Chapter 1. The Blank-Canvas Woman

“I beg your pardon, sir. I heard you purchased the Luxhill land the Duke put up for sale at a bargain price again.”

The first to break the silence in the office, left to just the two of them, was a middle-aged man with dark brown hair. A peculiar confidence settled in his expression.

“That’s correct.”

The blond man’s single-word reply already sounded bored. People who opened conversations this way, angling to get close to him through flattery, were everywhere. Without adding another word, he reached into the small box on the table, drew out a cigarette, and lit it. The motion was clean, almost calculated.

Only after the smoke curling from between his lips drifted in a lazy spiral through the air did he offer the man across from him a cigarette. The middle-aged man declined politely, then took his time studying the person opposite him.

Carlyle Berthheimer.

Arrogant, just as the rumors said. Even with a politician of the Empire watching him this openly, the young man simply sat with his legs crossed, smoking, as though such scrutiny was nothing new.

The beloved darling of Lafreia. A bastard too dignified to be a pr*stitute’s son, yet too seductive to be a duke’s heir, in a way that made the heart quicken.

Anyone who had ever laid eyes on Carlyle Berthheimer would understand every word used to describe him.

“At this rate, all of Luxhill will fall into your hands.”

Without looking away, the middle-aged man tossed out another light remark.

“Perhaps it will, Sir Bardo.”

Carlyle ground out the cigarette with a long, final drag and answered without missing a beat. The sheer nonchalance of it nearly drew a laugh from Michel Bardo.

This bastard’s arrogance was rooted in his overwhelming wealth, and Carlyle clearly knew it. Most of the Berthheimer ducal estate’s real estate was already as good as his.

Not just real estate. Everything the ducal house had ever put up for auction. Their lots never drew bidders, and after round after round of failed sales, once the price had fallen to nothing, Carlyle would step in and buy.

The reason this kept happening to a family that had once been a pillar of the kingdom was obvious. Carlyle’s doing. And yet the ducal house never sold to him directly or asked him for financial help. Carlyle, for his part, dealt strictly through auction and never offered any mercy. This was a game of pride between the two of them.

‘Carlyle Berthheimer. A bastard who stands at the top and still goes unrecognized.’

His name said it all, bearing nothing but the Duke’s surname, stripped of any middle name that would mark his lineage.

Yet rather than trying to erase the shameful brand of his bastardy, he had wielded that name across every contract like a heavy sword and swallowed Lafreia whole. Now the tip of that sword, one that knew nothing of chivalry, was pointed squarely at the Duke’s throat.

“I doubt you crossed the sea to discuss the Duke’s unfortunate financial situation.”

After Michel let the silence stretch, Carlyle finally spoke again. By then, something beyond boredom had begun to show in those blue eyes.

“You are aware, I presume, that the Volterra imperial household’s dignity allowance is still being paid to the Berthheimer ducal house? Thanks to the grand duchess dowager, who was an imperial princess.”

Michel’s voice came out carefully as the curve of his smile grew. At that, Carlyle’s thick eyebrows lifted slightly, as though his interest had been caught.

“I will table a motion in parliament to have that legislation abolished.”

At those words, the corner of Carlyle’s mouth tilted.

“Isn’t that what you want, President?”

Michel knew the one thing Carlyle, who had the kingdom at his feet, could not accomplish on his own.

Destroying the lifeboat that went by the elegant name of the imperial dignity allowance.

“Royals ride golden carriages even in flight. But once the income is cut off, they won’t be able to maintain even a quarter of their current lifestyle.”

This steady stream of money was the ducal house’s last remaining pride.

But this man was not someone who would be satisfied with simply cornering the ducal house. Carlyle’s victories always ended in repayment and ruin.

“Keep the nobility of royalty. Take that distinguished name for yourself.”

