After her father passed away, Caroline’s treatment of Yvonne grew increasingly harsh with each passing day.

Even so, this was the first time she had been physically assaulted.

As she touched her cheek, recalling what had happened earlier that day, the spot where she’d been struck seemed to sting anew.

But the place that hurt even more was near her heart.

‘How did it ever come to this?’

She must have tried to pinpoint the beginning of her unhappy marriage thousands of times by now.

If the Rosier Hotel hadn’t been left to her as personal inheritance. If her father hadn’t passed away, or rather……

If she had never entered this marriage in the first place.

Countless hypothetical scenarios filled with “what ifs” kept cluttering her mind. The more she dwelled on them, the tighter the pain seemed to grip her heart.

Absently stroking her chest, Yvonne quietly surveyed the empty bedroom. Despite the hour having passed midnight, her husband had not returned home.

With an exhausted sigh, Yvonne finally draped a shawl over her shoulders and left the bedroom.

Stepping outside the main entrance, she was greeted by a small garden bathed in melancholy moonlight.

The storm had ceased, but the place it had swept through still felt desolate.

Yvonne pulled her shawl up around her neck and descended the small stone steps.

This small garden was the only place in the Greenwood estate where Yvonne felt any attachment.

The lawn and fruit trees tended by the gardener remained green even in the darkness, and the white rose vines intertwined with the black iron gate softly reflected the moonlight.

It created a scene that complemented the red brick of the old house, the black-painted main gate, and the rectangular windows with their sharp, protruding edges.

The white curtains fluttered in the breeze through the open window of the second-floor bedroom.

Yvonne stared up at what should have been their shared space—now empty and devoid of warmth—before turning her gaze away.

The street beyond the low black iron gate remained quiet.

There was no sound of automobiles or galloping horses. Not a hint of human presence.

Yvonne spent time endlessly gazing down the path where her husband would return.

Today, just today, she would confess in detail about Caroline’s persecution and seek her husband’s help.

Of course, she wasn’t unaware of her husband’s tendency to become even more feeble in front of his widowed mother.

She didn’t have high expectations because of this.

But now that her father, who had been her only support, was gone, Rupert was the only person Yvonne could turn to for even the smallest help.

Realizing this situation anew made her feel even more desperate.

With a troubled expression, Yvonne lowered her head, and her gaze fell upon a wild peony blooming beside the black iron gate.

What should have been pristine and lovely was now dying, its head drooping pitifully, exhausted from the rain.

The petals that had fallen to the ground, possibly kicked by someone’s foot, were stained with brown mud, having lost their original color.

While Yvonne was quietly looking down at this scene, contemplating her own circumstances, the sound of an approaching car and lights gradually drew nearer from far down the street beyond the fence.

Sensing her husband’s return, Yvonne slowly opened the iron gate and stepped outside.

Before long, an unfamiliar black automobile stopped on the road in front of the Greenwood residence.

Then a man who appeared to be the driver got out of the driver’s seat and immediately headed toward the back seat.

‘Rupert, did he borrow a car from the gambling house again?’

He often returned home in cars rented from gambling establishments.

That meant he was already in a drunken state.

Far from having a rational conversation about her mother-in-law’s mistreatment or her sister-in-law’s exorbitant clothing expenses, Rupert would likely be unable to even control his own body.

Despite feeling deeply disappointed, Yvonne moved toward the automobile to support Rupert.

At that moment, the driver, who had flung open the back door, addressed the interior.

“We’ve arrived, Madam.”

It was a form of address Yvonne hadn’t expected at all.

As she hesitated, a strange woman’s voice came from inside the car.

“Ru, wake up. Ah, darling?”

The voice, seemingly coaxing someone, was excessively coquettish.

Yvonne unconsciously took another step to identify who was being called “Ru” by this woman.

Her heart began to beat faster.

Please, let it not be. Let her suspicions be unfounded.

With this hope, she stopped where she could clearly see the back seat of the car.

The woman who seemed to be the owner of the flirtatious, nasal voice came into view.

Her ample bosom was prominently displayed over the front of her dress, and her black hair, hastily pinned up with feather ornaments, hung down messily.

The sunken parts of her eyelids were excessively deep, leading to a hooked nose that ended with crooked teeth.

Even covered and drawn with elaborate makeup, the woman’s appearance remained far from beautiful.

