TINT 140

Chapter : 140

Those who were certain that Christie would become the next Duke of Lowen still hadn’t given up their last hope and kept glancing toward the entrance.

Even Hilda Maynard, the vice-captain of the Royal Knights, who was responsible for security, bore a deep worry on her face.

“They seemed fairly close. Even if not, I’d be concerned if Sage becomes the next duke…”

Christie Lowen, who would become the capital’s defense commander, had a professional connection with Hilda Maynard, who was to be the next captain of the Royal Knights.

It was only natural that Hilda, closely involved with Christie both personally and professionally, would be concerned.

“Ah… over there, that looks like a personal matter that’ll end badly.”

A man with an intelligent appearance sighed heavily.

He was none other than Marquis Aster, Eric Aster, Richetea’s biological father.

Despite having an adult child, his delicate appearance made it hard to believe he was a parent. Perhaps the mental stress he had endured had left him unusually thin.

And it was understandable—he only had two months left on the Cullinan delivery contract he had signed with Catherine Lindberg.

Normally, that wouldn’t have been a tight deadline.

But that was only true when the technicians responsible for processing the Cullinan were still around and competent.

“The Cullinan mine operations are proceeding smoothly. I trust you’ll enjoy seeing the bewildered face of Marquis Aster soon enough.”

Richetea recalled a line from a letter Catherine had sent her.

Around that time, the technicians of the Cullinan workshop, who had lived off Richetea’s money, suddenly disappeared—somewhere Marquis Aster could never reach.

Naturally, the Aster household was thrown into chaos.

But no matter how extensively the entire country was searched, the missing technicians were nowhere to be found—as if they had vanished into the ground or soared into the sky.

Marquis Aster pressured the remaining technicians to learn a new processing method, but it was impossible.

As a result, the Cullinans processed in the Aster workshop didn’t even reach one-tenth of the 500 carats Catherine demanded.

Even that quantity had been completed before the technicians disappeared.

Richetea caught Marquis Aster’s eyes, and he seemed to want to say something but closed his lips again.

He seemed able to hold on… for now.

After all, the real hell would begin after failing to meet the delivery deadline.

When interest piled upon the invested amount, and interest again on top of that, a moment would come that would be unbearable.

That would be Richetea’s cue to step in.

While she was thinking that, a familiar face quickly approached through the crowd.

“Ah, Count—”

Diarmuid greeted warmly at the appearance of Count Dilton, the chief steward of Grand Duke Cassius’ household.

But before he could even finish speaking, Count Dilton smiled brightly and bent his knees in a bow.

“It is truly moving to see Their Highnesses together after so long.”

There was a peculiar, hard-to-describe aura about Count Dilton.

He gestured toward the shawl Diarmuid had draped over his arm, reaching out his hand.

“Your Highness, thank you for remembering my request. For the remaining time, as promised, I will accompany Your Highness Bi.”

A few words from Count Dilton made the people nod knowingly.

It seemed he had been trying to reconcile the two, serving the Cassius Grand Duke household.

Although it was a smooth improvisation, there was still one final hurdle for it to succeed.

Count Dilton’s eyes blazed as he prepared to snatch the shawl from Diarmuid.

Diarmuid didn’t understand why he had to hand over Richetea’s shawl, but seeing that look made him suspect something was off.

Hesitating, he extended his arm, and Count Dilton quickly grabbed the shawl.

“Your Highness Bi, there is someone I know who wishes to greet you. Would you meet them?”

“…Of course.”

Not stopping there, Count Dilton even took Richetea along and disappeared.

Diarmuid, suddenly stripped of his wife, trudged forward.

The pitiful sight left people puzzled again.

‘Are they really on bad terms?’

It wouldn’t be long before people found out the true answer.

“Ah, I’m tired. Can’t we just write down what we need to say and exchange it instead of all this pointless chit-chat?”

Richetea, exhausted from the unfamiliar social interaction, slowly drifted away from Count Dilton.

He had wanted to care for Richetea, who hadn’t received proper nurturing while growing up.

