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Chapter: 43
Her shock faded quickly, replaced by a cold sense of betrayal as Juliet glared at him.
I helped you!
She was dumbfounded. She helped catch a thief, and in return, he stole her necklace?
She had steeled herself somewhat before stepping into the lawless Eastern region, but repaying kindness with treachery like this—
And that man looked wealthy, too. Someone with money calmly screwing people over and stealing their belongings. What kind of shameless bastard does that?
“My name is Lionel Levaton.”
“……”
She hadn’t expected the identity of that petty thief to be a legendary traitor. Juliet froze at his words.
A legendary former mercenary.
The traitor once called the Red King of the East.
Juliet thought blankly.
He was still alive?
His upright posture, red hair—and the rough-looking men who poured out from behind the bookshelves in droves—only reinforced the sense of authority around him.
Shing.
Men who appeared to be Lionel Levaton’s subordinates raised their weapons at Juliet.
Ignoring them, Juliet continued to assess the young man she was holding hostage—Theo.
Then this brat who keeps getting called “young master” is…
“Will you release my grandson now?”
…So he was the Red King’s grandson.
“If you don’t let him go, you won’t be leaving here alive.”
Juliet replied coolly and instead pulled her dagger closer to Theo’s neck.
“So what—you’re saying you’ll spare me if I let him go? And why should I trust you?”
Then, suddenly, Lionel Levaton said something completely unexpected.
“Did the one who taught you the sword not teach you the virtue of humility in disadvantage, or the courtesy of giving your name?”
Juliet didn’t even blink. The man who drilled self-defense into her had been worlds away from courtesy.
“Do we really need introductions? My name’s written on the necklace you stole. ‘Lillian Seneca.’”
Lionel took a sharp step forward, anger flaring across his face.
“Do you dare—someone like you—stand before me and claim your name is Lillian Seneca?”
“And why not?”
She answered coldly, but honestly, Juliet didn’t understand the reaction.
Lillian Seneca is the name engraved on my mother’s necklace.
Why was he so sensitive?
Did Lionel Levaton actually know who Lillian Seneca was?
But after staring at her for a moment, the old man let out a quiet sigh and issued an order.
“Lower your weapons.”
“But sir, the young master—”
“Now.”
The weapons aimed at Juliet’s head disappeared.
“Do you feel like talking now?”
Juliet scoffed.
Talk? About what?
“If you release the boy and promise to come quietly, I’ll return this.”
When the old man pulled something from his chest, Juliet’s eyes widened.
My necklace!
It was her mother’s pearl necklace—the last keepsake she had.
A short while later, Juliet found herself in what looked like a grand council chamber.
A massive solid-wood table, crimson drapes, a roaring fireplace.
Surrounded by dozens of hostile gazes, Juliet calmly looked around.
So that man is…
Lionel Levaton—the head of the Eastern underworld.
They said he’d once been called the Red Lion in his youth. His presence was overwhelming.
His build wasn’t particularly imposing, despite his name—but his sharp, gleaming eyes were unmistakable.
Aside from Zachary standing beside him, everyone was unfamiliar.
…Ah, except Theo—Lionel Levaton’s grandson—who had his neck bandaged and was glaring daggers at her.
Juliet had released Theo in exchange for her necklace and followed quietly, but she was ready to release her butterfly and flee at any moment.
“You dared injure my bloodline in my territory?”
Your grandson started it, Juliet thought.
She lifted her gaze from Theo.
“You were the ones who touched my belongings first.”
“Your belongings?”
Heh—Lionel Levaton laughed coldly.
“That necklace belonged to my family long before you were born. I personally gave it to my daughter.”
Daughter?
Juliet snorted, about to snap back that it was her mother’s keepsake—pure nonsense—
“That—”
She stopped.
According to the card in the jewelry box, the necklace had been a gift from someone identified as “L.L.” to “Lillian Seneca.”
L.L.
…Lionel Levaton?
Her mind went blank. Rarely shaken, Juliet stared at the dignified old man as if entranced.
