MLS Chapter 16

Lorena was in the guest room. Sitting still on the sofa, wearing the coat offered by a female officer, her small figure seemed almost fragile.

Vaye strode toward her with his long steps. Standing by the sofa, he looked down at Lorena’s profile from an angle. Her eyelids were shut tightly, and she exhaled quietly, as if trying to steady herself.

“Get up.”

At his low command, her delicate eyelashes quivered slightly.

Her hands still bore traces of dried ink and brown bloodstains.

The female officer had brought her a basin of water, urging her to wash up, but Lorena hadn’t touched it. Those bloodstains were her only proof that her confession of stabbing her husband wasn’t a lie.

But her efforts were in vain. No one had asked whose blood it was. The police simply brought Lorena here and immediately contacted the Levantes mansion.

When Lorena didn’t move, Vaye spoke again, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.

“There are too many eyes watching. Go out and talk.”

Lorena glanced at his right hand. The black leather glove he wore moved with an ease that seemed utterly unaffected, as if nothing had happened.

It felt as though even if she had torn out his heart instead of his palm, he wouldn’t have flinched. His immaculate suit, perfectly styled hair, and cold, expressionless face made him appear nothing like the brute who had assaulted his wife the night before. The brazen indifference chilled her to the bone.

“I have nothing to say to you,” she replied.

“Then don’t.”

His tone suggested he hadn’t expected anything different. His next command cut like ice.

“Return to the mansion. If you don’t like Motrel, go down to Bellacarosa. Your father has already gone back to Ingerd, hasn’t he?”

“Ingerd? No, Grant.”

Lorena corrected him with firm resolve. The mention of Vicenzo Klein stirred her enough to lift her chin and glare at her husband.

“For the time being, you won’t be reaching out to Ingerd. The political climate is unstable. You won’t be visiting Bessen again either.”

So don’t even think of extending your treacherous hand toward my father.

Lorena’s green eyes flashed with warning as her veins pulsed with tension.

“If you have any business with Klein Bank, relay it to me. From now on, I will personally oversee all matters related to the bank.”

The Levantes household maids, who had arrived late, began attending to her, brushing her tangled golden hair into a neat braid and bringing her a fresh dress and shoes.

Lorena pushed aside the modest beige poplin dress they offered and stood up.

“I’ll leave as I am.”

“But, Señora, the crowd outside is overwhelming. If you step out like this, it will draw unwanted attention. Photographers are already waiting—”

“Leave it.”

Vaye, who had been watching her preparations with arms crossed, cut off the maid’s words. He added nothing further, and the maids withdrew without another word.

* * *

Lorena was released without so much as a routine investigation.

No officer cared to question her about her sudden arrival at the station in her nightgown or her frantic testimony in the early hours of the morning. To them, she was simply a hysterical and unstable woman, nothing more.

Once again, Lorena had confirmed what she already knew: this kind of retaliation was nothing more than a minor rebellion, one that Vaye Levantes could quash with a single phone call or a handshake.

‘The law is not on my side,’ she thought grimly.

But the reporters were. Like hyenas drawn to fresh prey, they swarmed outside the building, eager for sensational gossip.

While Vaye instructed his aide to clear the back exit, Lorena quietly moved toward the door. Vaye, sensing her delicate footsteps, grabbed her arm.

“If you’re leaving, then leave on your own two feet.”

Lorena brushed him off as if he were a nuisance. Though he frowned in irritation, he didn’t stop her from heading toward the front entrance. Grinding out a low curse, he followed behind her.

“Lorena Levantes, don’t—”

But she was already in the center of the fray, surrounded by dozens of eager, prying eyes. Her composure was startling, as if she had anticipated this all along.

“Señora, why did you stab the Duke?”

“Is it true that your marriage is in turmoil? Do you have any comment on the anonymous letter sent to the press yesterday?”

“Where exactly did you injure him? Please, just a word, Señora!”

The barrage of questions came like a rain of arrows, so rapid and chaotic that it was difficult to discern them all. A sudden unease flickered in Vaye’s mind.

‘In this line of work, you get a sense just by looking at someone. Whether they’ve already made their move or they’re planning to…’

“I’m going to file for divorce.”

Her clear, calm voice turned his unease into cold reality. Vaye’s face froze like stone.

Even the reporters, who had been shouting over one another, fell silent. In the stunned stillness, only Lorena’s steady voice could be heard.

