she had expected to find that man there.

In any case, it had been a good choice. Lorena realized anew how nonsensical conversations like these could soothe her troubled mind.

The sun was already dipping low in the sky, painting the heavens in hues of dusk. Lorena looked up at the twilight-streaked clouds, gauging the time.

“If the message I sent yesterday reached him, he should be arriving at the hotel around sunset.”

Through the butler, Samuel, she had sent Vaye a clear message: “There’s a woman waiting for you at the Alborada Hotel with important information.” She had even provided the room number where Olivia Quintana was staying.

By late tonight or, at the latest, early tomorrow morning, he would either return to the mansion or spend the night elsewhere.

“Though he’ll probably be surrounded by reporters before then.”

The letters Lorena sent to the newspapers were exposes of the duke’s affair. She had included the same Alborada Hotel room number in those letters.

By tomorrow, Motrel would be abuzz with a scandal hotter than its noonday sun, and Lorena planned to release additional evidence before the Levantes family could contain the situation.

Her chest tightened with a mixture of excitement and tension.

“It’ll work out. If everything goes according to plan, I might not even need to see his face before leaving the mansion for good.”

Lorena slipped off the wedding ring that clung to her left ring finger. It had sat on her finger like a second skin since the day of her marriage.

The ring, stubborn and unyielding, came off with as much difficulty as ridding herself of her insufferable husband. With a flick of her wrist, Lorena dropped it into the donation box by the cathedral entrance.

As she walked away from the church, her departing figure radiated a newfound sense of liberation.

* * *

Long after Lorena had left the cathedral, the opposite door of the underground confessional creaked open.

A man, whose large frame had been crammed into the narrow booth, finally maneuvered himself out with a grunt.

“…Well, that was something.”

The departing woman had sent in an elderly lady, like an unexpected gift, to occupy the confessional. Consequently, he had missed his chance to leave and was forced to endure the long and tedious confession about how the woman had stolen more than a dozen eggs from the chicken coop opposite her house.

He had recited a half-hearted absolution, which likely wouldn’t absolve her of anything—assuming, of course, that God actually existed.

“Ah, but anyway.”

He rolled his stiff neck a couple of times and stretched languidly.

‘So, she really does know who I am, huh?’

They had only met twice, and even then, their interactions had been limited to brief conversations through the confessional’s partition. Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she saw right through him.

Today, she had left him with a trail of blatant clues: “Delgado,” “Alborada,” and “Pereira”—all places deeply tied to him.

“Isn’t this against the rules?” he muttered to himself, feigning annoyance.

But then, an unsettling thought struck him.

*She’s not actually going to grab some random man for a romp, is she? Could she really have meant for me to head to the entertainment district and enjoy myself thoroughly?*

Or perhaps, it was her way of asking if he held no interest in her. That kind of seduction—how could it possibly… He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, feeling inexplicably flustered.

That’s when he overheard a serious conversation nearby.

“Um, Your Grace, the woman who left earlier placed this in the donation box…”

The apprentice priest and the bishop were bent over, inspecting something with puzzled expressions.

“It doesn’t seem like an ordinary item. It’s a ring, but the gemstones look…”

The apprentice handed the object to the bishop, and even at a glance, the diamond ring was unmistakably valuable. The stones were small but intricately set around the band, clearly part of a pair—a wedding ring.

“I see. It must have a story behind it, though we may never know what that story is. Quite peculiar…”

“Your Grace?”

The man, who had been silently observing the scene over the bishop’s shoulder, interrupted casually.

“Hand it over to me.”

“Why would you need it?”

The bishop gave him a blatantly suspicious look. In response, the man arched his brows and adopted an expression of innocence, attempting a polite negotiation.

“In exchange, I’ll make a donation equal to the ring’s value. How about ten chests of gold? Three thousand pesecas, perhaps?”

“Th-three thousand pesecas?!”

The apprentice priest couldn’t help but raise his voice, only to clamp his mouth shut when he caught the bishop’s stern glance. There was no need to hear an answer; the deal was already sealed.

The man offered a charming smile to the exasperated bishop and the naïve apprentice before casually claiming the ring.

He’d been doing things uncharacteristic of himself lately. He was aware of it, but what did it matter? At his core, he was a hedonist who lived purely for his own amusement.

The ring was so small it barely fit the tip of his pinky finger. Holding it up to the sunlight, he noticed tiny engraved letters inside the band.

Mi Canaria (My Canary)

“A canary, a singing bird?”

The nickname suited her soft and tender voice perfectly. For her husband, the so-called scoundrel, to have such words engraved on a wedding ring suggested that even he must have shared similar sentiments.

This realization soured his mood. The image of the woman gasping like a fragile, dying creature flashed through his mind, and his irritation deepened reflexively.

He clicked his tongue sharply before carelessly shoving the ring into his pocket.

In any case, he now had two clues about the mysterious woman.

* * *

That night, a fierce storm raged across all of Motrel.

