Louisa had fallen in love with Lucas from the very first day she met him at university. At first, everyone had mocked him for being an illegitimate child, but in the end, his dazzling rise turned that very label into a badge of honor.

Surely, a man like him must’ve had a painful, wounded childhood. He must have been born from a forbidden romance between Richard Duquesne and a noblewoman. That would explain the old-world accent he carried from the Old Continent.

And a man like that… he must be longing for a true love to heal those childhood scars. There were plenty of women who clung to that fantasy. But Louisa had crushed each of them beneath her high heels.

None of their affections could ever compare to her own. She had loved him from the very moment everyone else doubted him.

In this land, weakness was wickedness, and strength was virtue. So Lucas, blindingly fierce and rough, was righteous to Louisa—without question.

And since someone like Lucas had warned her to tread carefully, she had to restrain herself. Unlike that woman strutting around in ridiculous chicken-feather frills… who clearly knew nothing.

“I want that oh-so-great daughter of a count gone just as much as you do… maybe it’s time I lend a hand.”

Logically speaking, Lucas had already ruined her family. If she had any pride, it would be only natural for her to try to walk away from him.

However, if she became pregnant, the situation would remain ambiguous. Even worse, perhaps she was more shameless than expected and would settle down with Lucas for the money. That would be disastrous, too.

This time, she would have to act subtly — blaming it on alcohol and jealousy would not be enough.

“I’ll take Alicia’s compliment graciously. I truly hope your words become reality.”

“…!”

Alicia’s dull gaze brightened with delight. Now that she had secured Louisa’s cooperation, she could draw power freely from this side of the social circle.

However, as she watched Alicia reveling a little too much in her victory, Louisa smiled with a scrunched face.

“But how exactly should I help? I wouldn’t know what the Count’s daughter dislikes.”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t call it a weakness, but—oh! Now that I think about it, horseback riding events have been banned completely ever since Cordelia arrived.”

“…? That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

“I’m not surprised. No one really knows the reason but she doesn’t attend any of the riding events, and she avoids them whenever possible.”

Louisa’s eyes narrowed in lazy curiosity at the unexpected piece of information. With the Duquesne hosting so many parties, it hadn’t been easy to notice anything odd about the once-or-twice-a-year hunting events.

But for a noblewoman to avoid horseback riding entirely… now that was certainly strange.

“Hm, I’ll keep that in mind, Alicia.”

“Hoho, wonderful. Let’s keep looking out for each other from now on, shall we?”

“Of course.”

Louisa replied with a beaming smile and words she didn’t mean in the slightest.

‘Please.’

‘Once Cordelia is out of the way, you and your husband are next.’

But now that she’d uncovered one interesting fact, there were endless ways to use it against that precious little Count’s daughter.

***

The social calendar in the New World mirrored that of the Old World, with events taking place in both summer and winter.

There were balls and parties with various names, as well as sporting events held at resorts that had been rented out for the occasion.

However, it wasn’t just about entertainment: charity events were also an integral part of the social scene.

This was why William Seymour had come today to listen to a poetry recital hosted by the academy sponsored by his family.

A nervous boy in a blue uniform stood stiffly on an outdoor stage, reciting his poem. His voice echoed awkwardly through the microphone.

The wind blows fair, white foam rising,
The waves split deep behind the ship, flowing free.
And so we became,
The first to sail into that quiet sea.

God, when is this going to end…?

William pushed his light brown hair back in frustration, though he kept his irritation to himself—for one reason only: Because of the man sitting next to him, Lucas Duquesne, who was crossing his long legs and  listening as if he were watching the most fascinating performance in the world!

Unable to suppress his curiosity any longer, William gritted his teeth and whispered with a smile frozen on his lips.

“…Why the hell are you even here?”

“To support the promising youth of the New Continent.”

“Oh, come on. If you’re going to lie, at least put some effort into it…”

There was no way Lucas would attend something like this out of pure goodwill. William shot him a glare full of disbelief, but Lucas only chuckled faintly. He knew how to play dumb when it suited him.

In truth, he was only here to discreetly confirm the presence of a certain individual.

“If I’m going to buy the Hastings earldom, I’ll need a massive sum of money.”

He had cracked open the oil business, yes—but that income had to be shared with Richard. It was the price of being granted this new life, and there was no getting around it.

