***

After Tilda disappeared, Aklaire urgently ordered a carriage to be prepared.

She didn’t even have time to silence the murmuring servants, who were whispering as if they had seen a ghost, before someone who had been declared dead reappeared.

Aklaire headed straight for Windsor’s office.

Fortunately, he hadn’t left and was still inside.

However, something was amiss: despite her sudden arrival, Windsor didn’t acknowledge her. Instead, he sat staring blankly at the newspaper as if in a trance.

“What are you looking at so intently?”

Before she could finish her question, he abruptly turned and grabbed her by the shoulders.

“She’s alive!”

His sudden shout made Aklaire’s brow furrow.

He then shoved the newspaper in front of her face.

[Tilda Vallinea Nokilla returns from the dead!]

‘So she’d already informed the press of her survival.’

She had most likely gone public first to stop Aklaire from trying anything in secret.

For now, all eyes would be on her. If she used that attention well, however, it could help to drown out the rumours that had been circulating.

She had played her hand well.

‘…So she really has changed.’

Aklaire thought, eyeing the way Windsor’s eyes trembled with excitement.

‘Fool.’
He didn’t even consider what he might lose now that Tilda Vallinea had returned.

Tsk.

Aklaire clicked her tongue inwardly, but outwardly maintained a calm, composed expression.

“So, Tilda was alive after all.”

“See? I told you—she was just gone for a while! There’s no way someone like Tilda Vallinea would’ve run off with another man!”

Windsor looked like he might drop to his knees at any moment and beg at Tilda’s feet. Aklaire placed a hand on his cheek and gently tilted his face down.

When their eyes met, Windsor seemed to come to his senses a little. Embarrassed by his own excitement, he awkwardly cleared his throat.

Aklaire stared at him steadily and said.
“You’re not thinking of canceling the divorce, are you?”

“…”

“That would be a foolish mistake.”

Windsor’s lips parted slightly, as if to answer.

He was too proud to admit that he wanted to call off the divorce. Yet he was also afraid that, if he didn’t, Tilda might disappear again.

Sensing Windsor’s inner conflict, Aklaire spoke up again, as if reading his thoughts: ‘If you cancel the divorce now, you’ll lose. Forever. You’ll never be able to have her.’

Her calm voice carried a persuasive weight.

Windsor understood what she was implying, but the idea of finalising the divorce still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“There might be another way.”

“There isn’t, If you want your wife to keep seeing you as a joke, then go ahead and call off the divorce. Tilda will walk with her head held high for the rest of her life.”

Just imagining it was enough to ruin Windsor’s mood.

As his face hardened, Aklaire slowly ran her hand across his rough, unshaven jaw.

“Think carefully. Do you want to see her on her knees before you?”

“…”

“Just be patient a little longer.”

Her whisper was full of certainty and slowly wore down Windsor’s resistance.

“Do you really think the day will come when Tilda clings to me and begs?”

Aklaire smiled.

“Of course. All you have to do is follow my lead.”

“What do you plan to do?”

“We have to leave her with nowhere to go.”

Windsor pulled away from Aklaire’s grasp and looked at her.

“She won’t be able to stay at the Belmont estate anymore, so she’ll head to the Papal Court.”

Aklaire offered a captivating smile.

“And what if she gets driven out of there too?”

Windsor hesitated. After all, Tilda was still the Pope’s designated successor, at least in name. Could her grandfather and the clergy really cast her out so mercilessly?

Noticing the doubt on his face, Aklaire laughed briefly and asked.

“So you don’t trust me?”

“…”

“Make a choice now. Divorce Tilda and marry me so that we can bring her down together. Or call off the divorce and spend the rest of your life waiting on her like a servant.”

Faced with such a stark choice, Windsor swallowed hard.

When he thought she might be dead, it had felt as if the sky were collapsing. The mere thought that his foolish decision might have led to her death left him breathless.

But the truth was, he had already handed her the divorce papers.

Even if he tried to take them back, there was no guarantee that she would return to him.

And, to be honest, he was a little afraid.

He was afraid of how she might look at him if she ever did come back.

“I’ve staked everything on you.”

“I know.”

Aklaire replied in a sweet, honeyed voice.

“No matter what, we have to see this plan through.”

‘That’s right, you foolish man.’

