MLS Chapter 9

Once again, her face turned lifeless, devoid of any emotion.

Lorena stepped closer to Arisa. The sharp sound of her heels striking the marble floor echoed crisply in the room.

“Once again, I thought you might be holding onto something important, a crucial clue.”

There must be a reason why Vaye Levantes chose today of all days to summon both Arisa and Olivia to the mansion.

Lorena wondered if Arisa Menendo had provided decisive evidence that led to the downfall of the Klein family. If so, what kind of information did she provide? Lorena was even willing to listen calmly if Arisa had circumstances that compelled her to make such a choice.

But it seemed that wasn’t necessary. The greatest tragedy Arisa could imagine was nothing more than a divorce.

‘If that’s the case, then it’s not Arisa that Vaye needs—it’s Olivia Quintana. She holds the key.’

The moment she reached that conclusion, Arisa Menendo lost all value in Lorena’s eyes.

“You just wanted to torment me, didn’t you? For the past seven years.”

Without losing the faint smile on her lips, Lorena raised her right hand and slapped Arisa’s cheek mercilessly.

Slap!

“Ah…!”

The impact was so powerful that Arisa’s head snapped to the left. Staggering, she clutched her cheek, then raised her head with a venomous glare.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

“That’s what I want to ask you, Arisa Menendo. Did you think I was a joke?”

Lorena’s cold eyes scanned the woman she had once called a friend.

Now, she saw the true face of this cunning noblewoman.

〈I’m really worried about you, Lorena. How could the Duchess, who seemingly has everything, be the unhappiest woman in the world? Why would your husband neglect someone as beautiful as you?〉

〈I’m fine, Arisa. Think of it more as a business arrangement than a marriage…〉

〈Oh, I’m sorry, Lorena. You don’t look fine at all. How could a woman unloved by her husband ever be happy?〉

You can’t possibly be happy. Anyone can see your misery, yet you keep repeating that you’re fine as if it’s some pitiful self-consolation.

Arisa would cling to Lorena like a cockroach, whispering those words, gnawing away at her pride while wearing a satisfied smile.

〈You’re unhappy. And miserable, right now. Don’t ignore the sickness eating away at you from within.〉

At 19, when Lorena first met Arisa, she was young and naïve. In Bessen, very few could speak her native language, Ingerdian, fluently, and even the few nobles who could kept their distance from her.

Arisa Menendo was the only one who reached out to her, so Lorena opened her heart to her with ease.

〈Should I get professional help, then? I heard there’s a renowned counselor on Barja Street.〉

〈Are you crazy, Lorena? What if rumors spread that the Duchess has a mental illness? If His Grace finds out you’re secretly seeing a counselor, he’ll surely distance himself from you even more!〉

〈Then what should I…〉

〈Just tell me. I’ll help you find a way.〉

At the time, Lorena believed those words were meant solely for her benefit.

〈Miss Quintana is truly beautiful… Honestly, men are instinctively more drawn to sensual beauties like her than to pale, unimpressive women.〉

〈…I see. Men are…〉

〈Miss Quintana may not be of noble birth, but I hear she’s very intelligent and charming. Oh, but I’m not saying you’re lacking in any way, Lorena. People just have different tastes, that’s all, right?〉

The more Lorena spoke with Arisa, the smaller she felt. She believed it was because she was truly a pitiful woman.

Now she realized she had been torturing herself endlessly with the so-called comforting words Arisa had spewed.

“Did you enjoy watching me suffer?”

Lorena was genuinely curious.

“When I confided in you about not being able to have children, how did it feel? Were you happy? Was my misery that amusing to you?”

“Yeah, it was entertaining! So what?”

Arisa snapped, throwing her fan aside. Her cheek, red from the slap, swelled as much as her anger.

“If someone like you, not even of noble birth, gets to be a Duchess, shouldn’t you suffer just as much as you enjoy it? That’s only fair—”

Slap!

A sharp slap interrupted her, turning her head to the other side. Having been slapped on both cheeks, Arisa couldn’t hold back her scream.

“You crazy wench! Do you know what you’ve done? Tomorrow, I’m supposed to pick out my wedding dress with Fabian!”

Fabian Estero was Arisa’s carefully chosen fiancé. The nervous handmaidens watching nearby rushed forward to restrain her.

“Please calm down, Miss Menendo!”

“Let go! Let me go! What about my face?!”

Lorena looked down at her flushed palm, feeling a hint of regret. She should have slapped her with her left hand, the one adorned with rings.

