Moral-less Scandal (19+ Revised Edition) 1

Prologue

It was late at night, close to midnight. A carriage came to a stop in the heart of Delgato Street, where the lights of revelry shone in brilliant colors.

A beautiful noblewoman stepped out of the carriage. Her silk dress, adorned with rich ruffles, flowed elegantly, and her long, curly blonde hair gently lifted into the air before slowly settling back down.

The doorman, approaching to greet the guest, recognized her and widened his eyes in surprise.

“The Duchess?”

There would be no one in the capital, Motrel, or indeed in the entire kingdom of Bessen, who did not recognize this woman. She was the second most famous woman in Bessen, after the queen herself, and for nearly a month, she had been the headline story of every daily newspaper.

Lorena tilted her head, lifting the brim of her hat, which was adorned with a red corsage. A grand building, lavishly adorned with stylish electric lights, came into view.

Hotel Alborada.

This place, renowned as the most expensive and luxurious establishment in Motrel, was the social hub for the upper echelons of Bessen society. Lorena calmly walked past the stammering doorman.

As the Duchess entered the lobby, a wave of tension swept through the area.

Hearing the news from the doorman, the hotel manager hurriedly rushed forward, looking extremely flustered.

“Señora, what brings you here?”

And it was understandable. Hotel Alborada, if classified, was a place primarily frequented by upper-class men.

Young ladies and noblewomen typically socialized in their own salons or in the ballrooms of the city where parties were held. In Bessen, where modesty was considered the highest virtue for noblewomen, they consciously avoided Alborada.

This place was strictly a men’s domain.

It was a haven for those seeking a night of pleasure, harboring political ambitions, indulging in the thrilling vices of drinking and gambling, or listening closely to the high-level information exchanged among the elite. It was a place where men of various desires gathered.

Here, cigar smoke masked sordid ambitions, and secret rendezvous were justified. It was the nerve center of male ambition.

In short, it was certainly not the kind of place where a delicate, lily-like duchess should be.

Especially not in a time when the divorce of the Duke and Duchess of Levantes was making daily front-page headlines.

“Madam, His Grace the Duke is, today…”

The hotel manager stammered, unsure of how to continue.

The gossip surrounding the Duke and Duchess had already spread throughout all of Motrel. While rumors had always swirled around the couple who stood at the pinnacle of Bessen society, the news that broke just a week ago was on an entirely different level compared to past trivial gossip.

The Duchess had officially filed for divorce in court.

The respondent, of course, was her husband, the Duke, and the reason for the divorce was…

“His Grace is, today, uh, having a small gathering with his friends in the lounge.”

“I know he’s here,” Lorena replied.

The reason for the divorce was the Duke’s infidelity. Officially.

However, the Duke refused to accept the divorce, and the Duchess responded by taking legal action. If they couldn’t reach an agreement during mediation, the case would inevitably go to trial.

“They’re on the top floor, aren’t they? That ‘small gathering’ of his,” Lorena said, walking toward the elevator. The manager, flustered, followed her nervously.

“Uh, uh, Señora, if you could wait just a moment, I’ll inform His Grace. How about enjoying a cocktail while I arrange a more comfortable place for you to wait?”

“I’m sorry. If I drink tonight, I might really cause a scene.”

The manager paled. The Duchess, as graceful as a butterfly, calmly stepped into the elevator.

Lorena pressed the button for the top floor, noticing the manager, who looked as if he was about to cry. She smiled faintly.

“What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll stab him again? The reporters seem to think so.”

“Señora…”

“Don’t worry. There’s no need for that anymore.”

Her expression was serene, yet there was a subtle sadness and emptiness in her gaze. In the end, the manager couldn’t stop the Duchess as the elevator doors closed.

* * *

The bustling lounge doors swung open.

In a flash, Benjamín, the second son of the Count of Díez, rushed breathlessly toward the window.

“Vaye, she’s here!”

The Duke, who had been leaning against the window and gazing down at the dimly lit streets of Delgato, slowly turned his head.

The man, dressed impeccably in a black suit that accentuated his solid, muscular frame, looked stunning. His sharp profile—a smooth, pale cheek, a high nose, and deep-set, cold eyes—was strikingly handsome.

“What woman?”

The man’s sleek lips parted, letting out a thin wisp of cigar smoke. A cigar rested between his extended index and middle fingers.

The Duke paused briefly, assessing the situation, before moving his fingers again. The ash from the cigar fell in a small arc into the ashtray.

“Olivia?”

Even in such a simple movement, the grace of a grand noble was evident. For a moment, Benjamín almost forgot his urgency, nearly letting out a “Wow” in admiration.

The Duke snuffed out the cigar in the ashtray. His long fingers bore a blackened scar, untreated and raw. He rubbed the wound absentmindedly, exhaling a long plume of smoke.

“Tell her to leave. I’m not in the mood to entertain tonight.”

“No, not her!”

Snapping back to his senses, Benjamín shook his head frantically.

“Not one of those women whose names you can’t even remember. Your wife! The only woman bold enough to have stabbed the Duke of Levantes!”

“…Lorena?”

The Duke’s half-lowered eyes suddenly gleamed with sharp intensity. His previously indifferent expression transformed in an instant, like a hunting hound catching the scent of its prey.

“Why would my wife come to a place like this?”

Vaye Levantes didn’t need further confirmation from Benjamín.

A disconcerting silence swept over the entrance of the lounge. While the crowd remained quiet, their eyes roved restlessly, like predators spotting their quarry.

It was no wonder. The woman who had abruptly stepped into this male-dominated space, unannounced, was dressed completely unlike her usual self.

