“A death report? Who authorised that?!”

Crash! Windsor swept everything off the desk, causing a priceless sculpture to shatter with a loud clatter.

Important documents were soaking in ink and disintegrating, but he didn’t spare them a glance.

His flustered aide scrambled to explain.

“… The Public Safety Bureau said that it was impossible to find the madam’s body. Duke Belmont agreed as well…”

“Aklaire? Who does that woman think she is, consenting to Tilda’s death without my permission?!”

“But Madam has no family. Her maternal grandfather, the Pope, is on another continent. Duke Belmont is at least somewhat connected to her though…”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Tilda never signed the divorce papers, so legally, I’m still her husband!”

The aide’s face turned pale as he looked at Windsor, who simply couldn’t be reasoned with.

He had asked the aide to prepare the divorce documents, yet now he was throwing a fit over her being declared dead.

‘Then maybe he should’ve treated her better while she was still around.’

Although the divorce had not yet been finalised, news of the proceedings had reached the Public Safety Bureau.

They suspected that Windsor might have been involved in Tilda Vallinea’s disappearance. This made him a suspect.

Consequently, the investigation into Tilda Vallinea was not conducted through her husband, Windsor.

Instead, they were conducted through her former stepmother, Aklaire, who was the closest available relative at the time, as her maternal grandfather was away.

Suppressing his frustration, the aide tried to calm Windsor.

“Understood. As for the death report, Duke Belmont will be arriving shortly. You can discuss it with her directly.”

“When is Aklaire getting here?”

“Any moment now, I believe.”

Bang.

Just then, the door swung open without anyone knocking.

“Windsor.”

It was Aklaire.

She, who always wore a radiant smile, merely swept her gaze over Windsor’s wrecked office with indifference.

The aide looked at her as if she were a saviour; she gave him a subtle nod in return.

He bowed politely and quietly slipped out of the office.

“Aklaire! How could you agree to Tilda’s death without my permission?!”

“We deployed every sheriff and peacekeeper in the capital to search every inch. But there wasn’t a trace. There’s nothing more we can do.”

Aklaire’s voice was cold, and her eyes were sharp.

“We haven’t even found a body!”

Windsor roughly dug into his pocket, pulled out a cigar, and lit it.

The acrid smoke drifted across the desk and slowly spread in front of Aklaire.

She let out a quiet sigh behind the veil of smoke, but only for a moment.

Her expression soon settled into a composed calm, her eyes softening into graceful curves.

Aklaire’s face had once again transformed into that of a kind, gentle lady.

“Windsor, don’t just stand there. Let’s sit and talk.”

Playfully charming, Aklaire looped her arm around Windsor’s and pulled him down onto the dark brown sofa.

Despite his stiff, old-fashioned manner, she knew that Windsor had a weakness for gentle, sweet-toned women.

This was one of the reasons why she insisted on speaking formally to Windsor, who was only a Count, even after becoming a duchess.

But Windsor’s expression remained hardened as he exhaled thick clouds of cigar smoke.

Lowering her voice, Aklaire asked softly,

“Do you truly believe Tilda isn’t dead?”

“She can’t be dead.”

She might have been deeply shaken by the talk of divorce.

“If it weren’t for you, Tilda wouldn’t have disappeared.”

Windsor’s voice was laced with bitterness, as if he were grinding his fury between his teeth.

Ever since hearing of Tilda’s disappearance, he had silently blamed Aklaire.

After all, she was the one who had advised him to divorce Tilda.

And it was she who had suggested he remarry.

At first, Windsor had thought the idea absurd.

Marry his ex-wife’s stepmother?

That would have Tilda’s parents rising from their graves just to punish him.

He had naturally intended to dismiss the suggestion outright.

“How long do you plan to keep trailing after Tilda’s shadow, helpless and pitiful?”

If only Aklaire hadn’t goaded him like that!

She had hit Windsor right where he was most insecure.

He had always felt inferior to Tilda.

Even after they married, she remained distant — so poised and graceful, like someone from a different world entirely.

So, as Aklaire had suggested, Windsor believed that if he pushed Tilda away enough, she would eventually come running back to him, clinging to him as her only option.

‘I was a fool.’

Ultimately, Tilda disappeared on the day he filed for divorce.

Windsor felt as though he was losing his mind.

He was tormented by the thought that she might be dead, and even worse, that he might have driven her to it.

His leg twitched anxiously as he sat restlessly, overcome with dread. Suddenly, Aklaire quietly slid closer beside him.

Her soft chest pressed gently against his upper arm.

“Windsor, no one could have foreseen this.”

She pulled his head to her br*ast and cradled it as if to comfort him.

Then, with slender fingers, she took the cigar from his hand and dropped it into the ashtray.

Like a silent snake, Aklaire’s subtle touch caused Windsor to hand over the cigar without realising it.

“She was the kind of woman who wouldn’t bleed even if you stabbed her. And yet, just a divorce notice…”

“Maybe there was more to the story. You never really know what’s in someone’s heart.”

