IGBD 52

Chapter 52

When Anita closed the box lid and left the room, Lydia smirked.

“It’s better to be thorough.”

The medicine Nunuki had brought was the contraceptive Lydia had ordered. With that, Sereret and Yuan would never be able to have a child.

Yuan might not hold Sereret now, but for the sake of the family, one day he inevitably would. But if Sereret could not bear a child, Yuan would cast her aside.

Just the thought lifted Lydia’s mood, and she burst out laughing. How miserable Sereret would be. She might feel triumphant now, but once abandoned, the blow would be devastating. How pitiful, for a friend.

Smiling to herself, Lydia resumed her embroidery, imagining a discarded Sereret.

Her own wedding dress and ring would be far finer than Sereret’s. The ceremony would be properly grand, held at the Frectuster ducal estate.

All the furniture in the house would be replaced. Not a single trace of Sereret would remain in House Frectuster.

Lost in her delightful fantasies, Lydia began to hum like a bird.

A little while later, Anita returned. She told Lydia she had successfully handed the medicine over to a maid of House Frectuster, and then brought new information.

“They say the Duchess of Frectuster is hosting her first party. Seems she’s doing everything expected of a duchess.”

Anita flattered Lydia by belittling Sereret.

“Really?”

Lydia’s eyes lit up at Anita’s words. Hosting her first party as duchess? Then of course she had to help—after all, she was Sereret’s friend.

“They’ve only set a date so far.”

“When is it?”

“The seventeenth.”

“The seventeenth?”

Lydia’s lips curled upward.

That was an excellent day for a party. She burst into a bright, cheerful laugh.

⚜ ⚜ ⚜

“Here’s the menu list.”

Madam Lindsay handed Sereret a document.

Sereret accepted it and glanced at her. Without even meeting Sereret’s eyes, Lindsay gave a quick bow and hurried out of the room.

Yuan’s opinion had matched Sereret’s: the number of noble guests should be reduced, and more business-related figures invited.

Though he hadn’t said it aloud, Yuan had looked at Madam Lindsay with faint disdain when voicing his thoughts. She had clearly felt it, because her face flushed crimson in his presence.

“She won’t even look you in the eye.”

Hannah remarked as she approached Sereret.

“Seems so,” Sereret replied lightly, reviewing the menu.

Wanting to add another dish, she marked it with her pen.

“She looked terribly insulted,” Eve commented, setting down her teacup.

“With His Grace’s kind of gaze, even His Imperial Majesty would feel slighted.”

Sereret let out a small laugh and lifted her eyes from the document.

In her previous life, she had received that gaze from Yuan countless times—wounding her pride, breaking her heart. The memory reignited her resentment, and her brow furrowed.

“The Duke is… a little frightening.”

“He’s not exactly an easy, approachable man.”

At Eve’s remark, Sereret nodded in agreement. Frightening, indeed. A man who could look at his wife like that—and even send her poison.

Smiling faintly, Eve suddenly remembered something.

“Come to think of it, today’s the opening of the Salon Exhibition.”

“Oh! The Salon!”

At her words, Sereret realized with a start that today was the 9th, the opening day of the annual Salon Exhibition. She had nearly forgotten.

The Salon was held every May—a prestigious art exhibition. It was both a gateway for emerging painters and a stage for established artists to unveil new works.

Because fine pieces were often actively traded there, nobles and wealthy members of the middle class never missed the event.

Setting aside the pen and papers, Sereret turned to Eve.

“Fix my hair for me, Eve.”

“Are you going out?”

“The Salon,” Sereret answered, heading toward her vanity.

There was one painting she absolutely had to buy. If she failed to divorce Yuan properly, she needed something tangible and valuable she could rely on.

Eve followed her to the vanity, and with swift, precise movements, styled Sereret’s hair.

Once ready, Sereret took a key from her drawer and approached the safe. Inside were valuables, along with the dignity allowance issued to her as Duchess of Frectuster.

Taking the money, she left the ducal residence alone.

The exhibition hall was bustling with people, as expected for opening day. Sereret exchanged greetings with a few acquaintances, then browsed the works.

Her legs and eyes moved restlessly, searching for one painting in particular.

And then, she found it.

“There you are.”

Though she had never seen it firsthand in her previous life, she recognized the painting instantly.

Her lips parted slightly. Seeing it in person, she finally understood the commotion it had caused. Eyes sparkling, she approached.

