MLS Chapter 22

* * *

The fragrant scent of oranges drifted above her head. Lorena gazed silently at the grand cathedral she had once again found herself before.

Wrapped in the misty evening glow like a veil, St. Vergos Cathedral was in the midst of a solemn mass.

‘Is this the right thing to do?’

Her heart, which had remained steadfast even before the prince, now swayed like a small boat caught in a storm. The last fragment of her conscience clung to her ankles.

With divorce papers sent to Levantes and under the prince’s watchful eye, Lorena knew she had no chance of entering the royal palace. That meant she needed someone—someone to move in her stead within those gilded halls.

Someone whose presence in the palace would raise no suspicion. Perhaps even someone who could access the royal treasury or the archives.

Yet, above all, someone who would never, under any circumstances, side with the Bessen royal family.

Lorena already knew the one person who met all those demanding conditions perfectly.

A royal bastard.

Her mind and heart waged a fierce battle. Fiery resolve engulfed her chest, while cold logic tried to douse the flames.

But in the end, emotion triumphed over reason.

Lorena stepped past the statues of saints lined at the entrance and entered the cathedral. Her steps quickened as she made her way toward the underground confessional.

Would this meeting be the last? Or would it be a turning point?

Descending the stairs, Lorena listened to the choir’s beautiful hymns. With each step, the world around her darkened.

The lantern hanging outside the confessional was unlit—signifying that no one was inside. With mass ongoing, there was no one here seeking absolution.

She pulled aside the curtain of the farthest confessional.

The space was so cramped she could barely move, but the moment she stepped in, she realized—someone was already there.

“You’re always here,” she murmured.

Lorena barely managed to speak. A low chuckle came from the other side.

“I must have never lost track of you. That’s a relief.”

“……”

“If I had, I know I would have regretted it.”

“Were you waiting for me?”

“It wasn’t a dull wait, so there’s no need to worry. Though, I wouldn’t say it was entirely pleasant either.”

The response was laced with teasing, as if he were doing her a favor. But Lorena couldn’t bring herself to respond in kind.

“…Perhaps.”

Her voice came out hoarse, almost broken.

“Perhaps… you were looking for me?”

“From the very day we last spoke here.”

It was an answer given without hesitation, without any attempt to hide the truth.

The unbearable tension that had built up inside her unraveled, and a hollow smile spread across Lorena’s lips.

“Why?”

“People who carry the same kind of energy always recognize one another.”

“In what way are we similar?”

“We both want to kill someone we shouldn’t.”

A faint realization dawned on her.

“Be careful with your words, Lorena. Especially in front of my cousin.”

The royal family had abandoned Princess Adriana’s portrait in a deserted corridor, even though the people of Bessen still longed for her. When Lorena showed interest in it, Prince David had made his displeasure clear. And yet, strangely, when it came to the dead princess’s son, he adopted an almost submissive attitude. A peculiar power dynamic.

Lorena had a feeling she knew who the man beyond the wall hated enough to want dead. They shared the same enemy.

Ah, could anything be more perfect?

“If you have more questions, ask. I’m not a particularly secretive man.”

“…No.”

Lorena barely shook her head. She clenched her skirt tightly, forcing herself to swallow the words rising to the tip of her tongue. If she spoke now, she had no idea what might spill out in a chaotic rush.

Only the sound of her unsteady breaths filled the silent space.

After what felt like an eternity of listening to those trembling breaths, the man beyond the wall shifted. His voice, which had come from just below eye level, suddenly lifted far above her head.

“Then, is it my turn to ask now?”

Lorena instinctively sensed the abrupt shift in the man’s demeanor.

It felt as though his gaze had pierced through the wall and was now boring straight into her.

“Be honest with me, señora.”

“About what?”

“Why do you keep coming back?”

The question struck directly at the core. Lorena’s lips parted, but no words came out. In the silence, he muttered as if speaking to himself.

“I’m the one playing the hunter, so of course, I look for you. But you? You have no reason to seek me out, and yet, without fail, you always come to me on your own. And still, you never let me in—not even a little.”

“……”

“You’re not just toying with me, are you?”

He was asking what she really wanted from him. Pressuring her, without a word, to stop hiding and be honest.

“I…”

Lorena dropped her gaze helplessly. Should she really be honest?

“I want you.”

The words slipped out, unbidden, forcing their way through lips she had tried so hard to keep sealed.

It was a desire she had denied, swallowed down again and again. But every step that had led her here had been filled with the surging, undeniable hunger she had refused to acknowledge.

She wanted this man. Desperately.

Not just for his reputation as Bessen’s most infamous and decadent noble.

Not just for his status as the owner of a hotel where Vaye, his questionable lovers, and the very aristocrats who had helped bring down the Klein family all gathered.

