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Chapter 50
At dawn, after a sleepless night, Scarlett finished her usual routine of breakfast and reading the newspaper.
“Couldn’t sleep a wink because of that bastard.”
She grumbled as she got up. He had shown up in the middle of the night, bleeding all over, scaring her half to death, and then disappeared as he pleased.
After cursing at Victor for quite a while, she noticed the clock—it was still early. She tried to focus on her work right away, but the strange sight of him last night kept bothering her.
Part of her wanted to warn him again never to show up at her shop uninvited. But at the same time, she couldn’t shake off the image of the wound on his pale neck, the blood trickling down, and that bitter expression on his face.
Scarlett went to Liv’s bakery to buy bread for lunch. Without realizing it, she picked out some dry loaves that looked like they’d soak up alcohol well. Liv hurried over and asked,
“What’s this, Scarlett? Did you drink?”
“No, not me…”
“Count Isaac?”
Liv’s eyes lit up as she asked, but Scarlett shook her head.
“My ex-husband came drunk.”
“What?”
“Not that I’m trying to feed him. I just suddenly felt like eating them myself…”
While Scarlett was speaking, Liv’s eyes went round.
Scarlett frowned.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You still have feelings. You totally do.”
“…What?”
“You! Don’t tell me you still have feelings for your ex-husband?”
“No, of course not. Don’t say scary things like that. I couldn’t possibly still have feelings—not after what he did to me.”
“Then why are you buying bread you never eat?”
“I really am going to eat it myself.”
Scarlett shoved the money into Liv’s hand and scurried out of the shop like she’d committed a crime.
Opening the paper bag, she inhaled the scent. The freshly baked bread smelled delicious. It was potato bread.
“Smells good. I’m definitely eating this.”
She muttered to herself like a vow. But on her way back, she stopped dead in her tracks—the figure standing in front of her building was Victor.
It made sense. After causing such a scene and vanishing, coming back to apologize was just the kind of thing Victor would do.
Scarlett instinctively hid the bag of bread behind her back. Victor leaned slightly toward her and asked,
“What are you hiding?”
“…Bread.”
“Bread?”
“I thought you might take it.”
Scarlett bit her lip in embarrassment after saying it.
Victor Dömfeld was the kind of man who wouldn’t touch another person’s plate even if he were starving. He might not even understand what she meant by “take.” Then again, maybe he’d seen enough pirates to know about plundering…
“Bread you’re going to eat?”
As expected, Victor sounded incredulous.
Scarlett blurted out in a fluster,
“Y-you showed up so suddenly last night. So I figured maybe suddenly you’d… want to snatch some bread, too?”
Yes, that sounded persuasive enough.
She looked at him, satisfied with her own excuse—only to see Victor smirking. Definitely mocking her.
“Why are you laughing? What’s so funny?”
“I do apologize for last night. You looked very startled.”
As expected, he apologized, and Scarlett nodded. She tapped her neck lightly with her fingers.
“How’s the wound?”
Victor unwound his scarf. A clean cotton bandage had been neatly applied.
She pressed again.
“Why did you do that?”
“My mother stabbed me.”
“What?”
Scarlett was speechless at that answer. Victor jerked his chin at the bread bag in her hand.
“Aren’t you going to share?”
“…I don’t have a silver tray. No aperitif either. Only thing I can offer is coffee.”
She spoke and led the way into the shop.
Victor remarked,
“Smells good.”
“Of course, it’s fresh. Try the potato bread—it’s really chewy.”
Victor pulled a piece from the bag, studied it for a moment, then began to eat. Scarlett took one too, tore it apart, popped a piece into her mouth, and chewed.
“Warm and tasty.”
Victor said nothing. He just ate slowly, as if chewing on bark. Now that she thought about it, Scarlett had never once heard Victor say something was delicious.
“Is it bad?”
“No.”
“Then it’s good?”
“Not sure.”
“So just so-so?”
“Mm.”
He seemed to find most food just “so-so.”
Always surrounded by perfection—servants who fetched anything with a flick of his fingers, looks anyone would envy—maybe to him, everything in the world felt bland because he himself was too perfect.
As Scarlett gazed at him, she went to the shelf, brought down a chess set, and set it on the table.
They began playing without a word. Scarlett quickly got into rhythm, winning the first two games. In the third, she finally spoke.
“How about losing a little more creatively?”
“Didn’t try hard enough, it seems.”
“Then don’t throw the game at all.”
She scolded, then asked,
“Why did you come?”
“After acting like that yesterday, wouldn’t it be stranger if I didn’t show up again?”
“Then why did you come yesterday?”
He answered smoothly,
“I wanted to see you when I was drunk.”
Scarlett’s face froze. After a long silence, she said,
“And yet when you were drunk before, you didn’t even bother asking why we divorced.”
“I’ve grown since then.”
“Why would being drunk make you want to see me? Did you have something to say?”
“Is it so strange? We were married once. Of course I’d want to see you.”
