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Chapter – 07
Late at night.
At this hour, the lights in the count’s office should have been off.
Arno Dienche was the type of man who slept and woke at fixed times unless business required otherwise.
To him, trust was the most important currency in business, and self-discipline was the foundation of that trust.
“Is something troubling you?”
Because of that, the fact that the lights were still on in his office made Alfredo ask in concern.
Arno set down the documents he’d been reviewing and looked at Alfredo.
“There’s a lot of work.”
A lot of work?
He had stayed up all last night reviewing nearly all the documents and giving out various instructions.
As a result, Alfredo had been worked nearly to death and hadn’t even been able to accompany the young lady to her rehearsal.
Which meant that, realistically, the count had almost no work left at the moment—
“Where did all this work suddenly come fro—”
Before Alfredo could finish speaking, a sound came from the window.
Carriage wheels.
At the same time, Arno’s brow lifted slightly.
“They’ve finally arrived.”
“Sir, I just want to be sure, but… were you waiting for them?”
Before Alfredo could finish asking, the sound of the front gate opening echoed through the hallways. From the office near the entrance, a weary voice drifted in.
“Tired… Give me and that kid something to snack on, would you? Bring it upstairs, please. We’ll be going over the script up there—”
“We?”
That was when Arno’s cold voice cut through the office.
The temperature seemed to drop, making Alfredo shiver.
Arno strode past him and opened the office door.
“It’s late. Even for the sake of the Dienche family’s honor, is it truly so difficult for you, Lady, to refrain from staying out so late?”
He wants a fight.
For once, Alfredo instantly grasped his master’s intention.
He urgently signaled to the nearby maids.
“Ah…”
Luiza smiled awkwardly as she watched the maids scatter like the tide receding.
Seeing that smile only made Arno’s expression harden further.
Lately, instead of lashing out, she smiled often—and every time, Arno’s mood hit rock bottom.
“Yes. The Dienche family’s honor. Speaking of which, I actually had something to say about that, but I’ve been busy and forgot.”
“What do you mean?”
“This will be all for today’s rehearsal. Let’s continue the rest tomorrow.”
Luiza spoke to the man standing behind her.
The man.
Yes, when referring to the slave she had bought, she always called him “that kid” in front of the maids.
Though he claimed to be nineteen, his physique was clearly that of a grown man—yet calling him “a kid” made him sound like anything but a man.
If she had brought that man into her bedroom to do something improper with him, Arno might actually have been less bothered.
But she hadn’t.
Yesterday morning, Arno had caught a rare glimpse of her. She was reading in the study, seemingly unaware he was there.
She lifted her head.
Her feline eyes—sharp yet sometimes languid—drifted toward the window.
More precisely, toward the garden beyond it, where that slave was working.
At first her gaze was calm, like a person appreciating a work of art—
but then, a strange emotion began to fill it.
Fear.
Why was Luiza afraid of the very slave she had purchased?
He could not find an answer.
Bang.
Luiza entered the office and shut the wooden door behind her.
“It closes louder than I thought. I shut it because I feel like this isn’t something others should hear. Though, being in a room alone with you feels suffocating.”
Recently, Luiza had picked up a strange way of speaking.
Arno spoke irritably.
“I don’t care.”
“Great. Then I’ll say it.”
Luiza stood straight by the door. He considered offering her a seat, but she began speaking before he could.
“If this play succeeds, I’ll be able to repay my debt.”
As if.
He abandoned the idea of offering her a seat and reached for the teapot.
While he poured her tea, Luiza continued.
“And once I do, we should break off the engagement.”
His hand froze.
The cup wasn’t even half-filled.
Arno looked up.
“What?”
“Oh, but don’t worry. The play will definitely succeed. Which means we are absolutely going to break off the engagement, Count.”
A strand of her hair fell loose and swayed softly.
A faint breeze brushed by from somewhere.
Luiza imagined the answer he was about to give would be something like:
“How can you be sure the play will succeed?”
Arno Dienche was a cold-headed businessman. He would not trust a promise built on uncertainty.
Then she would invite him to watch the rehearsal.
Judging from Leo Fier’s performance today, it wouldn’t take long before he reached an impressive level.
Of course, Leo’s growth wasn’t because he was some acting genius—it was because she was a directing genius.
First of all, his face is perfect for Romeo.
When a performer’s visual aura matches the role perfectly, their acting can appear 200% better.
Sometimes, a rookie actor debuts like a comet and receives rave reviews, only to flop in their next works—because the first director used them flawlessly.
When that happens, the actor doesn’t act—the lines simply come out as if they were real.
Today, Leo had shown he had that potential.
With a rebellious face and tone, he already embodied the youthful, impulsive Romeo.
That alone was enough for him to soar once he received her direction—hers, Shin Geurim’s.
And it wasn’t just his vibe.
He’s handsome.
Beauty standards vary, and no one is universally attractive to 100% of people.
But there are faces that appeal to the masses.
And he had one.
A rebellious but universally appealing face.
The kind of face that made people turn for a second look.
Women would return to watch the play again—and again—just to see that face.
If she wanted Arno to understand that, she needed the rehearsals polished first—
“Why?”
“Hm?”
Luiza blinked, thrown off by the unexpected question.
Arno Dienche looked… not arrogant, but stiff and uneasy.
“Why do you suddenly want to break off the engagement?”
Suddenly?
In truth, she’d planned it from the very beginning.
Of course she had.
