Chapter 27

Blake cut him off.

“There’s no need to talk about that day.”

He spoke quietly, exhaling smoke.

“This lawsuit is about whether Charles Evans’s will was forged. All you need to testify about is what was written in the will you ‘happened’ to see a month ago.”

“Happened to see, huh.”

“Of course. No one will ask about ‘that day,’ and you’re not obliged to answer anything not asked. Isn’t that right?”

“Well… That’s true.”

Still, Miguel Santines remained suspicious.

Ryan Railways was already thriving. Why was Blake so obsessed with Evans Hotel?

“You really wanted Evans Hotel that badly?”

Miguel Santines asked again, and Blake answered calmly.

“Of course. You know how hard I worked to try to buy that damned hotel.”

“No, I always thought it was strange.”

Miguel Santines spoke in a low, ominous voice.

“If you get Evans Hotel, you gain a lot. Prime real estate in New Adams, expansion into the hotel business, a chance to rub shoulders with the big shots lounging in the top floor’s armchairs, even if it’s just sweeping their ashtrays.”

“That’s right. You know it well.”

“But you’d give up refrigerated train transport rights just for that? Even knowing what I might ship?”

“…….”

“Don’t tell me…”

Miguel Santines’s small eyes narrowed.

“Was it because you wanted that woman?”

“What?”

“Did you target her from the start?”

Blake looked where Miguel pointed and laughed out loud.

“My, your jokes have improved, Mr. Santines.”

“Why?”

“Do I look like the sort of man who’d go to all this trouble just to win a woman?”

Miguel Santines gave a dry laugh.

“Well, you’re not that romantic.”

Blake shrugged and glanced inside the window.

“Of course, if she fell into my lap, I wouldn’t refuse such a flower…”

Celia met his gaze and gave a shy smile. Blake returned her warm, cotton-blossom gaze with a polite smile and continued plainly.

“I wouldn’t climb a cliff just to pluck a single flower.”

His voice was cool, but his eyes were relentless. Miguel Santines didn’t notice this and burst out laughing.

Blake listened to his laughter indifferently, finishing the rest of his whiskey. The heavy liquor rolled quietly down his throat like the darkness of the night sky.

＊  ＊  ＊

As soon as Celia’s new witness was announced, criticism poured in.

“My goodness, calling a mafia as a witness!”

“Celia Lancaster has really gone too far now.”

“No matter how desperate she is, this is…!”

She gained yet another nickname, ‘woman who eats husbands,’ ‘the mansion’s femme fatale,’ and now ‘villainess who commands the mafia.’

In the carriage heading to court, Grenville spoke cautiously.

“Miss Lancaster. Don’t mind public opinion. What matters to us…”

“Is only the trial.”

But Celia was calm, making Grenville’s worry unnecessary.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Grenville. I’ll focus everything on winning.”

Her eyes were resolute.

“I have nowhere left to retreat. Nothing left to lose.”

“Miss Lancaster. You’ve really grown strong.”

Grenville said with admiration. Celia gave a slight smile and recalled the reason she’d become strong.

‘I want to repay Mr. Ryan.’

It was a resolution she made the day Miguel Santines was brought to the annex.

‘Of course, Mr. Santines. I’m not asking for help without compensation.’

‘I think this will help you.’

‘I can ship all goods stamped by Santines Company to the south.’

Hearing that in the drawing room, Celia’s mouth had dropped open.

‘He just offered refrigerated train transport rights from Ryan Railways?’

Even Celia, who wasn’t savvy about finance or business, was shocked by the offer. Judging by Miguel’s immediate change in expression, the value was greater than she imagined.

‘Is this lawsuit really worth it? Is Evans Hotel worth that much?’

Celia was doubtful. But she had no right to interfere in the deal between Ryan Railways and Santines Meat Company.

‘…Fine. Let’s make a truce, Lady Celia.’

So Celia could only watch as events unfolded—contracts signed, Miguel Santines switching to her side.

She watched Blake’s back as he led Miguel Santines out, thinking,

‘…It’s too much.’

Blake’s act of stopping Miguel from smoking was clearly for Celia’s sake.

‘Even if he wants Evans Hotel, it’s too much.’

All the dried flowers filling the room, the wardrobe stuffed with black dresses—everything was for her.

‘Mr. Ryan is too… kind.’

Had she ever received such warm consideration from anyone?

She couldn’t remember. Was it because it was so long ago? Or because she’d never received it at all?

Celia felt her eyes grow hot again. But Grenville was with her, so she pretended to fix her hair and quietly wiped her eyes.

Celia had always lived a life full of duty and responsibility. Her father saw her as a tool for advancement. Her mother forced her to fulfill her duty as the eldest daughter. Her younger brother was indifferent to her hardships, and her ex-husbands only burdened her with troubles she couldn’t bear.

Now, for the first time, someone reached out to her. Like a handkerchief for tears, an umbrella against the rain, hot chocolate warming her chilled body, someone quietly wrapped her heart.

‘He’s truly a kind person.’

Celia watched Blake’s back.

Standing in the garden under the yellow lanterns, his tall figure was draped in a dark gray coat, golden hair softly shining in the light.

‘And… unbelievably warm.’

Blake turned to Celia. When their eyes met, Celia gave an awkward smile, and his green eyes curved beautifully. Celia’s heart thudded.

‘I want to repay him.’

At that moment, she was surprised by how strong her wish was.

‘I want to win back Evans Hotel and make him happy.’

It was a proper duty for the kindness she’d received, a moral obligation as a person.

‘I must do my best to repay Mr. Ryan…’

So Celia resolved to win the trial, no matter what.

Grenville saw her determined eyes and smiled reassuringly.

“Good. Let’s keep that attitude and give it our all.”

＊  ＊  ＊

Celia entered the courtroom, feeling the sting of many gazes. Bernie Evans glared from the defendant’s table, Thomas Harris sent a smug look over gold-rimmed glasses, the judge stared coldly, and the audience and journalists filled the courtroom.

But soon, the attention shifted. The outlaw from Fifth Avenue, Miguel Santines, appeared.

“Hey, Grenville.”

He was dressed much more neatly than usual for court. Wearing a plain brown suit and carefully groomed beard, he handed over a thick stack of papers.

“I brought what you asked for.”

It was the ledger recording Charles Evans’s debts.

“But will it work? Can you really turn public opinion with just this?”

He looked around at the courtroom packed with people. Even he felt the hostility and mischievous curiosity aimed at Celia.

Grenville took the papers and sighed deeply.

“Well, we have to try something. Today is the last day of the trial.”

The trial began.

Miguel Santines took the witness stand and testified in a raspy voice.

“Yes. I saw Mr. Charles Evans’s will a month ago. It clearly said, ‘Evans Hotel is inherited by his wife, Celia Lancaster.’”

Grenville then presented evidence.

“I submit the copy of the will Mr. Santines made at that time.”