Not just because he held the royal family’s only financial weakness in his hands.

But because to Lorena, he was the one and only weapon sharp enough to pierce her husband’s heart.

The man on the other side of this wall was a crimson, glistening forbidden fruit—ripe and waiting.

“You meet every condition I need.”

Now that she had spoken the first words, there was no stopping the rest. Lorena’s fingertips brushed against the confessional’s wooden wall, her desire bleeding into every movement.

“I want you…”

Miguel Ervatos was the last fragment of Lorena’s humanity.

But at the same time, he was the very temptation leading her further down the path of corruption.

Just as the gun he had once placed in her hands had ultimately shattered her skull, he embodied both salvation and damnation.

“I never wanted to reach for you. I thought I was ready to throw away this life, to become something else entirely. But maybe—maybe I never wanted to be completely rotten. I thought I could do this on my own.

But then you kept appearing.

No matter where I went, your name was already there.

So I kept thinking about you.

If I could have you…”

“……”

“If I could use you, I could change everything.”

Lorena thought about all she could gain by claiming him.

Her family’s lives.

Her husband’s downfall.

Her freedom.

Her country’s safety.

And then, she thought about what she would lose.

Her humanity.

Her conscience.

Such insignificant things—things she had already decided to discard in this life.

In the end, all her doubts had been meaningless. The scale had tilted too easily.

Lorena clenched her fist so tightly her nails dug into her palm.

“So now… are you still curious about me?”

* * *

As Levantes took action in earnest and the royal family lent him their strength, the rumors faded as if they had never existed.

No newspaper dared to cover the Duke of Levantes’ alleged affairs or the discord between him and his wife anymore. With the journalists laying down their pens, the heat of the gossip naturally cooled.

“I never believed it from the start. His Grace having not just one, but seven mistresses? Honestly, that doesn’t even make sense.”

“And most of them dismissed the rumors as mere misunderstandings. If the one spreading them hadn’t been the duchess herself, they would have been sued for defamation.”

“Even if the duke did something improper, how could that possibly be only his fault? The real problem is that woman—sitting in a position far beyond her station.”

At noble banquets, in taverns along the streets, and within the workplaces of commoners—everywhere in Motrel, people were fervently condemning the duchess.

“They say she stabbed His Grace. That his right arm is still weak. Can you believe it? A woman who stabbed her own husband and then turned herself in? She must be absolutely ruthless.”

“I heard she’s paranoid. Always suspicious of His Grace, accusing him of affairs throughout their marriage. Apparently, she’d throw a fit anytime he so much as exchanged words with another woman.”

“Now that you mention it, wasn’t His Grace always somewhat indifferent toward women? He must have had a hard time dealing with her.”

Had Lorena simply hidden away in her home, these ridiculous rumors might not have grown so out of control. But instead, she appeared all over Motrel as if nothing had changed—browsing books at the local bookstore, sipping coffee on café terraces, even visiting dress shops to order new gowns.

And today was no different.

Dora, the young maid, stole uneasy glances at the duchess. Lorena’s face, paler than usual, was completely devoid of expression.

Hena had once told her that her mistress’s blank face was the last shred of dignity she clung to, the dam she had built to protect herself.

Dora and Hena, the only two maids remaining in the household, understood all too well the torment that swirled beneath their lady’s silent exterior. Her ailments all stemmed from her inner suffering—hyperventilation syndrome, insomnia, and lately, an even more severe sleep disorder.

Each night, the muffled sobs drifting from the dimly lit sitting room tore at their hearts. But by morning, Lorena would be as composed as ever, as if the night’s sorrow had never existed.

Or rather, it seemed as though she had no memory of it at all.

Dora had thought about gently suggesting treatment, but there was something about the duchess that made approaching her so difficult.

All around them, whispers followed Lorena’s every step, eyes lingering on her from the other side of the street. Dora felt an overwhelming worry for her frail mistress.

“Señora, perhaps it would be best to return home for today?” she asked hesitantly.

“And if I do, will anything change?”

The response was quiet but steady.

The moment Lorena met her gaze directly, Dora realized she had been mistaken.

The storm raging inside her mistress was not sorrow.

It was anger.

Lorena murmured to herself, almost absentmindedly.

“The world isn’t going to change.”

As long as Bessen and Levantes ruled this land, there was no way Lorena could win.

That meant she had to change.

A noble Levantes?

Fine. If they insisted on locking her inside this ridiculous cage of a duchess, then she would break free—no matter what it took.

Even if it meant shattering herself against the iron bars.

Even if it meant selling her conscience and morality to the devil.

“So now… are you still curious about me?”

“Enough to want to break down this door right now.”

Even if she had to become the kind of person who used her savior without shame.