MLS Chapter 7

However, Lorena did not meet her husband.

When the door to the parlor opened, the person she faced was not her husband but the head butler of the duchy.

In disbelief, Lorena asked,
“He hasn’t returned? Since last night?”

“Yes, my lady,” replied Samuel, the head butler, informing her of her husband’s absence.

“His Grace departed from the Alborada Hotel early this morning for Soto Monastery.”

Soto Monastery—the very place Lorena had been until just before she regained consciousness. The sound of a gunshot reverberated like a haunting echo in her ears, striking her eardrums. Lorena’s complexion grew even paler than before.

The past had changed. Nothing had even begun yet—why?

“What’s the reason for his sudden trip there?”

“Well, I’m not entirely sure… That wasn’t originally part of today’s schedule, so I don’t know why His Grace changed his plans.”

“I see. Then I suppose tonight’s dinner in Nass will be canceled.”

The dinner had been arranged by the Duke of Levantes, bringing together Vicenzo, the banker, and nobles who had deposited large sums with the Klein Bank. It was a gathering meant to exchange investment information over a meal. With the host, the duke, absent and Vicenzo having left Bessen, the dinner would surely be called off.

Lorena rubbed her tingling ears as she calculated the time.

From the capital city of Motrel to Soto, one had to take the pilgrimage road—a rough, unpaved path. By carriage, it took half a month one way, and even by driving, it would take three to four days.

A round trip from Motrel to Soto would require at least a week, if not ten days.

‘That means the mansion will be empty for ten days.’

In that case, until next week, she would be the sole mistress of the mansion.

As Lorena, who had been standing as still as a painting on a carpet, turned, her eyes burned with a clarity and fire that had not been there before.

“Hena, summon a locksmith. The best in the capital—right now!”

* * *

The scorching midday sun bore down relentlessly, and the duke’s study echoed with the frantic rustle of drawers and bookshelves being searched.

As soon as she made up her mind, Lorena descended to the second floor and flung open the study door—a door she had never dared to open herself before. The study had always been Vaye’s exclusive domain.

Looking back, it was laughable. This house wasn’t his alone, after all.

“You mustn’t do this, Señora!”

The butler spread his arms wide, blocking her path.

“You cannot bring outsiders into His Grace’s study without his permission—”

“Silence and move aside, butler.”

Lorena, who was scattering neatly arranged papers across the desk, snapped coldly. Her tone still held the grace of a proper duchess, but her words were anything but refined.

The butler, his eyes wide with outrage, retorted sternly,
“Watch your words and conduct, please! As a Señora of Levantes, you have an obligation to maintain the family’s dignity—”

“Leave. All of you.”

“That is out of the question.”

The butler furrowed his brow in defiance. His monocle perched on his nose and meticulously trimmed mustache made him appear even more irritable and obstinate.

“His Grace will return shortly. He has matters of great importance to attend to today. Acting so rashly will bring you no benefit, Señora.”

Lorena’s hand, poised over the scattered documents, froze mid-motion like a painting. She lifted her gaze to the middle-aged man standing in her way.

Samuel Otero.

For the seven years Lorena had served as the Duchess of Levantes, he had been the one to belittle her the most.

He had scorned her beauty, calling it a distraction that needlessly stirred men’s desires. If she so much as exchanged a word with gentlemen visiting the mansion, he would admonish her to behave properly.

Married at a young age, Lorena had believed everything Samuel said was correct.

The man who had proposed to her so suddenly and became her husband remained distant and unapproachable. She had no friends to seek counsel from in this unfamiliar land. Above all, she was illiterate in Bessen’s language, effectively a stranger even in her own home. Left with no one else to rely on, she clung to the old butler for guidance.

Looking back now, Samuel’s uncharacteristic kindness on that day seven years ago, when he refrained from his usual insults, had been strange. At the time, she’d thought he was offering her sympathy when she was at her lowest.

‘Now I see it wasn’t so.’

The faint smile he had worn while looking at her that day resurfaced vividly in her memory.

‘He knew all along I was just a disposable woman.’

The scorn from Samuel and the other servants in the mansion wasn’t born out of hatred. They hadn’t despised her…

They had mocked her.

“Ahaha, hahahaha.”

Suddenly, Lorena burst into laughter.

For the first time, the world around her came into focus. She couldn’t stop the bitter chuckles that bubbled up.

A duchess in name only, clinging desperately to a futile role, unaware of the fate that would soon befall her. How utterly ridiculous she must have seemed in their eyes.

Samuel gestured to the servants lined up in the hallway.

“Escort the Señora to her chambers. Prepare some herbal tea to help her calm down.”

“Yes, Butler. Señora, please…”

Hena, hesitating, gently reached for Lorena’s arm. Lorena coldly brushed her off.

Samuel, Hena, and the other servants exchanging secretive glances behind her—all of them were in on it. But it didn’t stop there.