Her hair, usually neatly pinned up, was now luxuriously flowing down to her waist, and she wore a dress that revealed her slender neck and smooth, ivory shoulders.

The layers of frills at her feet rustled softly as she walked, and wherever she passed, a seductive rose fragrance lingered.

Compared to her former image, the epitome of modesty, this transformation was nothing short of shocking.

Vaye’s brow furrowed in a fierce scowl as he noticed the attention his wife was drawing.

As always, and as it would be for eternity, his wife was infuriatingly beautiful.

* * *

Lorena felt the countless gazes clinging to her as she moved.

Standing at the center of attention was something she had grown exceedingly accustomed to. She had spent seven years as the Duchess and the mistress of the House of Levantes.

She scanned the lounge. To her left, young naval officers were gripping cue sticks at a billiards table; to her right, gentlemen carefully selecting their cards at a poker table; and straight ahead, businessmen were lounging on couches, enjoying their drinks and cigars.

Yet even amidst the crowd, Vaye Levantes stood out unmistakably.

He was by the window on the right. One hand tucked into his pocket, he stared at Lorena without blinking. His gaze, sharp as thorns, pierced straight through her.

In this hotel, and indeed anywhere in Bessen, Levantes’ stature was unmatched. The Duke reigned wherever he went. Even within the palace, he never bowed his head.

But there was one person, the only one, who could stand against the Duke.

And she was here.

With every step Lorena took, the distance between the Duke and Duchess grew smaller. Someone in the room gulped nervously.

Her high heels clicked sharply on the floor, breaking the boundary as she walked past where her husband stood. For a brief moment, Vaye’s eyes shifted, but she paid him no mind.

Lorena’s steps continued, steady and unhesitant, toward someone else. A man who, from the moment she had entered, hadn’t glanced her way even once.

As Lorena stopped in front of the couch, a young man who had been staring at her in awe leapt to his feet and quickly vacated the seat.

“Thank you.”

She said, her voice calm.

Lorena sat gracefully on the now-empty sofa. Only then did the man sitting across from her react.

The man, who had been lazily swirling a glass filled with perfectly carved ice, halted his movement.

A sharp silence fell over the once-bustling lounge. Lorena didn’t bother to glance toward the window, instead tugging the corners of her lips into a faint smile.

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?” she said.

“We have.”

The man replied, matching her brevity.

“Duchess of Levantes.”

Lorena answered his greeting with one of her own.

“Marquis of Ervatos.”

The man chuckled, seemingly entertained.

He was a striking figure, with tousled golden-brown hair and deep, intense eyes. While his features were undoubtedly beautiful, the tautness of his shirt over his broad chest and the muscular arms visible beneath his rolled-up sleeves kept him from being considered merely handsome.

His gaze, which scrutinized her, resembled that of a wild beast more than a man’s.

“Not many people in Bessen call me by that title, you know. Are you doing it on purpose?”

The Marquis asked.

“If you prefer another title, feel free to tell me. The master of Delgato, or Señor Reyes, perhaps? If that’s more comfortable for you, I can oblige,” Lorena replied smoothly.

“If those are my options, the first one definitely sounds better.”

Delgato referred to the district surrounding Hotel Alborada. The House of Ervatos was a prestigious noble family in Bessen, and “Reyes” was a surname bestowed upon direct members of the royal bloodline.

Wealth, status, and lineage—this man had it all. He placed his glass on the table with a soft thud.

“But what business does the beautiful lady of Levantes have with me?” the Marquis inquired, rubbing his right cheek with the back of his hand, as if anticipating trouble.

Indeed, Lorena’s skin tingled under the fierce gaze coming from the right side of the room.

‘The beautiful lady of Levantes?’

A slight, bitter smile tugged at Lorena’s lips.

[There will be no divorce, Lorena. You will live as my wife until the day you die.]

‘Not if I have anything to say about it.’

Her past was drenched in blood. At the center of that nightmare, like a storm of vile cruelty, stood her husband.

‘Vaye Levantes. In this lifetime, I will not be dragged around by you.’

She vowed to reclaim everything he had taken from her—her family, her wealth, and even her country.

And she would return the damage he had done to her, measure for measure. For the fall of her honor, the destruction of her spirit, and…

For the complete betrayal of her love.

With divorce now out of reach, Lorena needed the most ruthless man in Bessen by her side. And the man in front of her was perfect for the role, without a doubt.

“If you have no business with me, I can send you to that Señor over there.”

the Marquis teased, motioning with his chin.

He was the illegitimate son of the royal family, notorious for living in excess of alcohol and vice. The man called the kingdom’s greatest bastard was now smirking at her.

Lorena met his gaze head-on.

“I need a wild dog.”

She said calmly.

“Because I’m going to hunt down a hound.”

“Oh…?”

“I’m thinking of starting with a little dangerous fun, just for one night.”

The Marquis of Ervatos, known for his angelic name but devilish nature, tilted his head slightly.

“You can’t play with fire alone, you know.”

A deep interest flickered in his reddish-brown eyes. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze never leaving her.

“And the target is?”

His voice dropped dangerously low, and Lorena’s heart began to race.

Both of them already knew the answer.

Soon, a wide smile spread across the Marquis’s lips.

“So, it’s me after all?”

His curiosity shifted into absolute certainty in an instant. Stroking his mouth, he let out a strange, excited laugh.

“At last, I’ve found you. My ‘Canaria’.”

The game of hide-and-seek was over. It was time to move on to the real game.

Lorena straightened her posture. The entire room held its breath, awaiting her next words.

In the silence so tense that even the ants seemed to hold their breath, the Duchess’s red lips parted.

“Let’s be direct, Marquis. Would you like to be my lover?”

Because I want you to kill my husband.