MLS Chapter 24

The man standing before him was someone with whom he had no meaningful interactions until now.

Miguel Ervatos—son of a princess, the pioneer of Motrel’s nightlife.

Both were among the most well-known men in Bessen, yet their spheres had hardly overlapped.

If there were any intersections between them, it was limited to the fact that some of the elite clubs Vaye frequented for social networking gathered at Alborada Hotel—where Miguel was always present.

And now, unexpectedly, there was one more connection.

The object that had rolled to Vaye’s feet.

His and Lorena’s wedding ring.

“Marquis Ervatos.”

“Well, well.”

Miguel’s eyebrow arched with mild amusement.

It was no secret that he disliked being addressed by his title. But Vaye deliberately chose not to correct himself.

“You’re certain this is yours? It doesn’t seem like it.”

“Ah.”

Miguel gave a lazy tilt of his head.

“I don’t know who the original owner was, but it’s mine now, Duke. I bought it for 3,000 pesetas.”

“Where did you buy it?”

“Ask the Archbishop of the largest cathedral in Bessen. He’ll have your answer.”

With that indifferent response, Miguel smoothly retrieved the ring from Vaye’s grasp.

A crease deepened between Vaye’s brows.

A cathedral. His wedding ring. Ervatos, a well-known unbeliever.

The words didn’t string together in any logical way. But Vaye had no desire to untangle them. He had no need—no patience—to make sense of Lorena’s inexplicable behavior, including why she had sold their wedding ring to a church.

Regardless, he intended to reclaim it.

Rather than argue over its rightful ownership, he opted for a more straightforward approach.

“Then sell it back to me.”

“Oh?”

Miguel exhaled a small hum of amusement.

“So it was yours, Duke.”

His gaze flicked to the ring, then back to Vaye, curiosity evident in his expression.

“But isn’t it a bit too small for you? Or is it meant to be a gift?”

“……”

“Well, I suppose the rumors were everywhere.”

Only days ago, every newspaper in Motrel had been buzzing with talk of Vaye’s supposed lovers.

Given his separation from his wife, there was no chance he meant to return it to her.

So, was it meant as a gift for one of the mistresses he swapped out yearly?

“…I don’t particularly care what misunderstandings you entertain.”

A flicker of irritation crossed Vaye’s gaze but disappeared just as swiftly.

“In any case, the ring is not mine. The true owner of this is—”

“Enough. That’s far enough.”

Miguel suddenly scowled, waving a hand in dismissal as if the very idea repulsed him. He even took an exaggerated step back, as though to physically distance himself from the conversation.

“I have no interest in hearing the answer from your mouth, Duke. My apologies, but I happen to be thoroughly enjoying the game I’m playing right now.”

Few things were more frustrating than having a third party barge in and spoil the ending.

Especially when one had exercised great patience waiting for the grand reveal.

Even when the outcome was obvious, the thrill of claiming victory with one’s own hands was something else entirely.

“I don’t particularly care what form of entertainment the Marquis indulges in,” Vaye said coolly. “I am simply retrieving an item that has lost its rightful owner. Hand it over. You may bill Levantes for the cost.”

Miguel merely smirked.

“My apologies, but even at ten times the price, I’m not inclined to part with it just yet. Finishing this game of tag takes precedence.”

He checked the clock on the wall out of habit.

9 PM.

Three more hours until the night ended.

“I have no intention of selling it now. I suggest you negotiate with its original owner instead. And do let her know—I’d be delighted if she came to find me herself.”

With that, Miguel dismissed Vaye entirely. His steps, firm and final, left no room for negotiation.

Vaye closed his eyes briefly, already exhausted by the exchange.

He had heard plenty about the Marquis’s unyielding nature, but he hadn’t expected him to be this unreasonable.

And what was that implied invitation? Was he truly suggesting that Lorena come to him directly?

Simply to provoke me?

Vaye exhaled and finally spoke, his voice carefully measured.

“It was something I once gave to someone precious.”

Miguel paused.

“If you don’t return it now, I’ll have no choice but to take it back through other means. Consider that carefully, Marquis.”

At that, Miguel glanced back over his shoulder, his profile unreadable.

Someone precious.

He let the words roll through his mind before scoffing under his breath.

“Of course. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Without another word, he turned fully away and walked off—not hurried, not hesitant.

By Miguel’s third step, Vaye had already turned in the opposite direction.

Lifting his hand slightly, he curled his fingers—an unspoken signal.

His secretary, who had been stationed near the entrance, promptly stepped forward.

“Send someone to St. Vergos Cathedral. Find out how my wedding ring ended up in that man’s possession.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

As his secretary swiftly departed, Vaye made his way toward the window on the right side of the entrance.

The men watching him from the other side of the glass smirked and waved mischievously.

They were the young high-ranking nobles he frequently mingled with—the same group who had been invited to Nas’s banquet a month ago.

“Well, well, our notorious womanizing Duke seems awfully busy cleaning up rumors. What were you and Motrel’s Rake whispering about?”

“We’ve got plenty of pressing matters to discuss ourselves, don’t we?” another noble chimed in. “Like, for instance—what the hell should we do about the money we’ve got tied up in Klein?”

“…For now—”

Vaye shoved a hand into the inner pocket of his jacket, fingers curling around the leather humidor (a box for storing cigars). Without sparing a glance, he snatched a matchbox from the man beside him.

“Shut up. I’m in a spectacularly foul mood.”

The men around him instantly fell silent.

No matter how casually they spoke, no matter how much they considered themselves his friends—he was still the Duke. There was always a line that was never to be crossed.

As always, the men scattered into their own circles, the lounge breaking into fragmented conversations.

And as always, Miguel Ervatos sat among them.

Though tonight, unlike usual, the marquis showed no interest in wine or liquor.

That changed sometime past 11 PM.

Finally, he lifted a glass to his lips.

On the opposite side of the room, Vaye stood by the window overlooking Motrel’s night streets, a lit cigar between his fingers.

On the surface, the lounge looked like any other weekend.

But the presence of these two men—one by the window, the other deep inside—created an almost dangerous undercurrent in the air.

And then, it happened.

Not long after the clock’s hour hand had ticked slightly past 11 PM, a carriage arrived on Delgado Street.

Inside, a woman.

The moment the Duchess stepped into the hotel—draped in a dress as lavish as a bouquet of full-bloomed roses—

The quiet fuse that had been smoldering all night finally ignited.

<To be continued in Volume 2.>