“A dear friend of mine provided me with photographs of my husband’s infidelity. Miss Arisa Menendo de Carenzo.”

“The only daughter of the Viscount of Menendo? Please, elaborate, Señora!”

The reporters, momentarily stunned, erupted into a frenzy once again.

Realizing the situation was spiraling out of control, the Levantes household guards rushed to separate Lorena from the crowd. In the chaos, someone bumped her shoulder, causing her to stumble. Her coat slipped from her shoulders, revealing a chemise stained with blood.

Someone gasped at the ghastly sight of the duchess, her appearance a shocking testament to the ordeal she had endured.

“She stabbed… someone… she really did stab someone…”

“For heaven’s sake, take notes! Write it down!”

Unfazed, Lorena bent down to retrieve her coat herself. Through the cascade of her golden hair, the faint curve of a smirk appeared on her lips.

Her plan was far from over.

* * *

The very next day, news broke and sent shockwaves through Motrel once again.

“The Duchess of Levantes declares she can no longer endure the Duke’s infidelity throughout their marriage.”

“Will she proceed with a divorce lawsuit against the Duke?”

“The Duchess plans to submit full correspondences and partial photographs exchanged with Lady Menendo to the court as evidence!”

“The Duchess begins her separation, staying at the Klein Residence in Motrel.”

The newspapers published images of the Duchess catching a random carriage on the street, heading toward the Klein Residence. There were also plenty of photos of the Duke, his expression unnervingly rigid, taken from every conceivable angle—front, side, and three-quarters.

“Rumors of discord between the Duke and Duchess of Levantes—are they true after all?”

“Photographic evidence of the Duke’s affair acquired! The mistress is a bartender from Hotel Alborada!”

“Lady Menendo declines interview requests and goes into seclusion…”

Over a dozen newspapers lay scattered across the desk in his study, but that wasn’t all.

On top of the pile sat a document envelope that had just arrived from the Klein Residence.

Inside was a divorce petition, meticulously prepared by Lorena herself. The name and neat signature of his wife stood out starkly on the final page, illuminated by a beam of sunlight.

“…Damn it.”

Vaye’s face twisted into a grimace of irritation.

* * *

The day after all of Motrel was thrown into chaos by the Duchess’s revelations, a pale-faced Arisa Menendo arrived at the Klein Residence.

To call it a visit would be too refined. Tear-streaked and disheveled, Arisa had been dragged there by her father, the Viscount of Menendo, who clutched her wrist tightly.

Lorena, staying at Vicenzo’s residence on the outskirts of Motrel after leaving the Levantes mansion, greeted them without a hint of surprise.

“Apologize at once, you foolish girl! Now!”

The viscount shoved his daughter to the ground at Lorena’s feet. Arisa, her face swollen from crying, glared up at Lorena with murderous fury.

Lorena, however, didn’t even spare a glance at the woman at her feet. She was calmly reviewing résumés for new staff to work at the Klein Residence, her demeanor utterly composed—far removed from what one might expect of a woman accused of stabbing her husband.

“What brings you here? Please state your business first, Viscount,” Lorena said without looking up.

“It is simply to offer my deepest apologies,” the viscount stammered.

What followed was a string of pitiful excuses—how he had failed in raising his daughter properly, how Arisa surely had no intention of sowing discord in the Levantes marriage.

“I offer my sincerest regrets on her behalf. So please, I beg you, speak to His Grace on our behalf…”

“Did the Duke threaten the Menendo family?”

Lorena’s tone was calm, as though she had expected nothing less.

“Did he say he would sever ties with your family? Or perhaps he demanded immediate repayment of the debt the previous Duke paid off for you ten years ago?”

“B-both, Señora… As you know, losing His Grace’s favor would leave us with no standing in Motrel. In fact, we would be erased entirely!”

As her father groveled, Arisa’s face flushed with humiliation. She bit her lip furiously, yet still showed no sign of offering an apology herself.

Lorena, staring at her former friend with the same detached indifference one might show an inanimate object, finally closed the folder of résumés.

“Viscount, I would appreciate it if you would step outside for a moment. This conversation may take a while.”

“Of course, Señora. Please, reprimand her as you see fit!”

The Viscount hurriedly exited the room. The moment he was gone, Arisa’s eyes burned with rage as she screamed, “You cunning wench! How could you name me in front of the reporters like that?”

“Whose name should I have given, then?”

Lorena tilted her head slightly, her tone laced with genuine curiosity.