It depicted a nearly nude man reclining seductively on a couch, his hand covering his eyes and nose. The brown-haired man was handsome, with a sculpted physique.

The caption read Self-Portrait, and the artist’s name: Gentleman. Unusually, a price was listed—one thousand lufings.

“Ha, clearly not in his right mind.”

“Indeed. To so brazenly post a price—how vulgar the Salon has become.”

“The painting itself is vulgar. A half-naked man? Far too indecent.”

“The composition is dreadful.”

“Look at the name. Gentleman. Ridiculous. Clearly some amateur’s prank.”

“The Salon has truly gone downhill.”

The gentlemen viewing it clicked their tongues and walked away.

Sereret quietly studied the painting they had scorned. This was the very one she had come to buy.

“How do you like it?”

A familiar voice spoke from beside her.

Turning, she saw Regan smiling brightly at her.

“Your Grace.”

Sereret offered a polite bow. It was the first time seeing him since he had unexpectedly visited to bring her Luasic desserts.

“They were delicious. Thank you, Your Grace,” she said. She had enjoyed them so much she occasionally bought them herself afterward.

Regan struggled to rein in the corners of his lips. If he wasn’t careful, his smile might touch his eyes.

“Next time, I’ll find something even better.”

Watching his determined tone, Sereret smiled faintly.

“As expected, you’re here at this Salon as well!”

It was Regan’s father who had first started the Salon Exhibition. Shortly after being granted Popwell Castle and the title of Grand Duke, he had established it. The Salon now had a history of over thirty years.

“How could I not attend a Popwell Salon?” Regan replied with a smile.

“You do love paintings, don’t you?”

Like his father, Regan was known as a great lover of art. He had recognized and supported Quentin Dahl, the empire’s most celebrated painter, even in his early days.

Besides Dahl, Regan had befriended many painters and become a steadfast patron to talented artists.

“There’s nothing more beautiful than art. Well, except perhaps the Duchess of Frectuster before me.”

“Thank you for the compliment.”

At his jest, Sereret smiled.

“But… Yuan isn’t with you?”

Regan glanced around as if searching for him.

“No, I came alone.”

“Alone?”

“I’m thinking of buying a painting.”

“Oh? Have you found one you like?”

He perked up, eager to help.

But Sereret had already decided before coming—this painting, displayed here today, would be worth dozens of times more in just a few months.

“Yes, this one.”

She turned her gaze to the painting before them.

Though signed Gentleman, the true artist was Quentin Dahl, the greatest painter in the Aelune Empire.

This work had been at the center of controversy throughout the exhibition. Its subject, composition, and technique were all bold and unconventional.

Such an experimental piece, submitted under a newcomer’s name, had drawn heavy criticism at first. Some even mocked its title, Self-Portrait, as arrogant.

But on the last day, Quentin Dahl announced it was his own work.

The revelation shook not just the capital but the entire empire. Even Sereret, who hadn’t cared for art, had learned of it through magazines and newspapers.

“This one?”

Regan’s face showed genuine shock.

His surprise made Sereret wonder. Could it be that Regan—who both oversaw the Salon and supported Dahl—already knew Gentleman was Quentin Dahl?

“Yes. I like it,” she replied, watching his face.

At her words, Regan’s ears flushed red. He cleared his throat, exhaled, then forced an awkward smile.

“Don’t you find it a little indecent… for a lady’s eyes?”

“It could be seen that way,” Sereret admitted. “But I sense the painter’s wit. It feels like a painting hiding some kind of joke.”

“Really?”

Regan scratched his temple, looking uneasy.

“Somehow, it even feels like Quentin Dahl’s style,” Sereret added casually, testing him.

In an instant, his expression shifted. He stared at her, slightly dazed.

“You mean that friend of mine, Quentin Dahl?”

“Yes. I’m sure he’ll be famous in a few years—someone like Quentin Dahl.”

Her words softened his expression into a smile, followed by a low sigh.

“This is troublesome,” he muttered under his breath.

Sereret smiled faintly. So he did know—Gentleman was Quentin Dahl.

“I believe he’ll be the next great painter to represent Aelune, after Quentin Dahl himself.”

At that, Regan laughed aloud, conceding defeat.

“This painting is yours. I was going to buy it myself, but I’ll yield. Yuan will probably try to kill me for it, though.”

He spoke again after his laughter subsided, his gaze on Sereret layered with emotions.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she replied with a bright smile.

She had secured an extraordinarily valuable painting—one that would bring her immense profit.