“What do you mean, ‘more to the story’?”

“She might have been harbouring feelings for another man. Maybe they ran away together.”

Windsor’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He looked like a man driven mad by jealousy.

“No way! That woman, who always acted so pure and noble, with another man?!”

Unable to contain himself, he slammed his hand down on the table.

Thud!

The wood split slightly along the grain, leaving a splinter lodged in his hand. But he didn’t even flinch, as if he couldn’t feel the pain.

Aklaire gently took his hand and carefully removed the splinter.

“Windsor, poor thing… we don’t know the truth yet.”

“…”

“But this pain in your heart — it won’t last forever, will it? Tilda may be gone, but you still have something left, don’t you?”

With that, Aklaire stood up and stepped away briefly to call the aide waiting outside. She instructed him to bring a bandage and a tea set.

“Tilda Vallinea is gone. That means you will be the heir to the Sacred House. Since the divorce was never finalised.”

“What does that title matter now?”

“Don’t say that. You’ve always wanted to stand above everyone else.”

Windsor was the richest man in the Empire.

Using his natural talent for business, he restored a crumbling estate and made significant contributions to the Empire’s industrial development.

He bought a seemingly worthless stony mountain at a low price and struck it rich when the golden age of architecture arrived.

From that moment on, every venture he undertook was successful, and he amassed a vast fortune.

However, he was never accepted by noble society.

They dismissed him as a nouveau riche merchant who had bought his title of Count.

Despite becoming the richest man in the Empire, Windsor was plagued by feelings of inferiority.

This was one of the reasons why he wanted to marry Tilda.

She had everything he lacked: refinement, education, honour — all the qualities that defined a true noble.

If he became heir to the Sacred House and eventually rose to the position of Pope, Then perhaps he could finally make those arrogant nobles bow before him.

Nevertheless, whenever Windsor thought of the Pope, he spoke in a dissatisfied tone.

“That uptight old man would never accept me as heir to the Sacred House.”

Aklaire carefully tended to Windsor’s wound, wrapping it with the bandage she had just received from the aide.

“Don’t worry about that. I know His Holiness well.”

“You do?”

“We exchanged quite a few letters about it with Tilda. Through that, we developed a certain rapport.”

Aklaire smiled vaguely, her expression unreadable.

By contrast, when Windsor thought of Tilda again, he felt his mood plummet as though he were sinking into the depths of the earth itself.

“How can you be so calm? She was your daughter, wasn’t she?”

“Well, I never really liked her to begin with.”

Aklaire answered honestly.

She figured there was no point in pretending — he had probably sensed it when she used her remarriage to win him over.

Windsor covered his eyes with a hand, as if trying to hide his gloomy expression.

“You’re truly a heartless woman.”

Unfazed, Aklaire placed tea leaves into the teapot and began steeping the tea.

“Here. Drink this. It’ll help relax your nerves.”

The moment the aroma brushed past Windsor’s nose, he realised how dry and scratchy his throat felt. It was as if it were full of sand.

Without hesitation, he drank the hot tea in one gulp.

Such behaviour would usually be criticised for lacking refinement.

But in that moment, Windsor didn’t care at all.

Just as Aklaire had said, the warmth of the tea soothed his frayed nerves.

The tension in his body began to ease.

Noticing his expression, Aklaire smiled faintly, gently placing her hand on his chest.

“Let me loosen your tie.”

Her long, slender fingers swiftly undid the knot. However, even after undoing a few buttons, her hands lingered on Windsor’s chest. He was too exhausted to react.

Aklaire climbed onto his lap and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, brushing them lightly. Her practiced movements quickly broke down his resistance — she knew exactly how to touch him and what positions he preferred.

Their nights together were always more passionate than anything Tilda had ever offered him. His body responded instinctively, tense with need.

As Aklaire began to unbuckle his belt, Windsor reached out and stopped her with a sluggish, almost dazed motion.

“I don’t feel up to it.”

She looked down at him and replied.

“Is it really your body saying that?”

Brushing off his weak resistance, Aklaire removed his trousers. In one swift movement, she lowered herself onto him, drawing a deep moan from his lips.

Her body accepted him easily, with a familiar, fluid warmth. His breath grew heavier.

She let her shirt slide off her shoulders and guided his face into her soft br*ast, letting him rest there.

Then, in a whisper, she said.

“Windsor, as I said, sorrow is only temporary.”

Feeling Windsor’s grip tighten around her waist, Aklaire raised her eyebrows in a smile.

“Think about what you’ll soon hold in your hands.”

Her seductive words caused Windsor’s body to respond, growing harder gradually. Aklaire pulled him into a tight embrace, pressing her hips down as if to consume him completely.

As their bodies aligned with no gap between them, Windsor’s breathing became increasingly ragged.

“Everything is going to change.”

In that moment, a glint of something flashed in Aklaire’s eyes — something that Windsor could not see.