Which meant the rest of the necessary funds would have to come from somewhere else.

“I heard the military recently discovered a new crude oil reserve…”

They had recently discovered the massive oil reserves in the West thanks to the new “Western Migration Policy.”

It would have been ideal if a private company had gotten there first, but since the military had already secured it, the possibility of monopolizing the field was out of the question.

Still, there was one way left to generate immense profits…

‘Secure the operating rights.’

By aligning with the military, he could ensure a stable flow of wealth—enough to feed generations. The only problem was that the military’s key personnel were kept classified…

But whenever a problem felt too complicated, the real question was always the same: Do I simply not have enough money to solve it?

The question was whether the underlings were clever enough to be of any use.

‘Let’s see if they did their job and figured out who’s in charge.’

At that moment, the boy on the stage finished his recitation and bowed with flair. It was, admittedly, the best part of the performance.

William shook his head and clapped enthusiastically.

“Wow, that was ridiculously long. What the hell was that poem? He only recited part of it and it still went on forever.”

“…It’s called The Old Sailor’s Song.”

“What? Lucas, you knew that?”

William widened his eyes in surprise, impressed. But Lucas didn’t care to respond. Because he still remembered—clearly—that quiet voice reciting the poem through a window, long ago.

He’d known back then that she was tolerating a headstrong servant, acting like a proper lady above it all. And because of that, Lucas—no, Luke—had taken advantage of that tolerance, letting himself speak and act freely. As if testing the limits of how much his savior would allow him.

And the owner of that voice—the one who once saved him—had turned away from him today. She had kept her back to him until he left the bedroom. That woman had never done that, not once, in the entire year they’d been married.

Then again, Cordelia had never been one to express her feelings openly. Even after a year of his affections, her reactions never flared as intensely as he wanted. She’d always worn that gentle, composed smile—like something from a portrait.

She seemed to enjoy their time in bed, but she barely showed it. He could never tell what she was really thinking.

And that’s why her coldness this time left a deeper mark than he expected.

‘Ha. What does it matter.’

She had changed. So had he. Now there was no need for pretense—he’d take what he wanted and nothing more.

As the applause died down, Lucas slowly walked toward the direction where the boy had run off. The child had rushed straight into the arms of his family.

A round-faced man, his cheeks like tomatoes, patted his son on the shoulder, telling him he’d done a good job.

As Lucas approached and removed his hat, the middle-aged man subtly raised an eyebrow.

“Good afternoon. You must be Mr. Roderick Winfred?”

“Ah… and you are…?”

“I very much enjoyed your son’s recital. It was lovely to hear one of my favorite poems performed.”

“Ahem, thank you. You’re Mr. Duquesne’s son, aren’t you? It’s been quite a while…”

When his son was praised, the man offered a handshake, but his voice carried a subtle hint of caution.

The lingering label of being an illegitimate child with unclear origins remained. Nevertheless, it was better than being born in the gutter with no family at all.

Lucas offered a confident, easygoing smile. All right, it was time to start winning over the military’s key personnel.

***

After practically forcing Cordelia to take charge of her father-in-law’s birthday celebrations,

Alicia called the phone in Cordelia’s room every single day for several days straight.

—“I’m just checking to make sure you’re preparing everything properly. What stage are you at now, Cordelia?”

“It’s important to finalize the guest list first. We’re planning to invite about fifteen hundred people again, like last time.”

—“What? That’s all you’ve done so far?”

“Everything has an order, Alicia. I’ll let you know once we finalize the scale.”

—“Ugh, Cordelia! If you’re just planning some ordinary party—”

“Yes, yes, Alicia. Don’t worry. I’m sorry, but the signal’s a bit unstable. Let’s talk again later.”

—“Cordelia!”

Cordelia let Alicia’s nagging wash over her like water and hung up the phone. For about three seconds afterward, she seriously considered disconnecting the direct line to this mansion altogether.

Why did she hand the party over in a fit of pique only to now worry she wouldn’t get any credit for it?

‘Why did I even agree to this in the first place…?’

The most important part of planning a party was sending out the invitations. The next most important thing was dealing with the guests face-to-face during the event.

As this was set to be a large-scale event attended by Eastern socialites, government officials, and nobles, it presented the perfect opportunity for her to gather information on a wide range of people.