Chapter 6
Aftermath of the Rain
“Did that dog just insult me?”
Leopold, who had suddenly turned into a dog, frowned deeply.
Even considering that he was half-asleep, it was absurd. Insulting him without even knowing him? What had he done wrong?
“Ha!”
Letting out a low scoff, Leopold casually tossed the coat he was holding to the side.
Fine. Freeze to death for all I care.
As expected, doing things he wasn’t used to was a mistake. He had briefly entertained the idea of doing something remotely humane, and look where it got him.
Even the dignity of Leopold Otero was almost ruined. And yet, his gaze still drifted toward Violeta.
“She still hasn’t woken up even once.”
Should he call it peaceful sleep or something else? With that ambiguous thought, Leopold leaned back into the darkness again.
Soon after, the rocking of the carriage gradually came to a halt.
Leopold slightly lifted the curtain. As expected, the red-roofed building on Terto 10th Street lay before his eyes.
* * *
The aftermath of the rain lasted for four days. Naturally, it only applied to Violeta.
“Oh my! I told you, why were you out in the rain like that? You’re already weak as it is!”
Reina, her milk-sibling and former dedicated maid, pressed a wet towel against Violeta’s pale forehead while scolding her.
Wasn’t she supposed to take shelter when it rained?
Reina shot her mistress a resentful look, as if her concern meant nothing.
Since childhood, the young lady had been fragile and prone to illness. Once she fell sick, it usually lasted a week. Even the late lady of the house had rarely taken her to social gatherings, wanting to protect her health—though she must have longed to show off her beautiful daughter everywhere.
“I swear…”
Reina’s irritated voice filled the quiet room. Violeta, lying motionless in bed, only smiled faintly without energy.
“Reina, the porridge is ready. Make sure the young lady eats it later. And don’t forget the medicine.”
Madame Marie, already dressed for work at the textile factory, peeked through the door. A plain work scarf covered her neatly tied gray-streaked hair.
Reina, exhausted from repeated reminders, nodded weakly. Still worried, Marie glanced at Violeta once more before leaving.
“Miss. Take care of yourself, alright? I’ll be back.”
“…Yes, don’t worry about me.”
Even though her voice was hoarse from a severe cold, Violeta answered with a smile.
After Marie left, Reina brought in the porridge and helped Violeta sit up slowly.
Her already pale skin looked even more lifeless. Thinking of the culprit made Reina clench her fists.
“Dante Lopez, that bastard. That insane princess. And that damned duke!”
Four days ago, when she saw Violeta soaked in rain, she had been horrified. Violeta had staggered in and collapsed immediately upon entering the house.
When she finally woke up the next day, her first words had been:
“I got played again.”
That single sentence told Reina and Madame Marie everything they needed to know. It wasn’t the first time. The men who kept hurting their young lady were infuriating enough—but the princess who had harassed her for years was the worst.
What had their young lady ever done wrong?
But now, an even worse person had appeared.
“The Otero Duke… told him to break up with her?”
According to Violeta, once she had regained some strength, that foolish Dante Lopez had apparently been ordered by the Duke to end their relationship.
The excuse was supposedly that their statuses didn’t match—nothing more than a flimsy justification.
“That doesn’t make any sense at all!”
Reina pounded her chest in frustration. Violeta only gave a bitter smile.
“…It’s fine. I’ve forgotten it all.”
“Forgotten? Are you sure the Duke really said that? Why would he? There’s no reason!”
“It might be a lie. And even if it’s true, there’s nothing I can do.”
Reina grew more agitated.
“We should investigate! If it’s a lie, we can ruin Lopez’s reputation for slandering the Duke. And if it’s true, we should demand an explanation!”
Violeta hesitated, her fingers twitching. She was clearly conflicted.
“Think about it. Don’t just bottle it up. Let’s get revenge.”
“Reina… revenge won’t bring anything back. It’s pointless.”
But Violeta, who preferred clean and straightforward solutions, firmly refused.
Reina sighed deeply and smacked her forehead in frustration. To soothe her, Violeta gently stroked her head.