“‘From your devoted and dearest friend, Arisa.’ Didn’t you write that at the end of every single letter you sent me?”

“I didn’t send those letters for you to use them like this!” Arisa shouted, her voice cracking.

“What else was it for, then?”

“That… that’s…”

“They were letters you wrote out of concern for me, weren’t they? Leaving evidence for me to use in times like this—wasn’t that the point?”

Arisa’s face turned a shade of crimson, as if even her scant sense of shame couldn’t bear the accusation.

That very morning, Lorena had delivered Arisa’s letters and seven years’ worth of photographic evidence to the largest newspaper in Motrel.

Journalists, blinded by the chance for an exclusive, analyzed Arisa’s letters down to each syllable. In the process, a deluge of information about the Duke’s former lovers came to light.

The public also got a taste of the snide remarks Arisa had peppered throughout her letters to Lorena, exposing her true nature.

<Take a look at Lady Menendo’s letters. She pretends to be worried, but isn’t she actually mocking the Duchess? This is nothing short of… rubbing salt in the wound.>

<Exactly. Lady Menendo paraded her close friendship with the Duchess around for status, but she was busy badmouthing her behind her back, wasn’t she?>

<Honestly, if I had a husband who changed mistresses every year, and a friend fanning the flames, I don’t think I could resist picking up a knife either. Though in the Duke’s case, I’m sure he gave her every reason to.>

<Lady Menendo really showed her true colors. A fox in disguise.>

“It’s all your doing, Arisa.”

If Arisa had been even slightly more clever, her reputation might not have sunk to such depths. Pretending to support Lorena while spreading gossip behind her back had never endeared her to anyone.

“You thought I was stupid and beneath you. I truly don’t understand why you’re shouting about being wronged.”

“You… wretched woman!”

Arisa, trembling with rage, pushed herself off the ground, raising her hand to slap Lorena across the face.

But the slap never came. Lorena’s icy glare froze her in place.

“Kneel.”

Lorena pointed to the floor with her pen.

“Kneel again and apologize sincerely, Lady Menendo. If you wish to beg for even a shred of mercy from me.”

Arisa’s hand quivered in the air. The memories of the Duke’s lawyers storming her family estate at dawn, the arrows of blame aimed solely at her, and the engagement ring her fiancé had given her just last week flashed before her eyes.

“I… I was wrong…”

Arisa crumpled to her knees, her face contorting in misery as she began to sob.

“I was jealous of you. Hic, you—a woman who can’t even speak properly—snatched up the most enviable position in all of Bessen overnight. And yet you always complained, always acted ungrateful, and I couldn’t stand it…”

“…”

“I only wanted to show you how heavy that position really is. To make you realize, for your own sake!”

‘Ungrateful.’

‘The weight of the Duchess’s position.’

‘Pretending to care until the end.’

Lorena nodded coolly, as if to herself.

‘People never change.’

Arisa, misreading Lorena’s silence as a sign of hope, pleaded desperately.

“If things go on like this, I might be cast aside. You know no man would marry into a family that’s fallen out of the Duke’s favor, don’t you? Lorena, just speak to him for me, just this once. If you help me this time, I’ll live like I’m dead, I swear. You’ll never see me again!”

“Speak to him?”

Lorena couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her.

Foolish Arisa still hadn’t grasped the situation.

“I exposed my husband’s affair and walked out of that house, and now you expect me to go back to plead your case? Why would I do that? I can’t, and I won’t, Arisa.”

“Lorena!”

“Handle your family’s crisis on your own.”

There was nothing more to say. Lorena rose and opened the door to the hallway. The Viscount of Menendo, who had been nervously pacing as he waited for the conversation to end, rushed over.

“Please leave. There’s nothing more to discuss.”

“Señora, please reconsider, just this once!”

“If you continue causing a scene, I’ll call the police.”

Lorena gestured down the hall. The newly hired private guards, who had started their posts that morning, swiftly approached and escorted the Viscount and Arisa out.

“Duchess…!”

The Viscount looked as though he might grab onto her skirts. Lorena, who had been about to turn away without a second thought, furrowed her brow.

“Titles.”

“Pardon…?”

“Mind your use of titles, Viscount. I won’t be the ‘Duchess’ for much longer.”

With that, Lorena closed the door firmly. Arisa’s wailing echoed faintly from the corridor, but Lorena ignored it completely.

They were people she would never need to see again.