MLS Chapter 26

Even after the duchess had left, the lounge remained in turmoil.

It was inevitable. Just moments ago, the Duke of Levantes and the Marquis of Ervatos—two men who had no intersection in their lives—were on the verge of becoming rivals in an instant.

The tension in the air was palpable. Yet, Miguel Ervatos remained composed, far too calm for a man who had just received a shocking proposition from a married woman. He grabbed the jacket he had casually draped over the sofa and slipped a cigarette case into his pocket.

There were countless rumors surrounding the Marquis of Ervatos. The whispers about his biological father were particularly abundant. Some speculated that he had been a married man, others that he had been a lowly commoner. Those were among the more benign rumors. Yet, despite his unclear origins, no one in Bessen dared to look down on him.

Even Prince Davit, considered the true power behind Bessen’s throne, did not summon his cousin as he pleased. The son of Princess Adriana was the kingdom’s untouchable, a painful reminder of its past.

And so, here and now, in this very situation, grabbing that bastard by the collar was not an option.

Vaye steadied himself, suppressing the chaos roiling inside him, and quietly moved his lips.

“Bring Lorena. Now.”

As the duchess arrived at the hotel, a secretary who had just returned from St. Vergos Cathedral hurriedly got to work.

Meanwhile, the marquis reached into his jacket pocket and pulled something out. Even from a distance, the brilliance of the jewel was unmistakable. Rolling a diamond ring between his thumb and forefinger, Miguel turned his gaze toward Vaye.

Then, he smirked.

With a flick of his hand, Miguel tossed the ring onto the ashtray.

It was as if he were discarding a toy that had outlived its usefulness. As if the object meant nothing to him, because his interest lay with its owner, not the ornament itself. As if he didn’t care in the slightest that the woman who had just left was someone’s wife.

The ring tumbled across the metal tray with a crisp, clear sound.

The very thing Vaye had once called a precious possession was discarded so mercilessly.

A sickening sensation washed over him. For the first time in his life, Vaye Levantes felt humiliated.

And where humiliation reigned, anger was sure to follow.

The sheer audacity of the marquis—acting as though Lorena belonged to him in any way—left Vaye speechless with fury.

As far as he recalled, in the past seven years, there had been no connection whatsoever between Lorena and Miguel Ervatos. That was only natural. As her husband, he himself had never interacted with the marquis.

Yet, an unpleasant sense of discord gnawed at him.

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

“At last, I’ve found you. My canary.”

Scattered throughout their conversation were hints that they had known each other long before today.

That shouldn’t be possible.

As the marquis followed the duchess out of the lounge, all eyes turned to Vaye. They were waiting, holding their breath, to see his reaction.

The sheer expectation made him feel sick.

Pushing past the suffocating stares, Vaye strode across the lounge.

His steps came to a halt in front of the sofa where his wife and the marquis had sat just moments ago. His gaze fell upon the silver ashtray on the table.

“…Vaye? What’s wrong? Do you want that?”

Benjamin, who had been following him hesitantly, reached out toward the ashtray.

“Leave it.”

Pulling out a fresh cigar, Vaye stared at the ring lying inside the ashtray.

For the past seven years, a similar ring—though more rugged, designed for a man—had adorned his own left ring finger.

Even now, it was still there.

As he shut the lid of the humidor, the wedding band on his left hand gleamed under the light.

Just like Lorena, he had never once removed it.

This extravagant piece of jewelry was one of the few tangible symbols binding them as husband and wife.

And now, there it was, abandoned in an ashtray, a testament to the current reality.

A ring without an owner.

A wife who had turned her back on her husband.

A man she had chosen instead.

“…Ha.”

He had believed—so long as he never let go first—his marriage would never crumble.

If Lorena sought an escape, he would block every path. If she hammered at the walls for a crack, he would seal them shut with cement. Even if it meant blotting out her sky entirely, he had been determined to keep her from leaving his cage.

Because.

Because, goddamn it—he had dared to dream.

A dream. Yes. A foolish dream.

“You no longer get to decide for me.”

The phantom sound of a gunshot rang in his ears, piercing through his thoughts. The acrid scent of gunpowder burned his nostrils.

Fuck.

It was a dream so vivid it felt real.

“Clear them all out.”

Benjamin stiffened at the eerie emptiness in the duke’s eyes.

Vaye pressed the tip of his still-unlit cigar against the ring in the ashtray, extinguishing it.

“Stay if you wish to become Levantes’ enemy.”

His words were spat out like venom.

And then, without hesitation, he moved.

His steps carried him swiftly toward the corridor where Lorena and Miguel had disappeared.

* * *

The corridor of the Alborada Hotel was opulent. The deep red carpet stretched to the very end, intricately embroidered with golden thread, while the wall decorations and moldings were made of pure gold. They said this was where the most hidden wealth in Bessen flowed, and it seemed they weren’t wrong.

Guided by an attendant, Lorena stepped into Room 1707. She had assumed it was just another room among many, but this suite was exceptional—it occupied the topmost floor, offering a panoramic view of not only the hotel’s rooftop but the entirety of Delgado Street below. Structurally, no other room in the building had such a vantage point.

“The hotel’s owner resides here. Please wait inside.”

