Chapter 8

　　The Successor of Sermont

　　Several days passed. Arlen had sent a letter announcing her return to Edel, and the royal family, taking into account her mourning period, postponed her audience. As the Queen had granted her this convenience, her time at home grew longer. The maids were strangers, and her relationship with her stepmother was more distant than ever. The home she returned to was not the home she had missed. Aside from the changed people, the places that held her memories had also vanished without a trace. The rear garden filled with memories of her mother. The gallery where she had practiced dancing while holding her father’s hand. All the places Arlen had loved had long been transformed according to Madam Regina’s taste.

　　In this awkward and unfamiliar environment, what Arlen found most difficult to bear was the presence of Belcon, who slunk around the estate claiming to be Regina’s son. Whenever they ran into each other, his oily gaze would rake over Arlen’s body. As if that weren’t enough, he would savor her frightened expression and spew vulgarities as if it were second nature.

　　"Did you inherit those big breasts from the woman before my mother? I heard your dead father was crazy about a woman’s breast size. Then again, my mother’s got a great rack, too."

　　"Or maybe you popped out a kid with some guy you were secretly screwing in the countryside?"

　　Though he was her stepmother’s son, his crass words and actions were closer to those of a street thug than a nobleman. She wanted to avoid him and his advances as much as possible, but as long as they lived in the same house, that was impossible.

　　“Oh, there you are!”

　　Today, as always, a voice so unpleasant it made the fine hairs on her arms rise echoed through the hall. Arlen’s shoulders flinched. Belcon, a cheap cigarette dangling crookedly from his mouth, was the one who had disturbed the silence. His red, curly hair, just like Regina’s, swayed in the still-chilly early spring breeze. She saw the passing maids startle at his appearance and hurry away.

　　“Hey, little sister.” Belcon, calling her ‘sister’ so casually, blocked Arlen’s path. The tennis racket in his other hand swung menacingly as he sauntered.

　　“Do you have something to say to me?”

　　“Not really,” Belcon smirked, his eyes blatantly tracing the lines of Arlen’s body. The lecherous gaze was disgusting. “We’re family, in name at least. How about we get a little closer?”

　　Meeting her eyes, Belcon flicked his tongue out and licked his lips. The crass gesture made her stomach turn. If there was one type of person she had no desire to be near, it was a man like Belcon. Frustrated that she couldn’t show her revulsion, Arlen responded with silence.

　　“Why so tense? It’s not like I’m going to eat you.” Belcon chuckled, looking at her small, tightly clenched lips with contempt. Every time he opened his mouth, the unpleasant smell of cigarettes mixed with stale liquor poured out. Arlen averted her gaze from his linen shirt, which shamelessly exposed more than half his chest.

　　“I’m sorry, but I would appreciate it if you would dress more appropriately in the mansion.”

　　“My clothes? What’s wrong with them?” Muttering something about his underwear showing, Belcon lifted and dropped his thigh, making the hem of his knee-length pants flap. He’s doing it on purpose. Arlen finally squeezed her eyes shut.

　　“For someone who’s spent her time rolling around in the countryside, you’ve got a top-notch act, blushing like a virgin. But you can’t fool my eyes. Want me to guess how you got out of that police station unscathed?”

　　“If you insult me further, I will not stand for it.”

　　“Hah! What the hell can a thing like you do?” His disgusting hand prodded the area below Arlen’s collarbone. “I’ve felt this since the day I first saw you. Why do you look at me with those damn eyes?”

　　“I don’t understand the intent of your question.”

　　“You’re all smiles for those lowly servants, but when you look at me, it’s like you’re staring at a disgusting insect crawling on the floor.” Her eyes looked ready to spill tears at the slightest threat, yet they glared at him fiercely. It put him in a foul mood.

　　“…I’ve never done that,” Arlen replied a beat too late, swallowing hard.

　　As if taking her brief silence as an admission, Belcon snatched the cigarette from his lips, tossed it aside, and roughly grabbed Arlen’s arm. A groan escaped her clenched lips. An unspeakable pain shot through her arm from his brutish grip, as if it were being torn apart.

　　“Fuck! So, unless it’s some noble prince, you won’t even deign to look at a guy like me? Am I so beneath you that you won’t even waste your breath on me?!”

　　“Miss!” As Betty, who had been watching with anxious eyes, started to step forward, Belcon threateningly raised his other hand. Terrified by the cold, sharp glint in his eyes—a clear warning that he would make her pay if she dared to interfere—Betty was frozen, stamping her foot in helpless frustration.

