Chapter 14
Without Even Knowing It Was a Trap
That devilish man……
To shake off the useless lingering image, Violetta slapped her own cheeks twice—smack, smack.
“Get a grip. The Duke is absolutely off-limits.”
Habitually biting her lips until they bled, Violetta finally spoke after a long silence.
“Reyna, tomorrow morning go straight to the hospital and request a house call. Ask them about surgery too.”
“W-what? B-but the money……”
Reyna lifted her head abruptly, looking worried. Violetta forced a gentle tone to reassure her.
“I’ll go to the jeweler tomorrow and handle a few things. It should be enough for the treatment costs… So don’t worry.”
But perhaps Duke Leopold Otero had placed a curse on her.
Ever since meeting him, Violetta’s misfortune kept piling up without end.
“I can’t offer more than this, young lady.”
The jeweler, whose hair was already streaked with gray, pushed back Violetta’s bundle of jewels.
“Only 300,000? Please… could you take another look? Just once more?”
“Honestly, there are only two or three pieces worth anything!”
Clicking his tongue, the jeweler waved his hand irritably.
“Not sure who gave these to you, but it’s one of two things!”
“……”
“Either they bear you ill will, or they’re mocking you.”
“These are fake or just cheap junk,” he muttered, continuing to click his tongue.
In the end, faced with the jeweler’s refusal to deal with any more trouble, Violetta had no choice but to sell the jewelry bundle for just 300,000 crowns.
Even that was necessary—without it, the nanny’s surgery would be delayed.
After barely scraping together 1,000,000 crowns for the operation and admitting Mrs. Marie to the hospital, Violetta hurried toward the carriage station for her next destination.
“Are you heading to Friken?”
“Yes. Hurry up and get on.”
She handed a few coins to the coachman and squeezed into the crowded shared carriage. The wheels rattled as they rolled quickly over the gravel road toward Friken, the industrial district of Bern where the textile factory was located.
At the same time, in an alley behind a social club in Friken.
“Please, just once…!”
A man’s desperate voice echoed through the narrow passage filled with thick cigar smoke, making it feel even more suffocating and eerie despite the daylight.
“There are no more chances, Marco Donso.”
At the cold, cutting voice, Marco Donso—who had been kneeling and begging—froze.
His hollow gaze slowly followed the shadow that loomed over him.
“Do you want to lose even your estate?”
The low, merciless voice echoed again.
From within the shadow, a pair of cold silver eyes gleamed sharply.
Marco grabbed the hem of the man’s trousers.
“Y-Your Grace! If you just give me more time, I can repay—”
“You should’ve repaid it when I gave you time. Not wasted it on some talentless card games.”
With a casual kick, the man shook Marco off his leg as if brushing away a bug. Then he exhaled slowly from the cigar in his hand.
“Stop thinking. I already know about the trust account where you hid your gambling funds.”
“P-Please, Your Grace, mercy…!”
How had he found even the secretly hidden trust account?
Marco’s face turned pale in an instant.
I was so close… just one more round and I would’ve won everything…
Unlike his father, Marco Donso had no talent for running the textile factory he inherited. From the moment he took over, losses piled up rapidly. Eventually, the debt exceeded what he could handle.
To cover it, he borrowed money everywhere and gambled in hopes of a big win. After hundreds of failures, he finally turned to Duke Leopold Otero himself.
He had borrowed a staggering 50 million crowns, using the factory as collateral.
But the Duke was not a man who would sympathize with a debtor’s pitiful excuses—especially not when the repayment deadline had already passed by five days.
The Duke looked down at Marco and casually pulled out a sheet of paper, dropping it in front of him.
“Stop talking nonsense and put your seal on it.”
Marco’s uneasy gaze landed on the document. As expected, it was an acquisition contract transferring ownership of the textile factory to the Duke.
But when he looked further down, Marco froze in shock.
“A… figurehead?”
“That’s right. Just sit there like a loyal dog. Why, can’t you do even that?”
“N-no! I can! I absolutely can!”
Being a mere figurehead—what of it? It was far better than losing everything and ending up on the streets. Especially since it even guaranteed a salary.
For someone who once had only his factory, it was a lifeline. He didn’t care what humiliation came with it.
The greatest humiliation for Marco Donso… was becoming a pauper after losing everything, and being looked down upon by commoners he once despised.
The Duke stepped closer and slowly crouched down. A thin strip of sunlight slipped past him, illuminating the contract in Marco’s hands.
“Do as you’re told. I’ll make the decisions. Report everything that happens without missing a single detail. Especially…”
Lowering his voice as if issuing a warning, the Duke whispered something only Marco could hear.
For his first task as a figurehead, Marco briefly widened his small eyes, then nodded without hesitation. His messy brown hair shook as he bowed repeatedly.
“Yes, yes! Of course! Thank you! Thank you so much!”
Now completely tamed like a loyal dog, he slammed his forehead repeatedly into the damp, moss-covered ground.
“Inform me immediately if a silver-haired woman appears.”
A very simple first mission.
“Stop here!”
Violetta got out of the carriage. The moment her feet touched the ground, a sharp, acrid smell stung her nose.
Towering smokestacks rose arrogantly, spewing gray fumes that blocked out the sun.
She had always thought the tallest buildings were cathedral spires—but these factory buildings were even taller.
Clang, clang, clang, clang.
The sharp noise of machinery echoed everywhere, assaulting her ears. It was a chaotic sound that felt like it could crush or slice anything in its path.
In stark contrast, a large sign at the factory entrance read:
[Let us create the golden age with our own hands!]
She had seen that slogan countless times in newspapers. It was the anthem of rising bourgeois capitalists who believed industry would usher in a golden age.
All while ignoring the rising number of factory accidents.
Money. Money. Money.
This was an age that chased nothing but money.
Because of that, workers often found themselves treated worse than slaves.
What was even a slave compared to this?
They were treated as machine parts—replaced instantly the moment they caused even the slightest disruption.
And so Mrs. Marie could also be discarded without hesitation, like a broken part.
“That must not happen.”
Violetta clenched her fists tightly.
Even if she had to work twice as hard to repay damages, she had to somehow protect the job.
Because money was what she feared most too.
“Hurry up! You think you’re earning your keep? Move faster! Tch!”
A man’s shout cracked through the air as he swung a large whip in the middle of the yard.
He wore slightly neater clothes than the others, with a jingling set of keys at his waist—likely a foreman supervising the workers.
At his bark, the workers carrying loads flinched and hurried faster.
Every one of them looked worn down, faces dull like soot-covered chimneys. Mrs. Marie’s face overlapped in her mind.
“Please, young lady… I’ll be fine, so don’t ever think of coming to the factory. Understand?”
That was what the nanny had insisted—she would handle all the physical labor herself.
But there had been no place willing to take Violetta anyway, claiming she was too refined and useless.
“Mrs. Marie…”
She murmured softly, then stopped herself.
In the end, all of this was her own mistake.
If she had doubted her fiancé even slightly back then—who had since fled overseas—her life wouldn’t have unraveled like this.
Seventeen years old. Blinded by love, she had blindly trusted him. She and her parents had even invested their names and fortune into his railway business, trying to support him.
Without knowing it was a trap.
“See? It always ends like this. Marriage is a contract of conditions, not love.”
The Duke’s mocking voice echoed in her ears again.
Was love truly just a foolish dream?
Had it never been hope—but just lingering attachment?
With a deep sigh, she shook her head.
Whatever it was, she had to do what she could now.
The only thing she absolutely had to avoid… was becoming the Duke’s mistress.
Violetta’s halted steps began moving toward the factory director’s office