Perhaps the makeup powder, soaked with sweat, clumping here and there on her cheeks made her look worse.

However, the woman exuded a distinct vitality that Yvonne lacked.

As if to prove this, the woman smiled at the man leaning on her shoulder and once again let out a flirtatious, nasal sound.

“Oh my. Rupert. Get up already! We’ve arrived at your house. What will you do if your wife sees us?”

She hadn’t noticed Yvonne watching them. Neither had Rupert, who was pretending to be asleep on her shoulder.

Eventually, Rupert playfully opened one eye to look up at the woman and said in a half-muted voice:

“Let her see. That woman needs to learn what true womanly virtues are from you.”

After saying this, Rupert buried his face in the woman’s ample bosom.

The woman burst into laughter, apparently finding his words quite pleasing.

Despite blatantly displaying this embarrassing scene to the driver, the couple behaved as if they knew nothing of shame.

Even more strange was that even the driver seemed accustomed to such sights, wearing a bored expression.

Only then did Yvonne realize the origin of the car Rupert had borrowed.

Melrot Avenue No. 4 in Cheap Side. A street known for high-class prostitution.

The hand holding her shawl began to tremble slightly.

But Rupert, blinded by lust, was busy caressing the body of the unnamed woman.

Uncharacteristically overcome with anger, Yvonne stepped forward boldly.

The driver, who first sensed her presence, startled and hurriedly signaled to the back seat.

“Madam, Madam!”

But the woman was too engrossed in sharing an intimate kiss with Rupert to notice.

The driver called to the woman again, and Rupert finally pulled his lips away and shouted irritably.

“Why do you keep interrupting? If it’s about money, I’ve already paid Marianne generously!”

“Oh my, Count! That’s not it—I’m wondering if that person standing over there might be the Countess……”

“Hmm?”

His alcohol-soaked eyes slowly turned toward the open door.

When Rupert’s eyes met Yvonne’s, his face momentarily colored with embarrassment.

But it was a very brief moment, and he quickly furrowed his brow and muttered as if to himself:

“Damn…… I told her not to wait up outside.”

Rupert clicked his tongue softly, looking at his wife as if she were an annoyance. Then he said to the woman sitting beside him:

“Regrettably, I must return home today, Marianne.”

Rupert glanced slightly in Yvonne’s direction and got out through the open door.

The driver, as if he had been waiting, closed the car door and turned toward the driver’s seat.

The woman called ‘Marianne’ slowly opened the window by turning the handle of the closed door.

Then, leaning on the open window, she looked Yvonne up and down before suddenly flashing a broad smile.

“It’s unexpectedly pleasant to meet you like this. I’ve often heard about you from ‘Ru.'”

Her attitude was excessively disrespectful.

Even though the hierarchy between nobles and commoners had blurred since materialism pervaded the Empire, even before the mistress of a declining count’s family, her behavior was inappropriate.

It was especially not the attitude to display after showing a wife the scene of adultery with her husband.

Looking down at Marianne, a quiet voice flowed from between Yvonne’s lips.

“Unfortunately, I cannot say I’m pleased to meet you.”

Her expression revealed no emotional disturbance whatsoever.

Her tone was remarkably calm for a wife who had just witnessed her husband’s infidelity.

“I haven’t heard anything about you from Rupert.”

Yvonne’s composed demeanor even exuded a subtle dignity.

It was an atmosphere Marianne could never imitate.

She raised her gaze once more to examine Yvonne carefully.

The woman, radiating a pure light like a white spring rose blooming under the moonlight, was beautiful.

Her clear face, like rich, sweet milk poured out, featured delicately arranged, pretty features.

Her ash-blonde long hair flowed as softly as waves, and her gray eyes conveyed a sense of mystery.

‘He boasted that his wife was famous as the beautiful only daughter of Count Rosier in her maiden days, and it seems it wasn’t just empty talk.’

But really, Rupert, why did he even tell me such things?

Just as Marianne was feeling both surprised by Yvonne’s beauty and a sense of displeasure:

“Seeing that my husband couldn’t bring himself to mention you even to me……”

Yvonne’s eyes slowly scanned Marianne’s appearance.

Her gaze was much heavier than Marianne’s, which had been merely disrespectful moments before.

“Perhaps you weren’t much of a ‘friend’ for my husband to boast about.”