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Chapter 14
At his words, Scarlett slowly opened the eyes she had tightly shut and looked up at Victor.
“Should I do that, then?”
When she asked, Victor muttered with an indifferent expression,
“Yes. You always did have a talent for ruining my mood.”
Scarlett had never expected Victor to say something like that. Without realizing it, she tensed so hard her chest rose sharply with each breath before she shoved him away with all her strength.
But he did not move aside.
Instead, he seized the wrist she had been reaching toward the doorknob with and pinned it against the door as he continued speaking.
“The last time we spoke, you said this, didn’t you? That I signed the divorce papers immediately because I wanted the divorce too.”
“…Obviously.”
Flustered, Scarlett tried to pull her wrist free, but his grip would not budge. It was like being shackled in iron handcuffs.
“Were you that unhappy that I let you divorce me so easily? Then should I have acted like a lunatic and locked you up like this?”
Her ex-husband was acting strangely.
This was the first time she had ever seen Victor openly display such aggression.
Trying to hide her fear, Scarlett glared at him with the wary fierceness of a cornered animal baring its claws.
“What’s wrong with you? This isn’t like you.”
“I’m asking you. You and my father both hid everything from me as though it had nothing to do with me, so what exactly was I supposed to do to satisfy you? A woman shoves divorce papers at me in the middle of the night while I’m drunk and then walks away—what exactly should I have done?”
“….”
Scarlett stayed silent for a long time.
Finally, after a lengthy pause, she spoke.
“You didn’t ask me? Why I wanted a divorce?”
“You weren’t in a rational state.”
“You’re always too rational, so how much more rational do you need to be? You…”
Scarlett forced herself to speak calmly, but after that only the sound of her trembling breathing filled the room.
Whenever she talked to this man, she always felt as though she alone had become insane.
He could stand in a situation where she felt something was deeply wrong and experience absolutely nothing at all.
‘I’m always the only emotional one.’
Victor, wearing the same detached expression as ever, stared at Scarlett as though waiting for her to finish speaking when her sentence trailed off.
Unlike him, Scarlett could never hide her emotions. Even when she tried to appear cold, every feeling showed plainly on her face.
Victor looked at her like some strange lifeform that had always existed somewhere in the world but had never been discovered—something that might dwell in the deepest trenches of the sea.
Why she laughed.
Why she cried.
Why she became angry.
Why she had loved and devoted herself to a man she barely knew from the moment they met.
And then why she betrayed him.
Why she left him.
Not a single one of those things made sense to him.
In truth, Victor was not the only one like that. Many nobles of Salantier despised behavior they considered meaningless—people who desired something beyond merely existing as nobles, whether they were excessively rational or excessively sentimental.
Victor’s world was one where everything connected neatly together.
Scarlett’s world was scattered and chaotic.
From the perspective of someone as flawless as Victor, Scarlett often—no, almost always—seemed completely irrational.
At that moment, a knock broke the silence outside the door.
“It’s Fran, Young Master.”
As Victor reached toward the lock, Scarlett raised her hand to stop him, clearly telling him not to come any closer.
Being a gentleman, Victor had no choice but to step back, allowing Scarlett to open the door herself.
Fran, the Dempelt family’s lawyer, pretended not to notice the commotion from inside and offered a professional smile.
“I found the nondisclosure agreement. The master’s secretary had it.”
Then Fran handed a document to Scarlett.
“We processed it as alimony of the same amount. You may rest easy now.”
“….”
Holding the paper, Scarlett turned to Victor.
Before she had even said anything, he had already resolved the entire matter.
Victor glanced over the nondisclosure agreement Scarlett had signed, lit it with his lighter, and tossed it into the fireplace.
Then he turned back toward her.
Scarlett was staring at him coldly.
“What?” he asked. “You don’t like this either?”
“…Everything comes so easily to you.”
“If you had come to me first, it all would have been.”
At his words, Scarlett closed her eyes briefly.
She knew her ex-husband hated showing others any sign of losing composure.
‘But even then, what would have changed?’
In the end, even that refusal to stop her—the fact that he had cared more about not appearing drunk before others—was part of who Victor Dempelt was.
Noble blood.
The kind of blood that felt as though it would never mix with hers, even if spilled together.
When Scarlett turned to leave, Victor spoke to the secretary waiting outside the door.
“Prepare the carriage. We’re going to the Crimson estate.”
“Yes, Young Master.”
Blaight bowed and hurried off.
Scarlett wanted to ask why he was deciding on his own to go to the Crimson house, but she no longer wished to argue, so she held her tongue.
The trip to the Crimson estate took over two hours by carriage.
Scarlett swallowed back her discomfort and repeated sighs, forcing them down her throat.
Meanwhile, unable to endure the long silence, Victor pulled out a cigarette case and lighter.
Scarlett looked at him.
“You don’t smoke indoors.”
“I didn’t smoke when you were around.”
“….”
“You’re not my wife anymore, so it doesn’t matter now.”
Scarlett stared at him for a moment before reluctantly opening the carriage window.
It seemed he believed that now they were divorced, there was no longer any need to consider the other person’s comfort.
Or perhaps, she thought bitterly, he was doing it deliberately to torment her.
Victor lit the cigarette.
Scarlett tried to ignore it, but smoke quickly filled the cramped carriage, and she soon broke into coughing.
Seeing that, Victor unexpectedly laughed and crushed the cigarette out in a portable ashtray.
“If you were going to glare at me like that, you should’ve just told me not to smoke.”
Compared to when they were married, Victor somehow seemed more relaxed now.
He was still dressed with suffocating precision and elegance, yet something about him felt looser.
No matter how badly the divorce had ended, Scarlett still found herself worried enough to ask,
“Did something happen lately?”
“I got divorced.”
“…I meant recently.”
“I discovered my wife signed a nondisclosure agreement with my father.”
“….”
“Now that I think about it, I suppose I had enough reason to smoke a cigarette.”
In Scarlett’s eyes, Victor Dempelt had always been a perfect man.
There was nothing lacking in him. His life had progressed straight toward success like a railroad with no deviations.
But after the divorce, she had begun to realize he was not actually flawless.
He was a heavy smoker.
For someone supposedly rational, he had serious problems understanding emotions.
And he even had terrible taste in art.
He was not quite the perfect man she remembered.
Two hours later, the carriage arrived at Crimson Street.
Victor stepped out first and held out his hand.
Scarlett placed her hand atop his and descended the carriage steps the coachman had set out.
Once they reached the ground, Victor flicked his fingers lightly, signaling a servant to gather Scarlett’s luggage.
After spending an entire year doing everything alone, suddenly being treated like an aristocratic lady again felt deeply uncomfortable.
Victor was the sort of narrow-minded gentleman who believed ladies should not even have to lift a finger, like delicate flowers.
To him, a true lady should never need to work—should hardly even need to speak.
Scarlett was certain Victor secretly considered her running a clock shop utterly pathetic.
Scarlett offered a farewell.
“Thank you. You’re going back to the official residence?”
“Probably.”
“Travel safely.”
After saying goodbye, Scarlett turned away.
As she entered the front yard, she saw Arnold and Marilyn’s friends gathered around a bonfire, drinking and laughing together.
Strangely, none of them picked a fight with her.
When she glanced back curiously, she saw Victor standing beside the carriage smoking the cigarette he had been unable to finish earlier.
Without a word, Scarlett turned away again and walked toward the house.