Scarlett scoffed at his calm tone.
“Victor, I was the one who loved you. What you felt wasn’t love.”
“Oh dear. We sure toss the word ‘love’ around lightly.”
“I don’t feel it anymore. And you never even knew what love was. That’s why it’s easy for both of us.”
Just then, a bell rang downstairs—customers.
Scarlett threw on a shawl.
“Stay here. Leave after the customer’s gone, understood?”
Victor replied,
“Don’t worry. I’m a soldier—I follow orders well.”
“….”
A man who’d never joked in his life was suddenly joking nonstop today. The hardest man in the world was acting oddly, making her feel more uneasy.
She shot him one more glare and went downstairs.
There stood Jane Day-Lewis, owner of several buildings in the district—including this one—along with her daughter, Ida.
“Mrs. Day-Lewis?”
“Miss Scarlett.”
Jane nudged her daughter forward.
“You know my daughter, don’t you? Seventeen this year.”
“Yes, I’ve seen her a few times.”
“As you’re still a noblewoman, I’d like you to take her to the ball tomorrow.”
“…As a chaperone?”
Jane continued,
“I know you’re a bit young for the role. But the lady we finally secured fell ill. Of course we’ll compensate you generously.”
Normally, in Salantie, chaperones were women who no longer had prospects of marriage—widowed or married at least twenty years.
But it was common knowledge that Scarlett Crimson had been cast out by House Dömfeld after angering Victor. No one expected anyone would risk marrying her again. Romance maybe, but marriage—never.
Jane eyed Scarlett’s worn dress and asked, almost pityingly,
“Do you even have a gown? Were you thrown out without alimony?”
“Why would I not? I opened a shop, didn’t I?”
“But you still have to work.”
“Clockmaking is the Crimson family’s business.”
Even so, Jane looked doubtful.
Scarlett added,
“Still, I lived on the west side of the capital during my marriage. I don’t really know anyone in the eastern social circles. Perhaps you should find someone else?”
It was difficult to outright refuse, given Jane owned the building.
From Jane’s perspective, though, she didn’t want to miss the chance to send her daughter to a ball under the wing of a noblewoman like Scarlett.
Jane insisted,
“How different could it be within the same capital?”
“…I’ll think about it.”
“You’d better think carefully.”
Her last words sounded almost like a threat.
Scarlett decided she could endure that much.
After barely managing to send them away, she closed the door and sighed. Heading back upstairs, she paused by the workshop door.
Victor sat back in a chair, staring at her workbench like a statue. His profile was so breathtakingly beautiful, she felt like she was gazing at a piece of art.
Even now, a year after their divorce, Scarlett still felt choked up whenever she looked at him.
“You can leave now,” she said.
Instead, Victor changed the subject.
“Let’s split a villa as your settlement.”
So he had heard everything downstairs.
“There’s a vineyard and a villa on the way to Lysse Falls. We’ll own it jointly.”
“You had a vineyard?”
“I bought it for my mother. But she’s legally incompetent now, and I’m her guardian. So it’s mine.”
Victor rose from his chair.
“I’ll send a carriage. Tell me the date.”
Scarlett retorted belatedly,
“We signed a prenup. Your property is yours, mine is mine. Just opening this shop was already too much.”
“That wasn’t alimony. That was a backroom deal between you and my father—without my knowledge.”
“….”
Backroom deal. He wasn’t wrong, but hearing it that way made her feel like she’d committed a crime.
Scarlett said quietly,
“It’s fine.”
“Think of it as the bare minimum for your dignity. I can’t stand hearing people talk about my ex-wife like that.”
“Talk like what?”
“Like introducing the daughter of some no-name family into society. You were a Dömfeld woman. That’s the kind of request people should beg for while offering their whole fortune—not throw at you like that.”
Scarlett had expected that one day Victor would criticize her way of living. If anything, she thought it showed his sense of understanding had improved, since he’d waited this long.
She had no confidence she could break his stubbornness anyway. And owning a vineyard and villa in the countryside would shield her from propositions like Mrs. Day-Lewis’s.
After the capital’s social season, everyone longed to be invited to countryside villa parties. Whoever hosted those parties naturally wielded influence.
Scarlett reluctantly asked,
“…So, jointly owned?”
“Any profits from the vineyard, we split fifty-fifty. The villa—we take turns using it whenever we want.”
“What if we want it on the same day?”
Victor chuckled.
“Worrying about that before you’ve even seen the place? Planning to go often?”
“I just want things clear. What if I end up running into you there? I don’t want that.”
“Of course I’d step aside. For a lady.”
…Well, true.
Victor was not the type to argue he had arrived first. And in their two years of marriage, she hadn’t even known he owned a vineyard—clearly, he didn’t visit often.
After some hesitation, Scarlett finally said,
“Next Wednesday… No, Wednesday. Just Wednesday.”
“All right. Wednesday.”
Victor got up and headed for the door. Scarlett called after him,
“Take care on your way.”
He answered her with a smile instead of words.