“By the way, is there still no letter from Lucas?”
Lucas Hernandez was Violeta’s younger brother and the young master of the house. Every semester around this time, he always sent a letter reporting his life as a scholarship student, trying to ease his sister’s burden.
But since it was his final year, the letter was delayed.
“No… nothing yet.”
“…Still?”
“No. But there are other letters. Want to see them?”
Reina brought over a stack of letters. Violeta took them and carefully opened the first one, marked from “Eccla Sierra.”
But as she read…
Her previously calm face gradually filled with confusion and shock.
After finishing the letter, she asked in a trembling voice:
“Then… whose carriage did I take?”
She reread it several times, but the content did not change.
[You got home safely, right?
I was out of it and ended up taking the carriage first. I cried all day and only later realized I had left you behind, so I’m writing because I was worried.
—Eccla Sierra]
One could not simply take a hired carriage without prior arrangement or payment. One had to reserve it through the guild.
‘Then why…?’
In her hazy memory, the driver had let her board without hesitation. She had not sensed anything wrong and arrived home safely.
“Reina, I definitely came home by carriage, right?”
“Yes… it was still there when you arrived.”
“Did they ask for payment separately?”
“No, they just left. Why? What’s going on?”
Violeta stared blankly at Reina, then muttered:
“Am I… being haunted?”
Otherwise, how could this make sense?
She quickly opened the other letters, hoping for a late invoice from the carriage guild. But all that fell into her trembling hands were debt notices and overdue bills from failed investments scattered across her blanket.
She bit her lip and tried to reconstruct the fragmented memory.
It rained. She took a carriage. She went home.
Was she missing something?
It rained. She met the driver, gave her destination, took the carriage, went home.
Nothing seemed wrong. Wait.
Her finger, tapping on an envelope, suddenly stopped.
‘Was there someone else in the carriage?’
All she remembered was a dark, dim interior due to the rainy weather. Her fever had blurred everything, like spilled ink on a painting.
Even those memories felt uncertain.
The only thing she could vaguely recall was…
“Otero… Duke?”
“Duke? Why the Duke? What are you talking about?”
“No… it can’t be.”
She shook her head firmly.
Under jet-black hair, cold silver eyes.
It must have been a dream. A dream where she had boldly cursed at the Duke’s face.
“Otero Duke, you bastard.”
The vivid sound of her own voice surfaced, sharpening her memory like fog lifting.
In the dream, the Duke said nothing. He only looked down at her coldly, as if she were insignificant. Just as Dante had said—“You’re not of my league.”
And then—
“Otero Duke, you bastard.”
She had spat out all her pent-up resentment in a single curse.
In a way, it was the aftermath of heartbreak. A dream born from unresolved anger.
She never expected the target of that anger to be neither Erica nor Dante—but the Duke.
“Haha… right. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been.”
But then…
“Why do I feel so uneasy?”
A wave of anxiety washed over her, and she buried her face in her hands.
This was all because of Dante Lopez mentioning the Duke—and the newspaper illustration she had seen.
Yes. That must be why she dreamed it.
If necessary, she could just check.
Violeta took Reina’s hand.
“I need to ask the carriage guild.”
* * *
This had to be a dream.
At least, for Rodrigo, Emperor of the Garcia Empire, it had to be.
[If the Garcia Empire does not pay the price for unilaterally breaking the engagement alliance,
the Kingdom of Kutan will not hesitate to go to war.]
A warning dispatch lay before him.
A diplomatic alliance ruined by his foolish son.
It was a justified demand. Even he would not have let such an opportunity slip if a rival nation had handed it to him voluntarily.
Sitting on the throne, Rodrigo pressed his throbbing forehead.
“How do you intend to handle this?”
His voice echoed coldly through the audience chamber.
His son, Ian, knelt before him in silence for an hour. The sole heir of the empire—yet completely speechless.
Rodrigo’s grip tightened on the golden armrest of the throne.
“If you don’t want this armrest to become your neck, speak. How will you resolve this situation?”