“My family may not be a prestigious noble house, but I control Bessen’s social circles as I see fit. Do you really think your reputation will survive this humiliation? Your carefully built tower will collapse in an instant, you foolish girl!”

“I’m getting divorced soon and returning to my homeland. Do you think I care about that?”

“…What? Returning? To Ingerd?”

“That’s none of your business. I don’t think I have anything more to discuss with you today, so you’d best leave.”

Lorena coldly dismissed her and brushed past. Before opening the parlor door, she paused, as if remembering something.

“Oh, and thank you, Arisa.”

“What nonsense are you spouting now?”

“Your inferiority complex will make excellent evidence for me.”

Lorena placed a hand over her chest. Beneath the soft silk was a photograph, sent by Arisa herself, though the foolish woman didn’t even realize it. Nor did she know how the letters she had written—safely stored in Lorena’s vault—would eventually be used.

Lorena bid farewell to the friend she had once cherished above all else.

“Goodbye, Arisa. I won’t see you off.”

“…I don’t need you to!”

Arisa stormed off in a fit of rage, and Lorena quietly watched her retreating figure, cooling her swollen cheek with the back of her hand.

‘Yes, it’s better to end things cleanly like this.’

Soon enough, Arisa would come crawling back. By then, they would no longer be friends—or anything else.

* * *

The parlor doors swung open like wings.

“Your Grace? Why are you so late? Today is such an important…”

Olivia Quintana, who had risen with delight, froze. Instead of the sharply dressed man exuding a commanding presence, it was his famously beautiful wife who stepped inside.

“…The Duchess.”

“Have a seat, Miss Quintana.”

Unlike the Duke, who often participated in social events, the Duchess rarely made public appearances outside of official functions. This was Olivia’s first time seeing her in person rather than in a photograph.

She had no choice but to admit it—Lorena Levantes was as breathtaking as one would expect of the Duke’s chosen wife.

The Duchess’s curly lemon-blonde hair was regarded as the most beautiful in all of Bessen. Young women in the capital flocked to buy harsh bleaching agents to achieve hair as bright and even as hers.

The dresses, hats, gloves, shoes, and jewelry she wore always sold out as if they had wings.

She had singlehandedly changed the capital’s fashion trends. Gone were the days of revealing dresses that seemed to compete in how much skin they could show. Thanks to her, Motrel was now filled with women clad in elegant and refined poplin dresses.

While some might criticize her nationality or humble origins, no one disputed Lorena Levantes’s beauty or influence. It was precisely why all the women of Bessen both envied and admired her.

“I felt uneasy leaving a guest all alone. If you don’t mind, I thought I could keep you company until my husband returns.”

With a kind smile, the Duchess sat across from Olivia. Her eyes curved pleasantly as she gestured.

“Sit down.”

Her tone was gentle, but it wasn’t a suggestion—it was an order.

Even as she looked closely, trying to discern her intentions, Olivia saw only pure delight and curiosity glimmering in the Duchess’s crescent-shaped green eyes.

Confused, Olivia sat down, slowly realizing that nothing about this situation was normal.

An exchange between a wife and her husband’s mistress? And with such an eager expression?

Suddenly, Olivia felt a chill when she realized the Duchess hadn’t blinked once since entering the parlor.

“Do you frequent the Alborada Hotel, Miss Quintana? I imagine it’s because you work there.”

“Usually… yes.”

Olivia Quintana worked as the sole female bartender in the lounge bar on the hotel’s top floor, which brought her into contact with a wide range of regulars, from noblemen to wealthy common businessmen. In a space where most patrons were men, Olivia was known as the Queen of Alborada.

Olivia pretended to sip her tea while stealing glances at the Duchess. On her way to this mansion, she had been brimming with confidence.

It had been the Duke’s long-awaited summons, something she had yearned for. She had been ecstatic, believing it signified his recognition of her. But as she sat face-to-face with the Duchess, Lorena, that joy dissolved like bubbles bursting.

Lorena Levantes was, on the surface, a graceful and composed woman, as striking as a daffodil in bloom. According to Arisa Menendo, the Duchess had loved the Duke from afar for years and suffered greatly every time he took on a new mistress.

But where was the evidence of that suffering?

Where was the wife devastated by her husband’s infidelity?

If anything, the Duchess seemed deeply curious about Olivia.

“Is he kind to you?”

“He’s a gentleman. Always so considerate.”

“I see. He must care for you a great deal.”

“Well, enough to invite me to the mansion personally.”