　　A searing pain shot from her restrained arm and blazed up to her shoulder.

　　His other hand, brutish and unwelcome, patted Arlen’s cheek tauntingly.

　　“I said, tell me,” Belcon demanded.

　　“Don’t twist my words,” Arlen retorted, her voice sharp despite the pain.

　　“I never said anything of the sort.”

　　But Belcon, determined to take offense, interpreted her denial as an admission of guilt. He flew into a rage, convinced he had been slighted.

　　“Then why are you looking at me like that? You’ve got one thing wrong, little sister. I am the master of this house.”

　　Arlen’s eyes flashed.

　　“What do you mean by that?”

　　“You stupid bitch! The one leeching off this family isn’t me—it’s you!”

　　“Young Master,” Betty interjected, her voice trembling as she sensed the situation spiraling out of control.

　　“Miss Arlen isn’t well. She needs to go inside and rest.”

　　Belcon’s expression curdled.

　　His hand shot out, his fingers tangling viciously in Betty’s hair.

　　“How dare this bitch butt in again?”

　　“Betty!” Arlen cried out.

　　Startled, Arlen tried to intervene, but it was useless. Betty’s small frame was shaken so violently in Belcon’s merciless grip that her gasps were choked into silence.

　　“What do you think you’re doing?” Arlen shouted.

　　“Stop it, right now!”

　　“I’m the master here, punishing a disobedient maid,” he snarled.

　　“What business is it of a bitch like you?”

　　He flung Betty’s small body to the ground as if she were a doll. A scream was torn from Betty’s throat as she crumpled to the floor.

　　“Instead of being grateful to the master who took you in when you had nowhere else to go, a mere maid dares to talk back…”

　　Still seething, Belcon let out a ragged breath and dusted off his hands. A horrifying chill went down Arlen’s spine as he casually flicked a clump of Betty’s hair from his sleeve. Cradling the fallen maid, Arlen bit her lip hard enough to draw blood and glared at her stepbrother. He shot her a look of pure contempt and spat on the ground.

　　“You’d better watch yourself, too. See what happens when you forget your place and defy me.”

　　With a final glare one might give a defiant but powerless child, Belcon turned and stalked away. Arlen fought to steady her turbulent breath. Betty, who had suffered for trying to protect Arlen, was left bruised and trembling from the fall. Arlen went to Regina to report Belcon’s outrageous behavior, but the punishment she had hoped for never came.

　　“Oh, that sweet boy, what could have happened?” Regina had said with a placid smile.

　　“There must have been some misunderstanding. I shall be sure to give him a stern warning.”

　　Her stepmother’s apologetic promises offered no relief. This house was growing more unbearable by the hour. The servants who had witnessed the commotion now avoided her, clearly afraid of getting caught in the crossfire, which suggested this was not the first time Belcon had acted so violently. Just as Arlen was thinking it might be better to leave as soon as possible, a commotion from the main gate caught her attention.

　　A gatekeeper was roughly barring a man from entry, their voices raised in argument.

　　“What’s going on?” Arlen wondered aloud.

　　“It seems someone has arrived without an appointment,” Betty whispered.

　　“Even so, that’s no way to treat someone.”

　　As if to punctuate her words, the man was pushed so hard he tumbled to the ground. Startled, Arlen rushed toward the gate. Just as she rounded a large tree, a sharp, unfamiliar voice rang out.

　　“Baron Carriott, what is the meaning of this disgraceful display?” Regina, having heard the noise, was already there.

　　The man, who had been arguing with the gatekeeper, took off his fedora and put it back on as he pleaded earnestly.

　　“Madam, please, I heard the news. Did Miss Sermont not return a few days ago?”

　　The pleading voice was familiar. Peeking from behind the tree, Arlen saw that it was, as she had suspected, someone she knew well. She started to step forward, a welcome on her lips, but her feet froze at Regina’s next words.

　　“Who told you that? Arlen has not returned. You know perfectly well she did not even attend the funeral.”

　　The words struck Arlen like a physical blow.

　　To be treated as if she didn’t exist by the very woman with whom she had just shared a meal was a profound shock. Regina’s response to her late husband’s close friend was glacial.

　　“The period for mourning calls is over. Please leave.”

　　At Regina’s signal, the gatekeepers once again seized Baron Carriott.

　　“Madam! Please, don’t—ugh.”

　　When the Baron tried to press forward again, the gatekeepers thrust him back with brute force.