Her upbringing indeed had many issues.

The fact that she had no interest in gourmet food, music, or painting—all quintessential aristocratic pursuits—showed this clearly.

In noble society, the first teachers of such culture should have been the parents, since tastes in food, music, and art were influenced by family traditions.

For nobles, passing on and cultivating family culture was both a duty and an honor.

But Richetea had no opportunity to learn this.

Her stepmother lacked the knowledge, and her father lacked the affection.

Richetea had been deprived of the chance to learn the delicate family culture under parental neglect.

Of course, her twins had been given ample opportunity to learn the Aster family traditions alongside their father’s obsessive love.

Still, Richetea’s lack of interest in artworks wasn’t entirely due to her environment.

‘No matter how I think about it, I guess I’m just not naturally interested in such things…’

Finding a quiet spot away from the crowd, Richetea sat down.

She pressed her throbbing head, sighing.

Count Dilton, noticing her discomfort, did not insist any further.

At that moment, Diarmuid’s sentiment of having no desire for the emperor’s throne made perfect sense.

‘I could never live like this for my whole life.’

He could go ten days without speaking while wielding a sword, but attending banquets and mingling with people? Impossible.

While people hesitated to approach due to the grand duchess exuding her refusal, Joel Spencer appeared.

“Richetea, long time no see.”

Joel approached, wearing a displeased smile, holding a drink toward her.

‘Did he eat something bad?’

Richetea raised her hand to shoo him away.

At that moment, a page from a book flashed in her mind like a picture.

“Lilian, I think I need to talk to Richetea. Don’t worry—there’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“Joel, I’m not worried.”

Ignoring Lilian, Joel approached the solitary woman.

Like the lonely mood of an autumn evening banquet, the woman in the crowd looked up.

Joel extended the drink with a greeting to soften the tension.

“Richetea, long time no see.”

Richetea stared silently at the drink for a while before taking it, replying coldly.

“What do you want?”

Joel forced a bitter smile as if hoping their tedious relationship would finally end today.

In the book, it seemed he was trying to comfort Richetea, who hadn’t let go of her former fiancé, but in reality, it was far from that.

‘What should I do…’

She could easily shoo him away or refuse the drink.

But somehow, the scene would still play out, just in an unexpected way.

Better to play along and send him off.

Even so, it annoyed her.

‘I’m living a pretend life because of someone right now.’

If Joel Spencer hadn’t babbled nonsense in the book about Richetea being abandoned, this act would be unnecessary.

Richetea glared at Joel, grabbed the drink roughly, and repeated the line from the book.

“What do you want?”

The following lines were not fixed, which was fortunate.

“I asked what you want. If you have nothing to say, don’t be a nuisance and leave.”

Joel, lost in his delusion, misinterpreted even Richetea’s coldness as interest.

He spoke with a wistful smile filled with pity.

“I heard you left home. Was it because of me?”

“…That’s ridiculous.”

Even Richetea, prepared by the book, was speechless at his absurd claim.

It was meant to make Joel misunderstand their relationship, but how that turned into him thinking she couldn’t forget him was beyond her comprehension.

“Richetea, you still haven’t forgotten me, right?”

‘Has he finally lost his mind?’

Like a malfunctioning magic tool needing a few taps to obey, maybe people were similar.

Even as Richetea seriously considered this, Joel continued his nonsense.

“Richetea, stop liking me. You’ll only make yourself suffer.”

More infuriating than any insult she had faced.

“Joel Spencer, how could you think such nonsense—”

Richetea stopped mid-sentence.

‘Do I need to clear up this misunderstanding now? If used correctly…’

Several scenes and plans passed through her mind—her impending winter death report, disposing of Joel Spencer, all potentially resolved using this ridiculous misunderstanding.

“Yes, you’d want to deny it. I didn’t expect you to admit it with that pride of yours. But if things continue as they are, only you will suffer. I’ll let go.”

Suddenly, even Joel Spencer’s nonsense sounded like music.

Richetea never imagined a day would come when Joel Spencer would be useful in her life.