Luiza had caused numerous scandals yet clung to Arno every time he tried to end the engagement.
In the end, a public auction was held, and because of that auction, Arno had declared the engagement broken.
Yet even then, Luiza milked the story of being “discarded” and gained sympathy, causing the Dienche family to be scorned for betraying trust with a ducal family.
Arno’s anger grew so great he gave damning testimony against her at trial later.
The cold-blooded man who valued time like gold took time out of his life to seek revenge.
If Luiza wanted to soften even a fraction of Arno’s future hatred, the engagement had to end.
But in a way that would damage the Dienche family’s honor as little as possible—preferably after her play gained recognition.
“I thought about it. Why would you buy that slave and not lay a hand on him? Could it be that you’re feeling guilty now? No, that’s impossible. When we first met, you had no shame declaring that this marriage benefited only you.”
‘You got yourself a good deal, pretty thing.’
Yes.
That crazy villainess had said that.
To a ten-year-old boy—when she was nine.
‘Your family is nothing but nouveau riche scum besides having money. Do you even know how nobles greet each other?’
Thinking about it, she could understand why Arno despised her so much. Why he later wanted to contribute to her execution.
“Right. This script.”
Arno picked up the script of Romeo and Juliet that sat on his desk.
Why was it in such easy reach?
The thought didn’t linger long.
“I admit I was surprised. That you wrote it. The romance is quite… earnest. For a moment, I almost wondered if you’d fallen in love. With that slave. And you were afraid that love would ruin you.”
He removed his glasses. The violet eyes behind them gleamed.
For the first time, Arno Dienche had lost his composure.
“But no. After hearing you speak of breaking the engagement today, I finally understand. You want to end the engagement at the moment everyone believes you’ve found love. You’ll ride the sympathy when I—some vulgar, uncultured nouveau riche—cast you aside after creating a love story on stage. Then public opinion will turn in your favor!”
Arno stared at her, his face filled with fury.
So, this was the real face behind the calm mask.
A lifetime of inferiority and resentment from being treated as lowborn and uncultured by nobles.
It had been provoked.
By a fallen princess who dared bring up ending the engagement.
Everyone thought so.
When Luiza Messena burned at the stake, her sins were exaggerated.
She seduced the emperor to sell imperial secrets, she slept with countless men behind her fiancé’s back, she even sold her grandfather’s ashes.
But in truth—
She had been too foolish to ever be a spy.
She treated men like luxury items, but hated being touched.
Her grandfather had been strict, yet she kept his urn hidden under her bed until the end.
But the crowd needed her to be unworthy of sympathy.
The villainess at the stake had to be someone no one could pity.
“So that’s why you want to break the—”
“When I was nine, my parents died in a carriage accident. That very night, after the funeral, my grandfather told me I was to be engaged to you.”
In the novel, Luiza’s childhood was mentioned only once—when, drunk, she confessed to Rudi why she became obsessed with collecting.
“I refused. At that age, I still believed you married someone you loved.”
“……”
“But Grandfather slapped me and said I had no choice. That I was merchandise to be sold.”
Arno’s brows furrowed deeply.
“You dare tarnish the dead’s—”
She let out a short laugh and tangled her fingers in her hair.
He thought she was lying—
“He said I had no choice. That for the sake of the family, I had to marry into the wealthy Dienche house. That the only value left behind by my weak parents was the price of selling me off. And if I disliked it, he would gladly throw me onto the streets to starve.”
“Lady…”
“After that, I pitied myself. I hated living dressed up in the Messena name I didn’t even want. So I showered the pitiful me with expensive clothes, shoes, and men.”
“You expect that to excuse—”
“Believe it or don’t. Your choice.”
Then she lifted her head.
She could imagine what her face must look like.
A mess.
She had slipped too deeply into emotion.
A nine-year-old girl.
Forced to trade away love for unwanted wealth and honor.
It was too much like…
Shin Geurim.
She had traded away her life for a picture-perfect future she never wanted.
No—her mother did.
Her mother sold her to a chaebol family.
Right after giving birth, she had signed a contract: once the child entered elementary school, they would never see each other again—in exchange for unlimited support to go to Hollywood.
Yes.
That day she and her mother watched a play together—
She never saw her mother again.
Through her blurred vision, she heard Arno’s breathing.
Curious, she wiped her tears.
In her restored sight, Arno looked merely… startled.
She had expected that, yet it still felt strange.
“But there is one more thing I must say. Did you examine the characters in this script carefully? Then you should know what I mean.”
“…What are you—”
Luiza walked toward him.
Arno flinched and stepped back, but she stopped close enough to hear him breathe. Then she plucked the script from his hand.
“I’m not breaking off the engagement because of another man. It’s because of you.”
Her script had one major difference from Shakespeare’s original:
The characterization of Count Paris, Juliet’s betrothed.
In the original, Paris lusts after fourteen-year-old Juliet and pesters Romeo until the end.
In her script, Paris is also a young boy, and he says this to Juliet:
‘I want you to be as happy as I am. Tell your parents you won’t marry if you don’t want to.’
His words held no real power, but they gave Juliet great comfort.
“As much as I pitied myself, you must have pitied yourself too. How miserable you must have been, forced to marry a spoiled girl you never wanted. So I wanted Paris to find happiness just like Juliet. That is why I want to end this engagement, Count.”
“……!”
His face in that moment—
How should one describe it?
A face never once described in the original novel.
Like someone had been struck on the back of the head with a club—stunned stupid.
Yes. That was it.