　　Arlen covered her mouth, watching with pity as he picked himself up and retrieved his fallen hat.

　　Nothing made sense—not her stepmother’s lie, nor the sharp hostility she showed toward her father’s dear friend.

　　As she watched the Baron’s defeated figure retreat, Arlen slipped out through the side gate used by the maids.

　　“Baron Carriott!”

　　The Baron, just about to board his carriage, widened his eyes. His face lit up as if he had found a savior, and he rushed toward her.

　　“Miss Sermont! I cannot believe it. The goddess herself must have sent you.”

　　“Baron.” Tears welled in Arlen’s eyes at the sight of a familiar face. Her father’s longtime friend and the family’s lawyer, he had been a fixture of her childhood.

　　“I sent word several times, hoping to see you, but I could not get through at all.” He seemed disoriented and utterly exhausted, his expression grave.

　　“More importantly, there is something I must tell you. Urgently.”

　　As it happened, she had a mountain of questions for him. Arlen nodded without hesitation.

　　“Of course.”

　　After parting with the Baron, Arlen found herself by the Nevil River. She had just walked wherever her feet led, and now she and Betty were strolling aimlessly along the promenade. On both sides of the Nevil Canal, which stretched to Clemont Harbor, families and lovers savored the early spring night.

　　But amid the cheerful crowd, Arlen’s heart was a leaden weight. What the Baron had told her was devastating.

　　“This is a list of assets your stepmother disposed of unilaterally, the moment the Viscount passed away.”

　　Before even asking after her well-being, the Baron had laid out financial documents, explaining everything Arlen had been kept ignorant of.

　　“Not only that, she is now secretly seeking bidders.”

　　“Bidders?”

　　“Bidders to purchase the Sermont estate.”

　　“That’s ridiculous! I never agreed to such a thing.”

　　“As long as Belcon is on the Sermont family registry, your consent is not required once he becomes the head of the family. As you know, Stoneburn does not recognize a woman’s right to inherit a title.”

　　The world was changing at a dizzying pace, with new marvels appearing every day. Newspapers buzzed with speculation about the commercialization of new inventions and the political fallout from frequent wars.

　　But for all the rapid change, the rigid ways of the royal family and the aristocracy never improved. A woman’s inability to inherit a title was a prime example. Hearing that Regina, the woman she had believed to be a benevolent stepmother, was plotting such a betrayal, Arlen could not hide her despair.

　　“There is one way,” the Baron had said, his voice low and urgent.

　　“The issue of recognizing a woman as head of the family has been debated in the assembly several times, but has never passed for lack of support. But the Crown Princess… she has a voice.”

　　The revelations, coming one after another without a moment to grieve her father, tangled Arlen’s already exhausted mind into knots.

　　“The new nobles plan to propose the bill again soon. Mark my words, Miss Sermont. If you wish to protect your family, you must ensure that the royal marriage contract does not fall through, no matter what.”

　　His solemn gaze had held hers until the moment he left. Her father had dedicated his life to the Crown out of pride for his family. And the Sermont name was just as precious to Arlen.

　　The image of her stepbrother, his breath reeking of liquor as he leered at her, flashed in her mind. The unease she had felt then finally crystallized into horrifying clarity. Her lips trembled.

　　“I didn’t know anything. I was such a fool.”

　　“It’s not your fault, Miss,” Betty murmured.

　　“How could you possibly have known while you were away at boarding school?”

　　But Betty’s comfort was no solace. The depth of her own ignorance was an unbearable, pathetic weight.

　　“Why would she try to sell the estate? If you become the Crown Princess, she could enjoy even greater glory.”

　　“I… I don’t know.”

　　That was the one thing Arlen couldn’t understand either.

　　Lifting her gaze from the ground, Arlen looked ahead. In the distance, the gaslights of Moch Bridge flickered to life, one by one. As if on cue, the shops lining the riverbanks ignited in a cascade of light. In the ten years she had been gone, Edel had become unrecognizable. The city felt foreign, alien, and the feeling only deepened her turmoil.

　　“Miss, it’s getting dark. I’ll call for a carriage. Please wait here.”

　　After Betty left, Arlen closed her eyes tightly. In an instant, a wet trail of tears traced a path down her cheek.

　　“Crying in a place like this again.”

　　Startled by the voice from above, Arlen snapped her head up. A flash of gold caught her eye. There, bathed in the glittering lights of the city, stood the man.

　　Duke Liam Crawford.