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Chapter 4
“What?”
Maria asked back in a voice too small to be heard, then quickly sprang up in alarm.
She was about to put on the clothes she had taken off beside the bathtub when her nanny, Moira, who had been waiting nearby, spoke.
“Miss! There is nothing in this world urgent enough for you to go out like that.”
She handed Maria a towel and asked Luca, who was outside the door:
“What do you mean the boss and Ivy got into a fight?”
“The boss took drugs again… and Ivy punched him.”
“What a damn lunatic.”
Moira shuddered. It was unclear whether she meant Alexander or Benedict. Maria guessed it was probably both.
Luca was usually dramatic and prone to exaggeration, but this time, it was clearly serious. Still half-wet, Maria quickly dressed and rushed out of the bathroom.
Mon Deplano, operating 24 hours a day, made it difficult to tell whether it was day or night.
On the downhill path from the casino toward the docks, streetlights flickered. Drunk gamblers who had lost all their money and could no longer enter the hotel lay in dark corners, using their socks as makeshift blindfolds as they slept.
As Maria walked down that path, people approached her. Luca followed behind, cursing and driving them away.
When they reached the docks, it was indeed chaos—just as Luca had said.
Alexander and Benedict, who had looked like friendly brothers earlier that evening, were now locked in a brutal fight.
As far as Maria knew, Alexander had never lost a fight. In fact, the first thing she had ever understood about the world was probably the sound of Alexander throwing punches. He fought constantly.
Even now that he was an adult—running a so-called “business” in a glorified dump and imitating nobles—at his core, he was still a violent thug.
And the only time he became even slightly restrained was in front of his sister, Maria. That was why Luca had rushed to fetch her—so his friend Benedict wouldn’t be beaten to death.
And like Luca, Maria couldn’t bear to watch Benedict Ivy die at her brother’s hands, even if he was the worst kind of trash. They had too much history for that.
But when Maria arrived to stop the one-sided violence, she quickly realized the situation was not what she expected.
Benedict was being hit—but it wasn’t a one-sided beating.
He was deliberately holding back against Alexander.
The last time they had fought, two years ago—when Benedict was nineteen—he had been nowhere near Alexander’s level.
It hadn’t been completely one-sided, but the difference in strength and skill was so clear that no matter how many times they fought, Benedict would have lost every time.
But now it was different. It looked like if they fought twice, Benedict could win once.
Even Maria could sense it, which meant Alexander could feel it even more. That was why his punches carried not just drunken rage, but a deeper, boiling frustration.
Finally, Maria shouted:
“Are you both insane? Stop it!”
At her voice, Alexander’s fist—aimed at Benedict—froze in midair. And it was Benedict who exhaled sharply in relief.
He glared at Maria.
She ignored his gaze and shoved Alexander back.
“Are you trying to kill him? Do you even know who you’re hitting?”
“Maria.”
Alexander looked down at her face.
Under the dim light, the bloodstains on the ground looked like shattered fragments of night.
And standing atop that night was his sister—pure white, like the moon. Blindingly beautiful no matter where she stood.
Seeing her, Alexander gradually cooled the rage burning through him.
He exhaled heavily and cupped her smooth, pale cheek.
“You came straight from the bath? You’re still wet.”
“…You crazy bastard.”
Maria muttered the insult Moira had wanted to say, instead of her, and leaned into Alexander’s embrace.
As always, Alexander—who was helplessly weak against her—held her back.
He wrapped her fragile body in one arm as if she might break, kissed her forehead, and ordered his men:
“Take him to the basement after he’s treated.”
“Ah.”
At the word basement, Benedict tried to get up, then sighed and flopped back down again.
Everyone in Mon Deplano knew Benedict Ivy suffered from severe claustrophobia. To him, being beaten was preferable.
That was why he sighed earlier.
But not to Maria.
People in Bluegate killed each other over trivial anger. She knew that even if their strength was equal, Alexander could lose control and stab Benedict to death.
Alexander turned and walked her back toward the mansion.
When Maria tried to look back at Benedict, cursing as he was supported by the guards, Alexander grabbed her chin and turned her face back toward him.
“By the end of this year, you won’t be able to beat him anymore.”
Maria looked up at him.
He murmured:
“I understand now why Father became greedy for power when he realized he could no longer beat me.”
There had been such a time. Back then, Kohas Chetti hadn’t even bothered hiding his desire to kill his son.
Maria leaned into Alexander’s chest. He held her and continued:
“Benedict does things I never ordered him to do.”
“But usually, he listens to you.”
“He sent you and Mother to Whitehill.”
“I told you that was my request. I just wanted her to live in a peaceful city for a while.”
“Don’t lie.”
Alexander stroked Maria’s head, small enough to fit in his palm.
“You wouldn’t dare think something like that.”
Maria flinched in his arms.
“That’s why Benedict Ivy is dangerous.”
He kissed her forehead again and released her. Then he escorted her back to the mansion.
The drunk gamblers who had been visible earlier were gone. Even they were afraid to step into his shadow.
That night, Maria could not fall into deep sleep.
“Now I understand why Father became greedy for power when he realized he couldn’t beat me anymore.”
Alexander’s words kept circling in her mind.
It was a sentence that could lead to many conclusions.
To take measures so that Benedict Ivy could never surpass him… or to seize their father’s power for himself.
Or both…
Maria broke into a cold sweat, jolting awake from shallow sleep. She gasped for air, clutching and scratching at her chest as she struggled to breathe.
Alexander was becoming more and more unstable.
He had never been a good man, but he had not been like this before. Drugs—Hoppins, taken since childhood—were eroding what little humanity remained in him.
At the very least, when Maria tried to leave Bluegate with her mother a year ago, Alexander hadn’t stopped them—even if he hadn’t helped either.
He had also been trying to quit the drugs to avoid falling further into ruin. He must have known that Benedict’s punch this time wasn’t out of pure loyalty.
It was something even family would struggle to do—and yet Alexander couldn’t suppress his anger toward it.
Maria woke fully, stepping down from the bed one foot at a time and standing up.
She couldn’t leave Benedict like this.
