Chapter 3

Bernie threw Celia out. The study door slammed shut, and then the voice of the old lady, crying out as if to shake the mansion, echoed through the air.

“What on earth is happening on a funeral day?”

“What could she have said in there…?”

People stared at Celia, who had been thrown out, with contemptuous eyes. Celia’s head cooled as she endured a barrage of looks devoid of even a hint of sympathy.

‘There’s no one on my side here.’

It was clear that appealing her injustice would only backfire.

‘Even if I go back in now, I won’t be able to reclaim the hotel.’

The will had already been tampered with, and her mother-in-law had lost her reason.

‘Stand up, Celia Lancaster.’

She forced herself to stand, barely mustering strength into legs that refused to move. The trembling black veil slid down her shoulder line and dropped to the ground.

‘Keep your pride. Don’t let them see you cry.’

Celia walked away from the mansion with graceful steps. Sharp gazes rained down her back, but she kept her back straight as she walked through the garden.

Only after she reached a place where the mansion was out of sight did she finally collapse onto the ground.

“Ugh…”

Emotions like shock, fear, sorrow, and despair burst forth in a tangled mess.

“Huuuh…”

Celia buried her face in her knees and cried. The cold autumn rain soaked her ebony hair, her round shoulders, and her pale white nape.

Drip. Drop.

After crying for a while, Celia realized that the raindrops falling on her had stopped. She looked up and saw sleek leather loafers beneath perfectly tailored black pants.

‘Loafers?’

Celia unconsciously furrowed her brows.

In the New World, there was only one kind of person who wore loafers under dress pants instead of Oxfords.

Newly rich. People who had recently risen to prominence thanks to fortunes made in oil, steel, and railroads.

“You left your veil behind, so I came to return it.”

A voice as soft as velvet melted into her ears.

“My name is Blake Ryan.”

Celia slowly lifted her head. Under the black umbrella stood a man in a black suit.

With sharply defined features, tightly pressed lips under a chiseled nose, flaxen hair that looked like it would melt at a touch, and eyes like a rainy summer forest, the man’s impression was a mix of sensitivity and gentleness.

“Ah, I’ve troubled you.”

Celia forced herself to speak with trembling lips.

“I’m sorry. I just… I’m so overwhelmed…”

“I understand.”

His gentle voice replied as if whispering.

“It’s not something people commonly experience.”

What? Attending a husband’s funeral? Or being thrown out of that funeral?

Either way, it was nothing worth asking about. Celia bowed her head deeply and reached out for the veil he offered.

“Ah…”

But her hand, now covered in mud, was dirty. She tried to wipe her palm on her skirt, but the skirt was just as filthy. Embarrassed, Celia quickly hid her hand behind her back. Then something else was pushed in front of her.

Blake’s handkerchief.

“……”

After a moment’s hesitation, Celia took both the veil and the handkerchief. The pristine white handkerchief, almost too clean to wipe away mud, was embroidered with the initials ‘B.R.’

“You said your name was Blake Ryan, right?”

Celia, unable to bring herself to wipe her hand, spoke.

“You’re the president of Ryan Railways. I’ve heard of you. Achieved remarkable success at a young age…”

Celia swallowed the rest of her words.

And very handsome.

Blake Ryan. He was currently the second most talked-about person in New Adams society after Celia herself.

At twenty-eight, he had succeeded in various investments and founded Ryan Railways, rising rapidly. People said that if he hadn’t had a talent for business, he surely would have become a movie star, given his looks.

Even in New Adams society, many young ladies passed around photos of Blake. However, no one tried to meet him, thanks to his infamous past.

An orphanage background. Only graduated from high school. And once known as the butcher of Fifth Avenue.

In short, Blake Ryan was the most successful businessman in New Adams, but far too low-born and dangerous for high society ladies to meet.

“It’s an honor that you know me.”

Blake smiled gently.

“For the first time, I feel glad that I founded a railway company.”

His answer was impeccable, but his humility was so excessive it almost sounded sarcastic.

‘Am I just twisted?’

Why do I feel this way toward someone who’s being kind?

Celia hid her odd discomfort and gave a polite greeting.

“Thank you, Mr. Ryan. I’ll wash your handkerchief and return it.”

It was an empty promise. A gentleman’s handkerchief offered to a lady was meant to be a gift. Especially to a woman in such a disheveled state.

“Yes. You can bring it here.”

But what Blake handed her was a business card with an address.

‘Bring it here? Does he really mean to get it back?’

Celia unconsciously furrowed her brows, and Blake shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s something I value quite a bit.”

Celia stared at him in disbelief, then quickly accepted it.

‘Well, he’s a newly rich man, so maybe he’s unfamiliar with society etiquette. Or he just doesn’t care.’

Either way, it wasn’t something Celia could criticize. She answered with a sigh.

“…Yes. I understand. I’ll make sure to return it.”

After finishing her greeting, Celia turned away. But a black shadow fell over her head.

“It’s raining heavily. Please use this.”

Blake’s umbrella.

Celia shook her head, not wanting to owe him further.

“It’s alright. I’m already soaked.”

Blake nodded calmly.

“As you wish.”

He then folded the umbrella, propped it against the wall, and turned away.

“Wait, Mr. Ryan!”

Celia called out urgently, but he had already disappeared around the wall.

“So arbitrary…”

Left alone, Celia stared blankly at the umbrella propped against the wall. The handle, a neat hexagon, was engraved with the same initials as the handkerchief: ‘B.R.’

She couldn’t go back inside to return the umbrella now. But she also couldn’t leave it behind. With no other choice, Celia picked up the umbrella and sighed softly.

Strangely, the handle still seemed to retain the warmth of its owner. Celia held back her tears and gripped the umbrella tightly. The pouring rain beat down on the black umbrella, making a sound like weeping.

***

When Celia returned home, her nanny Betty was startled.

“My goodness, Miss. What happened?”

Betty’s loud voice echoed through the grand hall of the mansion.

“What did they do to you at the funeral? How did you end up so disheveled and covered in mud…!”

Instead of answering, Celia took off her cloak and veil and handed them over. She wanted to cling to Betty and cry, but at the same time, she was terribly exhausted.

“…Where’s the family?”

She asked in a subdued voice, and a hesitant answer came back.

“Well… The master and young master Robert are out, and Madam hasn’t been seen since midday…”

But before Betty finished speaking, the door to the drawing room connected to the hall opened.

“My word, Celia. What’s with your appearance?”

Her adoptive mother Eleanor, and—

“Are you alright, Miss Celia? What happened at Evans House…?”

Her younger brother’s tutor, John.

“…It seems you two had a very enjoyable day.”

Celia narrowed her eyes and glared at them.

Eleanor’s luxurious blonde hair was tousled, and John’s shirt buttons were haphazardly fastened. Eleanor and John, faces flushed, pretended not to notice.

Too tired to even be angry, Celia silently climbed the mansion’s stairs.