“But Lillian Seneca is—”
“Seneca means ‘morning star,’” Lionel said calmly.
“And ‘Levaton’ also means Venus in the ancient tongue.”
“……”
Juliet suddenly recalled something she’d once heard—mercenaries often used false names to protect their families.
So Lionel Levaton might not even be his real name…
…Then could it be?
“Yes. Which means—you are Lily’s daughter.”
Lionel Levaton stated it plainly, as if solving a simple equation.
It felt like a blow to the head. Juliet snapped back to herself.
“…I—I mean…”
She still couldn’t quite grasp it.
If that man really was her mother’s—Lillian Seneca’s—father, then what was she supposed to call him?
Excuse me?
Mr. Levaton? Too rude.
She’d been yelling at him just moments ago—calling him “sir” now felt awkward.
Fidgeting with her clothes, Juliet finally spoke.
“…Um. Grandpa?”
Crash!
“S-sorry, sir!”
One of Lionel Levaton’s subordinates stumbled and knocked over a decoration.
“Ahem!”
But no one paid him any attention. Everyone else was staring at Juliet in utter shock, mouths agape.
Was it really that strange?
Embarrassed, Juliet’s ears burned red.
Well—she supposed it was odd. A grown woman suddenly appearing and calling herself someone’s granddaughter.
I’d be shocked too.
Just as she resolved to be more careful—
“All right.”
Lionel Levaton, whose lips had been twitching as if suppressing a smile, nodded solemnly.
“I’m sorry for using your daughter’s—no, my mother’s—name without permission.”
She felt a little wronged saying it. It was her mother—couldn’t she use her name?
Still, she’d technically done something wrong, so she let it go.
“This is my mother’s keepsake. If you want, Grandfa— I mean, sir, I’ll return it.”
Juliet gently placed the necklace on the table and bowed.
“I’m sorry for causing a disturbance.”
She apologized, yet Lionel Levaton continued to look at her even after retrieving the necklace.
“Is that all you have to say to me?”
“That’s all.”
Juliet met his gaze without flinching.
“……”
Why was he looking at her like that? Almost… disappointed?
After a brief staring contest, Lionel gestured to his youngest grandson—Theo, his neck wrapped in bandages.
“Was it you who did that to him?”
Why ask what he already knew? Juliet nodded obediently.
“Yes.”
“And you threatened Zachary?”
“Yes…”
“And trashed my place of business?”
“…Yes.”
Dragging out her answer, Juliet shot Theo a glare.
Taking Theo hostage hadn’t even been part of her plan—she’d only intended to confront Zachary quietly. But that brat had jumped out at the worst moment.
“Then that’s settled.”
Tap.
Leaning on his cane, Lionel Levaton rose and gave a curt command as he walked away.
“Follow me.”
* * *
After winding through maze-like stairs, Juliet arrived at Lionel Levaton’s private library.
“Sit.”
Speaking bluntly, Lionel clinked as he took out a tea set. Juliet glanced around the room.
Books and documents piled haphazardly gave the library an antique charm.
A massive circular window filling an entire wall was distinctly Eastern Continental in style. Beyond it, mist rose gently from the water below.
Crimson walls and drapes, an ebony table, silk cushions and chairs—what seemed modest at first glance was filled with rare Eastern treasures.
Clink.
“Drink. It’ll warm you.”
The teaware he used to pour green tea before her was clearly valuable.
Holding the steaming cup, Juliet glanced sideways at him.
Did I follow him too easily?
She still felt dazed.
She only wanted to learn the truth behind her mother’s name—yet here she was, discovering that her elegant aristocratic mother had been the daughter of a traitor.
It felt unreal.
In her first life, she’d been told her maternal family was just a small fallen Eastern house.
…The tea could be poisoned.
Only then did Juliet tense.
For someone who’d learned of his only daughter’s fate after decades, Lionel Levaton seemed far too calm.
He hadn’t even looked surprised at the sudden appearance of a granddaughter.
And Juliet had just injured his grandson.
Yet Lionel drank calmly, and after hesitating, Juliet lifted her cup as well.
