Chapter 24 (2/2)

“What should I do for you to believe² me, Wife?”

Chloe stared at Eric, her expression blank.

She didn’t think that there would be such ‘trust’ between them, and it wasn’t an apt word to describe their relationship.

Would such a day come when they would believe and trust each other? She pondered this, yet she eventually decided that this day would never come. Raising her chin, she stared back at Eric.

“Act as though you’re trustworthy, then.”

Eric’s eyes shook. Despite his clear agitation, Chloe turned away.

“Because I can’t believe anything you say or anything about you right now.”

“……”

Eric stared at Chloe’s back. She was now talking to the other noblewomen. From the side, it seemed like there was a small smile gracing her lips.

However, Eric noticed that she wasn’t focusing on the conversation. Chattering on about gossip didn’t suit her noble predisposition.

He recalled his past as he tried to better himself in terms of culture in the hopes of striking a conversation with her. But he never got the chance to use that knowledge—he never talked to Chloe

He didn’t want to talk to Chloe. To be exact, he didn’t want her to talk to him. If they ever conversed, in the back of his mind, he would only think about how inferior he was to her, and this negative complex was deeply rooted in him.

It was the same today. They had a conversation about art for a very brief moment, but his temper flared up twice.

Eric loathed himself whenever he was like this. But the person he disliked the most was Chloe—he hated how noble she was. But this was also what made him like her.

Because he hated something, he liked it all the same. This ridiculous conclusion was something that pretty much summed him up.

“Oy, my friend.”

A drunken Theo approached him.

There were several younger noblemen around him, and at the incoming stench of alcohol, Eric frowned.

“If you’re so drunk, why don’t you go home and sleep.”

“I’m fine. I’m going to party later. Wanna join me?”

“Never.”

“Suit yourself.”

Theo wiped the alcohol over his mouth with the back of his hand, then poured another glass of champagne.

“It looked like you were having a pretty serious conversation with your wife.”

The person who said that was Gatsby, the young lord of the Leon County. There’s been some talk about him taking over the peerage soon.

Eric glanced over to Gatsby, recalling his cordial relationship with the Leon County.

“So the young lord is interested in other people’s marital relationships.”

The sarcasm directly thrown back at him made Gatsby’s expression harden. But Eric was already trying his best—he was currently being as kind as he could to these young men.

“What can I do? Since ‘that’ Madam came to the capital, everyone’s interested.”

‘That’ madam.

Various meanings could be derived from only one word, but it all came down to one connotation.

“Isn’t she Chloe Rolphe? That Chloe Rolphe, the youngest daughter of the most dignified Rolphe Duchy.”

A woman who you couldn’t help but look up to.

A woman who no one could dare touch.

Chloe was such a woman.

“She is not a Rolphe.”

Eric spoke in a rather hesitant voice.

“Her last name is Aslan.”

“Oh, yes yes. That’s right.”

Gatsby muttered sarcastically, and this frustrated Eric, but he held back his temper. What was he doing, arguing with a drunk man. His current attitude must have made others look at him as though he was easy.

“I heard from His Highness the Second Prince, but it seems like you’ll be marrying the Fourth Princess, Marquis.”

“That’s impossible. You shouldn’t be so careless about your rumors regarding the royal family.”

“But isn’t it too specific to be a rumor.”

Gatsby shrugged. The stench of alcohol was stirred once more.

“If I had known how to make a bunch of machines, the Duke would have given me his daughter and you could have married Her Highness.”

He continued speaking as he picked up a glass of champagne from a tray one attendant was carrying.

Eric felt uneasy. He slowly got the sense of what they were trying to say.

He had to leave.

Eric turned around.

But at that moment.

“I’m curious. How could her noble grace Lady Rolphe cry while crouched on the floor, going waa waa, boo hoo?”

Crash!

Gatsby’s champagne glass crashed to the floor. This was because Eric punched him squarely in the face.

“Ugh—!”

“Eric!”

Despite Theo trying to stop him, Eric went on to grab Gatsby by the collar.

“What a wide mouth. Why don’t you spit out more nonsense?”

Gatsby was still dazed, but when he gained his senses and realized that he was just hit, he raised his voice in anger.

“Y-You’re going to pay for this! Once my father finds out—”

“You’re the one who’ll pay for this.”

Eric tightened his hold over the other man’s collar, gritting his teeth.

“Do you know how cheaply I sell those pumps that your family needs for your mines? What if I raise the price? I can strangle you by changing it as early as tomorrow.”

——

¹the surrealist movement at its height was around the early 20th century, so it’s safe to say that this novel is set perhaps in the 1920s or 1930s. also, the painter’s name is really ‘mont’ or ‘monte’, not ‘monet’ (this guy’s an impressionist painter)

² the word here for ‘believe’ can also mean ‘faith’ and ‘trust’, which is why there are many layers to their conversation in this part.

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