Chapter 9

Heavy footsteps followed behind. Soon, Celia’s father, Scott Lancaster, burst through the door.

“What do you think you’re doing! How dare you put out an ad for a lawyer on your own!”

Scott threw the crumpled newspaper. Celia quickly ducked her head to avoid the flying paper.

“Is there a problem, Father?”

She calmly set down her teacup.

“This is the New World. Anyone has the right to hire whomever they need with their own money.”

“You…! Do you even hear yourself…!”

Scott’s face turned red and blue. But that much was already expected.

“I had no choice. At this rate, I’d end up chased by loan sharks and sold off to some depraved Old World Duke.”

“So you did this without saying a word?”

“Would you have helped me if I’d told you?”

“Of course not! You dare file a lawsuit against the Evans family! Of all families, the Evans family! How dare you!!!”

Unable to control his temper, he stomped over and thrust his face close to hers.

“Do you really want to ruin this family?”

“What?”

“Is that what you want? The fall of the Lancaster family—is that what you want?”

“Are you asking if I want the family to be ruined…”

Celia let out a hollow laugh without realizing it.

“Don’t say things like that, Father.”

Her voice trembled.

“If you think about all I’ve sacrificed for this family, you wouldn’t say that.”

She remembered all the years she’d obediently followed her father.

Being dragged to campaign events since she was six, giving up college at his insistence, marrying Frank Miller from a military family to secure Republican votes, marrying Charles Evans from an Old World noble family to secure political funds…

But Scott only scoffed at her efforts.

“Sacrifice? What sacrifice? You call marrying into the New World’s top families twice a sacrifice?”

“Are you serious?”

Celia was appalled.

“Frank was severely depressed! He cried all the time, and I spent an entire year running around to get his medication!”

Her voice grew louder.

“And that’s not all! Charles was a hopeless scoundrel. He spent two years frequenting gambling dens and brothels, then died on his own!”

Her voice was now mixed with sobs.

“So what do you want me to do? Marry another strange man just because you say so, and spend the rest of my life in misery? How can you say such things? How?”

In the end, she burst into tears.

“The only reason I endured all this was because of Mother! Because of her dying wish, after a lifetime of loving you! But you… how could you…!”

“Don’t talk about Olivia!”

Scott exploded in anger. He glared at Celia with flashing eyes and ground his teeth.

“From now on, you’re forbidden to go out! Not just from the house—from this room! You won’t take a single step outside!”

“Father! Are you really going to do this?”

“That’s not all! You won’t get any food, either! Until you change your mind, you won’t get so much as a crumb of bread or a drop of water, so prepare yourself!!!”

With that, Scott ordered a footman to bring a lock. The young servant hesitated, then attached a lock to Celia’s door. Meanwhile, Scott was busy summoning the butler and cook to give more orders.

Celia, staring blankly at the scene, finally spoke.

“What do you… what do you see me as, Father?”

Does he even think of me as a person? 

Her lips trembled, turning blue.

“And what do you see me as!”

But Scott only shouted louder.

“I am the master of this house! Anyone who doesn’t obey doesn’t belong here!”

He raged, shouting at the top of his lungs.

“I’ll fix that insolent attitude of yours, just you wait! Are you listening, Celia!!!”

But Celia kept her gaze fixed outside the window, not answering. She didn’t want to see or deal with her cruel father anymore.

Scott glared at her for a long moment, then slammed the door as he left. With the sound of the lock clicking into place, hot tears streamed down Celia’s cheeks.

‘Don’t break, Celia Lancaster.’

Celia wiped her tears and repeated to herself.

‘Don’t lose. Not to the Evans family. Not to New Adams society. And not to a father who never once treated me as a person.’

***

Meanwhile, on Fifth Avenue, someone else was shouting, oblivious to Celia’s situation. It was James Grenville.

“I let a big one get away! I let a big one get away!”

He slammed the newspaper down on a table full of bottles. The bartender, watching him with a look of pity, asked suspiciously,

“Are you saying the Lady of the Lancaster family really came to see you?”

“Yes! It was just a month ago. Back then, she was desperate to find a lawyer!”

Grenville shouted in frustration.

Even in her plain mourning dress, the woman who caught everyone’s eye as she entered the office had the clear gaze of a well-bred daughter of a wealthy family. Who would have thought she’d attempt such an adventure with that innocent face!

He deeply regretted demanding three times the going rate and bluffing that he would wait for her to return.

The bartender, clearing away empty glasses, picked up the newspaper and chuckled.

“She really is something. Who would think to put out an ad in her own name?”

The other patrons chimed in.

“No wonder they call her the husband-killer. She’s bold and clever.”

“I’m curious how the Evans family will respond. This will be big news.”

“Grenville, how could you let such a chance slip by? That’s not like you.”

“I don’t know! How could I have known it would turn out like this!”

Grenville, now irritated, snatched the newspaper and threw it down. It rolled across the floor and hit the tip of a leather loafer. A man bent gracefully, picked up the paper, and dusted off the edge as he spoke.

“Why did you have to ask for such a high price?”

“Ugh, Ryan…!”

“You’ve got to know when to stop being greedy.”

Blake clicked his tongue.

He’d already expected Grenville would try to overcharge. His plan had been to approach Celia and offer to sponsor her lawsuit if Grenville demanded too much, but he hadn’t expected her to be so stubborn.

If that was her attitude, he’d have to try something else. This time, he’d persuade Grenville. If Celia wouldn’t accept sponsorship, the only option was to negotiate the lawyer’s fee down.

“Why not pretend you’re helping too? Or send her a letter, say you’ll cut the price drastically.”

Blake spoke indifferently to the gritting Grenville.

“It might be a little embarrassing, but so what? We’re Fifth Avenue ruffians who don’t know the meaning of shame. We’re not like those idiots on 33rd Street who lose out on real gains to protect their pride.”

Grenville muttered in a defeated voice.

“…I did.”

“What?”

“I already did! I sent her a letter!”

He shouted.

“But she never replied! I waited in the office for two whole weeks, and she never showed up!”

“She didn’t reply…?”

Blake frowned slightly. He recalled his last conversation with Celia before they parted.

‘If you get a letter from Grenville, wait three days before replying. Offer to make the contract for three thousand with no deposit, but raise the success fee by fifty thousand dastals.’

‘No deposit? Is that possible?’

‘He’ll hesitate, but in the end he’ll have to accept. No Fifth Avenue lawyer can pass up the chance to participate in Lancaster versus Evans.’

‘…Alright. I’ll do it.’

Celia nodded slowly.

‘Thank you, Mr. Ryan. Really.’

The look in her eyes as she gazed up at him had been full of admiration and trust. The pure, water-colored light in her eyes had left a deep impression, and Blake remembered that day for a long time.

But now she hadn’t replied? Hadn’t come?

Blake’s well-shaped brows furrowed.