Lorena had noticed something else, something new.

She neatly stacked the papers she had been flipping through and placed them back on the desk. Then, with quiet, measured steps, she walked past Samuel.

“It seems there’s something in this study I’m not supposed to see.”

Samuel’s clasped hands behind his back twitched intermittently. Noticing the subtle, nervous movements through the corner of her eye, Lorena smirked faintly.

“Seeing how pale everyone has gotten, I can’t help but wonder,” she mused.

She strode around the desk and pulled open the curtains covering one side of the wall. Hidden behind the thick fabric was a safe.

It was a highly confidential repository where the duke stored secret documents exchanged between the family and the royal court, along with deeds to estates and investment records. A treasure trove of critical documents Lorena had never been allowed to approach.

Samuel’s face darkened with severity.

“That safe is for the sole access of the head of Levantes!”

“I am Levantes too. Lorena Estrella Levantes de Bellacarosa.”

Indeed, she was. Though denied the privileges until now, Lorena was a co-owner of all the land and wealth under the Levantes name.

Samuel, momentarily at a loss for words, ground his teeth as he retorted,

“In any case… even if you look, you won’t understand. These are not the kind of documents decipherable by someone who merely reads popular books from the market and speaks a few languages fluently. What could you possibly know about Bessen’s politics or economy?”

Of all the absurdities Lorena had heard today, this one took the prize. It was so laughable that she didn’t even bother to scoff.

“Apologies, butler. You seem to have forgotten—I am a banker’s daughter.”

Raised by her father, she had grown up understanding the flow of money on a global scale. She cast a quick glance at the stock trading documents and constitutional records scattered on the desk.

“And the sister of Ingerd’s Minister of Finance.”

“T-that’s…”

“And I’ve lived as the wife of Bessen’s most prominent noble for seven years.”

Lorena thrust her left hand toward Samuel’s face, her diamond-encrusted wedding ring glinting on her fourth finger.

With an air of disdain, she declared,
“If you’re going to question my qualifications, why don’t you fetch your master and bring me the divorce papers? Then I’ll leave without touching a single scrap of paper.”

Samuel was left speechless, biting his lips in frustration. But what could he do?

In this rigidly hierarchical society, Lorena was the queen of Levantes. Her legitimacy wasn’t rooted in ability or background but in the very position she occupied. She needed no one’s approval in Levantes; she simply hadn’t realized it until now.

Just then, a burly man carrying a heavy toolkit pushed his way through the gathering servants.

“Good day! I rushed over when I heard the duchess urgently needed a locksmith!”

The locksmith’s booming voice caused Samuel’s eyes to widen as if they might pop out of their sockets.

“A l-locksmith? Señora, surely you don’t mean—!”

“Mr. Panto, over here.”

Lorena withdrew her hand from Samuel’s view and gestured toward the safe. Turning to the locksmith, who was already unpacking his tools, she gave brisk instructions.

“Feel free to tear down the whole wall if necessary. Open this entirely—right now!”

* * *

Exactly one hour later.

The grating sound of metal grinding against tools reverberated throughout the mansion, sending shivers down the spines of everyone within earshot.

Samuel, the butler, threw his cane to the ground in frustration, his voice rising in a furious outburst.

“What on earth did she take to change so much overnight? Are you sure that tea you’ve been serving her is the same?”

“Absolutely! I brewed it myself!”

The maid responsible for attending to the duchess’s tea protested indignantly. Samuel clenched his teeth, grinding them audibly, and even tossed aside his monocle in a fit of rage.

‘If only we’d made it through today, we could’ve rid ourselves of that insufferable woman for good!’

Samuel let out a guttural growl of exasperation.
“Where in the world has His Grace gone? Ronald, is that all we’ve heard from the hotel manager? He suddenly left for Soto?”

“Yes. He departed before breakfast. He took a car and only briefly informed the manager of his destination. Oh, but—”

Ronald, one of Samuel’s most reliable subordinates, hesitated for a moment, his nose twitching slightly.

“The manager mentioned that His Grace seemed quite… different when he went up to his room last night. He looked extremely unwell.”

“Unwell? It’s not as though he’d been drinking excessively.”

True to his precise and meticulous nature, the duke had never indulged in alcohol to the point of inebriation.

“No, not in that sense.”

Ronald recounted the exact words relayed by the manager of the Alborada Hotel.

‘Pardon my saying so, but… he looked as though he’d seen a ghost. His face was deathly pale, as if he’d been utterly terrified.’

“What nonsense is this? What could possibly frighten His Grace?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir. What should we do?”

Massaging his throbbing temples, Samuel issued his instructions.
“Send an urgent message directly to Soto! Inform His Grace of the situation at the mansion as soon as he arrives. Tell him there’s been a problem with ‘Operation Canary!’”