If the ducal house had wounded his pride, he would shatter theirs. The bastard they had treated as less than human, the son of a pr*stitute, would become the owner of that exalted name. He would make them weep tears of humiliation, with the hierarchy carved into their bones.

Michel Bardo’s arrival had brought that beautiful future within reach.

“A law that does nothing but drain taxes to preserve a fortunate bloodline would be better off gone.”

When the matter of touching the imperial house came to the table, Carlyle slid out of it like a snake. But his meaning was unmistakable, for all that he had been so blunt when expressing boredom.

Michel finally let out a laugh, though he pressed on without concern. What mattered more than Carlyle’s attitude was what profit the man could bring him.

“Not many people even know this law is still in effect. The moment it comes to light, abolishing it is only a matter of time. The world is changing, and the people won’t stay quiet.”

“……”

After a brief silence, Carlyle rose from the sofa, crossed to the cabinet, took ice from the icebox, and poured two glasses of whiskey. He slid one toward Michel, and with that, made clear the deal had value to him.

“What is it you want, Sir Bardo?”

“I want to overturn the perception that we are a perpetual second-rate jeweler. I’d like you to do some promotion for us.”

Michel drew a catalogue from his briefcase and pushed it across to Carlyle. While Carlyle looked over the jewelry designs, Michel began to explain.

“As you know, the value assessments of luxury brands rarely shift. So the idea is to build the perception that we are the best-selling jeweler in Lafreia, the rising power, and use that to challenge Volterra’s top position.”

“Hmm……”

“Wouldn’t that be possible through ‘Comus,’ the gossip paper that is effectively yours? Even if it’s registered under a fellow named Davis Brandon.”

At the mention of that particular publication, one corner of Carlyle’s mouth rose in amusement. He set down the catalogue, leaned back into the sofa, and met Michel’s gaze.

“You didn’t think I’d go after the imperial house without being this prepared, did you?”

The middle-aged man held Carlyle’s slanted stare and kept smiling. Not an easy opponent, after all. He had clearly dug up the equity contracts for Comus somehow, tracing it all the way to the shell company registered under a proxy name.

But contracts with people who would do anything for their own ends were usually clean.

“What I’m offering is the ability to purchase a dukedom.”

Michel Bardo drove the point home with that final, blunter declaration.

“Isn’t this the age where money holds more power than blood?”

He didn’t forget to add something to win Carlyle’s favor. Sure enough, a satisfied smile settled on the President’s lips.

“……You’re a reliable man, Sir Bardo.”

The deal didn’t take long to close. They exchanged contracts bearing a three-month term, and Michel Bardo left the office.

While Carlyle finished his whiskey and smoked a cigarette, his secretary came in.

“Sir, Mr. Brandon stopped by.”

Carlyle read the memo handed to him, then checked his wristwatch. The secretary asked, “Shall I have the car brought around?”

Carlyle gave a short nod, and his departure was arranged with seamless efficiency.

A little while later, a sleek black car appeared along the Ifley River cutting through the capital. It shed sunlight off its gleaming body as it pulled to a stop in front of the upscale terrace café where Davis Brandon was waiting.

The moment Carlyle stepped out from the back, the people nearby began to murmur. He acknowledged the ladies blushing and stealing glances at him with a small nod, then went to sit at the corner table in the outdoor section where Davis was waiting.

“Did you dress up like that for the school event this afternoon?”

Davis looked him up and down with a crooked grin the moment Carlyle sat down.

“Your doing, wasn’t it? Showing him the equity contracts.”

Carlyle slowly swept his blue eyes around to check their surroundings before speaking. Davis had paid to keep all the nearby seats empty, but there was no harm in being careful.

“Think of how much I stand to gain once you become His Grace the Duke. No reason to pass that up. I only showed you the one way you could buy a dukedom.”

Davis chuckled and lifted his teacup.

“Those noble descendants of the Emperor certainly won’t stoop to working for a living. But they won’t want to fade into the pages of history either. That leaves you as the only option.”