Reading Windsor’s thoughts was easier than peering into the mind of a naïve child.

As long as he cooperated, it didn’t matter if she had returned a changed woman or discovered the truth — they could start again.

Once the connection between Windsor and Tilda was broken, the Vallinea family would crumble.

That much was nothing.

Without hesitation, Aklaire placed a light kiss on Windsor’s cheek.

“Of course.”

***

Ever since Tilda’s return, the world had been in an uproar.

Where had she been hiding all this time before reappearing so suddenly?

Some whispered that she had run away with another man and returned when she realised how bad her situation was.

Others insisted that she had been kidnapped.

Rumors swirled in every direction, but the person at the center of it all—Tilda—offered no explanations, no statements, no clarifications.

Then came the official announcement of her divorce from Windsor, and once again, high society was thrown into chaos.

Though whispers of their separation had already been circulating, no one had expected that Tilda would go through with it so soon after her dramatic return.

Naturally, curiosity turned to where she would go next. Would she return to the Belmont estate? Her biological father had passed away, but the Belmonts were still her closest family by blood.

However, the place Tilda chose was the Papal Court.

People began to assume that, having nowhere else to turn, she was now coveting the position of Pope.
And strictly speaking, that wasn’t entirely inaccurate—so she let the speculation run its course.

Not just the public, but even the priests connected to the Grand Temple, which held ties to the Papal Court, regarded her with wariness.

Could a woman with no divine power really desire the position of Pope at this point?

“Such a thing is absolutely unthinkable.”

When word of Tilda’s ambitions reached the High Priest Assembly, Archpriest Glenn Godleaux declared sternly, his expression grave.

Glenn was a highly influential figure within the Grand Temple. Not only was he the oldest among them, but his well-maintained network—despite being a priest—made him a formidable presence in both spiritual and secular circles.

He was the third son of a prominent noble family. Anticipating that he would not inherit a title, however, he entered the seminary and became a priest. He skilfully maintained a neutral stance, keeping one foot in both the noble and papal factions.

“Please isolate Tilda Vallinea within the Grand Temple.”

He had recently received a secret directive from Aklaire, guaranteeing him a comfortable retirement in exchange for his resignation as archpriest.

“She may be the only direct descendant of a divine bloodline for now, but she has no divine power. On top of that, she has been involved in far too many scandals for someone meant to serve the chaste goddess. If such a person were to become Pope, it’s only a matter of time before the goddess turns her back on us!”

Glenn was shouting passionately when the doors to the conference chamber suddenly opened.

Startled, he cleared his throat and quickly finished his sentence.

“It’s been a while, everyone.”

Tilda had appeared in the hall.

The room instantly fell silent.

All eyes turned to her in shock — no one had expected her to show up here.

Although she had occasionally attended clerical meetings in the past as the Pope’s designated heir, given the recent surge of attention surrounding her, most people had assumed she would keep a low profile for the time being.

Despite being the designated successor to the papacy, she was not wearing the traditional white robes that symbolised her status.

She had chosen to wear a plain, rough-textured dress in a muted shade of ash grey, similar to those worn by ordinary priests.

She was humbling herself.

Although she had been designated as the Pope’s successor, she refused to acknowledge that role, just as others refused to recognise her.

Today, however, she appeared in ceremonial robes as white and pristine as freshly fallen snow: untouched and immaculate.

Such pure white garments were reserved only for the Pope and archpriests.

For her to wear them now carried enormous significance.

As everyone held their breath, only Calles lips curved upwards.

Having propped his chin up in boredom moments earlier, his eyes now gleamed with curiosity and anticipation.

He had been the only one to expect her to attend this meeting.

Like a man waiting to savour a fine, luxurious meal, he had been looking forward to this moment.

The moment she would appear before the crowd and boldly claim her rightful place as heir.

What expression would she wear as she entered?

What words would she use to leave them all speechless?

The anticipation thrilled Calles more than anything.

His eyes trailed over her intently.

He had liked her when she wore rough, plain linen like a monk.

But now, dressed in a sleek, pure white ceremonial robe that clung to her figure like a saint from an ancient legend, she was utterly irresistible to him.

A faint smile played at his lips as he swallowed hard.

“If only you had let us know you were coming, we would have saved you a seat.”