In the dead of night, rain lashed against the windows with such ferocity that visibility was almost zero. Amid the roar of the storm, the deafening sound of an engine echoed through the Levantes estate.

Lorena, who had dozed off while slumped over a table, jolted awake in alarm. By the time she came to, every window in the mansion was ablaze with light. At this hour, the only person who could storm into the estate was its master.

A chilling shiver ran from her nape down her spine.

Lorena fumbled for the table as she lit a candle. The dim flame illuminated the surrounding darkness.

The screech of tires grinding against the wet ground tore through the stillness of the early morning once more. Outside, rain continued to pour relentlessly. Headlights flickered through the streaking rain before abruptly switching off.

A knock came at the door.

“His Grace has returned, Señora,” a maid announced from outside.

Lorena bit her lower lip hard.

‘Why is he back so soon…?’

It was earlier than expected. The clock hadn’t even struck midnight yet.

Surely, he had gone straight to the Alborada Hotel. Could he have failed to meet Olivia Quintana? Or had their meeting ended prematurely? …And what about the reporters? Did they cross paths?

Her teeth dug into her lip as her mind raced. Seeing her unease, Hena cautiously spoke.

“Shall I fetch your shawl? Or prepare some herbal tea?”

“…No, it’s fine.”

By tomorrow morning, the headlines in the early edition newspapers would reveal whether her plan had succeeded or failed.

‘Until then, I won’t have to face him.’

Vaye never sought out their shared bedroom except on prearranged nights. It was rare for him to approach her of his own accord.

In the early days of their marriage, Lorena would naively greet him upon his return. But after realizing that he was less enthusiastic about seeing her than even his pet dog, she had stopped.

Even their living spaces were divided between floors, so it was likely she wouldn’t see him until the next afternoon at the earliest.

“Leave, Hena.”

Lorena curled into her chair, listening as Hena’s soft footsteps faded beyond the door. As soon as the quiet returned, darkness engulfed her.

The pitch-black night was filled with the relentless drumming of rain, damp air, and the faint sound of dogs barking somewhere in the distance.

The irregular cacophony gnawed at her nerves, leaving her restless and uneasy.

It had rained like this that day too—the day strange armed soldiers ransacked this very bedroom and interrogated her. The day her father died.

‘I should light another candle,’ she thought, realizing how deeply she feared the rain now.

Without warning, the door to her bedroom burst open.

Lorena, who had risen from her chair and was reaching for a match, froze on the spot.

Framed in the doorway, wide open like the maw of a beast, was a familiar silhouette.

Lorena’s heart plummeted straight to hell.

A humid smell of rain and brine rushed into the room, mixed faintly with the scent of oak.

A flash of bright lightning struck, illuminating the intruder’s face for a fleeting moment. Cold, violet eyes, chiseled cheekbones, and tightly pressed lips—it was unmistakable.

Vaye Levantes. Her husband stood in the shadows, staring directly at her.

Swoosh.

Time, frozen as if held captive, suddenly resumed its relentless pace.

Vaye strode toward her with large, deliberate steps. Instinctively, Lorena stepped back.

His cheeks were ghostly pale, and his suit bore clear signs of soaking, as though he had run through the rain. There must have been an attendant holding an umbrella to shield him—so why was he drenched?

Not that it mattered.

Her lips moved soundlessly, unable to form words. Vaye closed the remaining distance in an instant, halting so close their shoes nearly touched.

Without a word, his hand gripped her chin, tilting her face upward with force. Lorena had no choice but to meet his eyes.

Their gazes collided in the air.

He scrutinized her features before letting out a scoff.

“Still in one piece, I see.”

Was it an illusion? It felt as though the last ten days since her return to the past had vanished, and she was back in the cold, gray isolation cell of Soto, facing this man. He looked the same—high-strung, exhausted, and brimming with barely contained rage.

“Take your hand off me.”

Lorena snapped, striking his hand away from her chin. But Vaye easily countered, catching her small hand in his and holding it firmly.

The moment his strong fingers interlocked with hers, Lorena flinched. Something cold touched her lips.

“…!”

A beat too late, she realized—he had kissed her.

Their lips pressed together, and his warm breath tickled her upper lip. The intimate closeness sent her reeling. Lorena turned her head sharply, her golden hair whipping through the air in defiance, breaking the kiss.

“Don’t! What the hell is this!” she demanded.

“Stay still.”

Vaye’s voice was hoarse, barely recognizable. Ignoring her protests, he cupped her face with both hands and crushed his lips against hers again, a motion as unrelenting as it was possessive. It felt as if an invisible noose had tightened around her neck, ensnaring her.

Her vision spun. A nauseating rush of bile clawed its way up her throat. She struggled, wrenching free of his grip at last, and shouted in a voice tinged with panic.

“I said stop it!”

Smack.

The sharp crack of her slap echoed through the room as Vaye’s head jerked to the side.

For a moment, he seemed too stunned to react, his hand reflexively brushing over his cheek. But whatever indignation he might have felt was drowned out by Lorena’s burst of laughter.

“Ha… haha.”