With a polite bow, the attendant withdrew.

Lorena untied the ribbon under her chin that secured her hat, letting it fall as she glanced around the space.

The room wasn’t large. In fact, it didn’t even seem to have been designed as a typical guest suite. Inside, there were only two couches, a low table, and curtains draped heavily along the walls. Through an open doorway leading to an adjoining space, she caught a glimpse of a desk and bookshelves, though they seemed to be more for decoration than practical use.

It was smaller and plainer than her room at the Klein residence. But what stood out most was the peculiar atmosphere—the curtains encircling the space lent it the air of a secluded, secret chamber.

Now that she was alone, her tension finally began to unravel. She sank into the couch, her body folding in on itself. The tips of her ears burned unbearably.

“Become your mistress… Ha.”

The moment she had uttered the word mistress, she had seen that unmistakable flicker of amusement in his eyes. The memory of it was still vivid in her mind.

But it wasn’t as if she had spoken recklessly. She had deliberately chosen the word, knowing that something provocative was needed to seize attention.

Still, now that they were about to be alone, there was no need for such crude expressions.

‘Something more refined… No, I should start by apologizing first…’

Lorena was still busy gathering her thoughts when the door swung open with unexpected force. The gust of air that rushed in carried a dangerously intoxicating scent of musk.

By the time she shot to her feet, the marquis was already striding toward her. His long strides devoured the distance between them in an instant.

“…Marquis.”

As she instinctively took a step back, the edge of the couch caught the back of her knees. She lost her balance, teetering backward—only for a firm arm to seize her waist and hold her steady.

“Got you.”

The voice brushing past her ear was the same low, murmuring tone she had heard in the confessional. That deep whisper.

Lorena barely managed to meet the gaze that bore down on her with unflinching directness.

“…What do you mean?”

“When you find something, you hold onto it. After all, you never know if it might change its mind in the meantime.”

“I don’t quite understand. Weren’t you the one who instructed them to bring me here?”

Miguel tilted his head slightly, as if surprised by her naivety. Then, his lips curled into a lopsided smirk.

“You threw a bombshell in a room full of men. I’d say you achieved exactly what you intended.”

“……”

“You used me brilliantly. So I figured, maybe you wouldn’t bother staying any longer.”

He had seen straight through her.

Lorena hesitated before shaking her head.

“I… wouldn’t use you so one-sidedly. That’s not my intention. And there are more than a few things I’m grateful to you for, Marquis. I’m not so ungrateful as to discard that. Of course, whether you believe me or not is out of my hands…”

“So, then you have personal motives?”

Personal motives. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t an entirely inaccurate phrase—but the way it was worded felt ambiguous.

“Should I take it that way?”

The hand that had so brazenly caught her waist had already fallen away. But Miguel himself hadn’t moved back.

He was tall—far taller than most men. Even in her highest heels, Lorena had to tilt her head all the way up to meet his eyes.

His gaze roved over her, sharp and inquisitive.

“Say it plainly, Señora.”

“……”

“I get plenty of women throwing themselves at me, desperate for a night in my bed. A man like me could get confused, you know.”

Why had she assumed that the man behind the confessional screen was always smiling?

Perhaps, from the very moment they had shared a space and exchanged words, he had been looking at her with the same predatory expression he wore now.

“This could be my chance to misunderstand, Lorena.”

He pronounced her name effortlessly, as if he had been saying it for years.

Lorena’s pupils trembled violently, at a complete loss.

He wasn’t wrong.

From his perspective, there was no reason not to see her proposal as seduction.

Just last night, the marquis had demanded that she be clear about what she wanted. And today, she had come to him with an offer of an affair.

It was laden with sexual implications.

Lorena’s breath was steady, but her complexion had turned pale in her struggle to maintain composure.

“You’re not mistaken. What I need right now is a scandal, and I’m asking you to play a role in this sordid affair.”

“But?”

“…But I have no intention of tarnishing your honor. Not your public honor, but your personal preferences. I mean, you may not even be inclined toward this kind of arrangement.”

Miguel’s brows lifted. “And what exactly wouldn’t I be inclined toward?”

His voice carried an edge of amusement, but there was something piercing about his stare.

Lorena hesitated, then forced herself to answer—her face burning with embarrassment.

“…If you don’t particularly want to sleep with me, it’s not a necessity.”

“…What?”

“No one will know what happens behind these doors. Just the appearance of it is enough.”

“……”

“And I was waiting to discuss the price of your involvement. I’d like to offer you something in return.”

The moment she finished speaking, Miguel let out a breath of laughter.

What the hell was she saying?

Lorena Levantes was the woman that Bessen had set as the pinnacle of beauty in their era.

To apply preference as a measure of value to someone like her was absurdly extravagant.

“So, what you’re asking for is… a fake romance? Something like that? For the sake of your divorce.”

Miguel ran a hand through his hair, his sharp gaze never leaving her.

Her pale green eyes—so reminiscent of summer fields—held no trace of seduction.

She hadn’t reached for his buttons, his collar, not even the cuff of his sleeve.

For a woman who had supposedly come to entice him, she was far too restrained.

He hadn’t even been expecting much—yet somehow, the realization left a bitter taste on his tongue.