Grandfather and granddaughter drank in silence, the sound of drizzle filling the room.
Then Lionel suddenly spoke.
“So your surname is Monad.”
“…Yes.”
“Then your father must have been a noble officer stationed at the Sakhar base.”
Juliet flinched.
“You knew my father?”
“I only guessed.”
In a steady voice, Lionel began recounting the past.
He had a youngest daughter, born late in life—so precious he cherished her beyond measure.
Lillian Rose Seneca-Levaton.
Not long after she was born, he lost his wife. Drowning in grief, Lionel abandoned his name and chose permanent seclusion.
It happened shortly after he was branded a traitor.
Death did not frighten him—but forcing his young daughter to live as a traitor’s bloodline did.
His daughter grew bright and healthy, and out of her father’s sight, fell in love with a young officer.
“She wasn’t a child anymore. You can’t keep your children in your arms forever.”
When he discovered Lillian had disappeared, Lionel was furious—and worried—but part of him had expected this day would come.
“Wasn’t this place too small to live in forever?”
She’d gone so far away he could never find her.
In the East, Lionel wielded power like a king—but beyond it, he was merely a condemned criminal, bound for execution the moment he stepped outside.
So Lionel Levaton buried his daughter in his heart.
“I never imagined the thief who stole my daughter would be a damn Imperial count, of all people.”
Lionel smiled faintly.
Juliet looked up at him with moist blue eyes.
They were the same blue eyes as his only daughter’s.
“And your parents?”
Juliet snapped back to herself.
“…They passed away. Seven years ago.”
The words caught in her throat the moment she said them.
“No need to make that face. When I saw the necklace in your hands, I had a good idea.”
He smiled calmly and asked again.
“How did it happen?”
It was the question Juliet had feared most.
“My mother…”
She could have brushed it off as a carriage accident—but she didn’t.
The man before her had the right to know the truth of how his only daughter died.
Juliet explained haltingly.
“There was an incident. It was the day of the summer ball.”
Her father’s half-brother had come demanding a family artifact. When her father drove him away, he held a grudge and hired bandits.
That was how they died.
Juliet told him everything honestly.
“…That’s what happened.”
After listening patiently, her grandfather asked quietly.
“And what became of that man?”
“Baron Gaspal is… dead.”
He hadn’t asked what happened to him—but what she did to him.
Juliet didn’t elaborate. Lionel understood perfectly.
“Then that’s enough.”
“…I’m sorry.”
“Hm?”
As Juliet lowered her head, Lionel chuckled softly.
“What do you have to apologize for?”
“No—it’s my fault.”
Juliet bit her lip.
Don’t cry. You’re not a child. What right do you have to cry?
But once the tears started, they wouldn’t stop.
“I couldn’t… save my parents…”
I was the only one who survived.
“That is not something you must apologize for, my child.”
Lionel awkwardly tried to comfort her, but his warmth only made it worse.
Her grandfather didn’t know—
that Juliet had failed twice.
She had been given a chance.
A chance to go back and save them.
And she’d thrown it away—foolishly, carelessly.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”
Juliet cried openly like a child, releasing emotions she hadn’t shared with anyone for seven years.
Her grandfather patted her back until her sobs subsided.
“You are a brave girl. You even avenged your parents. In that, too—you resemble Lily.”
She couldn’t lift her head at his gentle words.
“You truly are worthy of being Lionel Levaton’s granddaughter.”
Smiling, he helped her up.
“Let’s go down now. I imagine those rats have reached their limit, eavesdropping.”
“What?”
Who did he mean?
Still red-eyed and sniffling, Juliet tilted her head as her grandfather approached a small side door.
Then he flung it open.
Crash!
“Ack!”
“Oof!”
Three middle-aged men tumbled out of a cramped space.
All red-haired, all bearing an uncanny resemblance to Theo.
“Ni—nice to meet you, Juliet.”
After sweeping the flustered men with a look of utter disdain, Lionel Levaton introduced them.
“Juliet, greet them. These idiots are your uncles.”
Juliet couldn’t help but laugh.
