Odalisque - Chapter 92

Bang!

Objects on the desk tumbled to the floor, scattered by a rough hand. Spilled ink blackened the carpet, and papers flew everywhere, fluttering down in disarray.

“…Marquis.”

“Leave.”

Philip, glancing at the chaotic floor and sensing the mood, quietly withdrew.

Left alone in the room, Dimus wore an irritated expression as he retrieved a bottle of vodka from a display cabinet. He downed a glass in one go, feeling a fiery heat rising within him, as if flames were licking up from his insides.

The dinner with Liv had ended in complete chaos. The plan he had originally intended to carry out was not fulfilled, and the items he had meant to give her remained untouched.

The image of Liv’s tear-streaked face, her expression filled with sorrow, came back to him, reigniting a nameless frustration and anger. Dimus, gripping the glass tightly, finally hurled it.

Crash!

The glass shattered loudly against the wall, breaking into countless shards. But the rage within him didn’t subside in the slightest.

Was it because his plans had gone awry? Or was it because Liv, who he hadn’t seen in a while, had worn that gloomy expression throughout? He had gone out of his way to let her rest when she said she was ill, and he’d arranged an outing to lift her spirits, but she had ruined everything.

If that was the reason, then at the root of his anger stood Liv. She, with her tears over trivial matters, daring to vex him—she needed to be put in her place.

And yet, how had he acted earlier?

Faced with Liv, silently shedding tears, for the first time Dimus felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness—he didn’t know what to do.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her cry. He had seen Liv crying in the chapel, praying to an unresponsive god. Back then, he had found her silent tears rather pleasing. It had felt like a “composed sadness.”

But today was different. Though her tears were as silent as they had been in the chapel, they affected him in an entirely different way. Seeing her cry made him angry, though he couldn’t pinpoint why, and thus found it hard to control his emotions.

Even in the midst of his anger, Liv’s face had grown increasingly pale, almost sickly, and he couldn’t just leave her like that. He couldn’t even imagine directing his rage at her.

“It seems you’re not in a condition to eat.”

He had considered taking her back to the mansion to rest, but she insisted on returning home. To that cramped little place without a doctor or even a maid to care for her.

Her sick sister was there, but how could she look after Liv? She had spent her whole life being cared for by her older sister.

Despite his obvious displeasure, Liv had stubbornly refused to bend.

Lately, he had been too lenient with her. Looking back, he had acted out of character many times. Liv surely knew this, and she must have believed that he would forgive her insubordination again today.

“I have no intention of being separated from Corida.”

That ailing sister of hers—her very existence was like a thorn in his side.

“Corida is my only family and the one who gives me the strength to keep living.”

Even without Liv saying so, Dimus knew well enough.

From the beginning until now, that sister had always come first for Liv. In all her emotions, all her actions, Corida was always the top priority.

So how could he leave things as they were when he desired Liv—not just her body but all of her?

“You already have everything of mine in your hands, Marquis.”

He didn’t want such dutiful words; he wanted her genuine devotion. He wanted to be her top priority in all her decisions.

He had no doubt that all the kindness he had shown her would make that possible. Indeed, Liv had seemed to open her heart to him, had always yielded to him. She was smart and knew better than anyone what she could gain through obedience.

But why now? Knowing that things would be easier if she just stayed still, why was she saying such things?

“I’m not a trophy. Not some expensive statue meant to be displayed. I’m a person—a person with feelings and thoughts.”

Why did you look at me like that?

“I have a sense of self too.”

As if you were hurt.

As if you were disappointed in me.

…Yes, like someone who had been let down.

“Marquis, it’s Roman.”

Dimus, who had been standing dazedly, raised his eyes. Roman’s voice came from beyond the door.

“We’ve captured the target. How should we proceed?”

“Kill him.”

Dimus spoke without hesitation, directing his command toward the closed door.

“Clear out the mansion and dispose of everything.”

“…What about the works stored at the mansion?”

A nearly completed nude painting came to mind. The work was practically finished. To Dimus, who obsessively collected nude artwork, it was naturally a piece to be added to his collection.

But right now, he saw no need for the finished piece—not even if it was the nude painting of Liv, which had pleased him so.

“Burn it.”

Only after making this decision did Dimus realize something.

Ah, mere paintings could no longer satisfy him. It was no longer possible to find solace in viewing nude artwork.

He needed the real thing.

He needed the living, breathing Liv Rodaise, the one who shyly confessed her desires.

***

Luzia Malte had always lived as a proud woman, accustomed to making others kneel before her.

So she could not hide her fury at the humiliation she’d endured. How dare someone do this to her, the only daughter of the Malte family!

That man had always been such scum, and his mistress was equally insolent. Hadn’t the vulgar paired perfectly with the vulgar?

She wanted nothing more than to tear Dimus apart, but as long as Cardinal Calliope stood behind him, she couldn’t touch him.

Luzia ground her teeth. Especially when she thought of the way Dimus had looked at her, without a trace of hesitation, calling her “nauseating.”

Wasn’t this the same Dimus she had abandoned when he was groveling, without even a title?

Her pride could never allow her to back down like this. So Luzia stubbornly dug into Dimus’s affairs. And the competent subordinates she had—the same ones capable of leaking Dimus’s schedule to her—picked up a scent again.

This time, Roman, who had once caught the informant leaking Dimus’s schedule, had apprehended some painter. Luzia knew Dimus had become obsessed with collecting artwork since settling in Buerno, and her instincts told her that this painter was suspicious.

Roman had taken the painter to an isolated mansion. Luzia’s order to her subordinate was simple: get that painter out.

“Miss, I’m sorry. We failed.”

Luzia, still fuming over thoughts of Dimus, turned her gaze sharply. Her subordinate, dressed in black, wore a tense expression under her fierce gaze.

“Failed?”

“The mansion has been closed, and the painter has been eliminated.”

“That’s why I told you to get him out.”

“…I’m sorry.”

Due to the limited time, Luzia hadn’t been able to learn much about the painter. All she knew was that he was heavily in debt, boastful, and not very talented.

Based on that information alone, it was difficult to determine any connection to Dimus. Further inquiries might have yielded something, but Luzia had run out of time. Cardinal Calliope had arrived in Buerno, and Luzia now had to join the peace pilgrimage and act as the devout daughter of Duke Malte.

But she wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

Dimus’s arrogance was entirely thanks to Cardinal Calliope, and she wanted to ruin their relationship. If some scandal sullied Dimus’s name, wouldn’t the Cardinal, who had traveled all this way to fetch him, be disappointed?

If Dimus were once again abandoned by the Cardinal and forced to stay in the countryside forever, Luzia would feel some satisfaction.

“However, we did secure a few items from the mansion.”

“What did you find?”

“They’re not particularly noteworthy.”

“Then why bother bringing them?”

“They were about to be burned, so I thought they might hold some importance.”

Luzia narrowed her eyes. It was an isolated mansion, and no one would care if it was simply closed off. But if they were specifically trying to destroy the items inside, perhaps there was some significance to them.

“What is it?”

“A painting.”

“Bring it here.”

A moment later, her subordinate returned with a canvas. At first glance, it was clear the painting was unfinished. Luzia tilted her head. It was a poorly executed nude, unusual in that it depicted the model’s back.

As she stared at the model in the painting, Luzia suddenly realized that the color of the model’s hair reminded her of someone.

“If you want to catch his eye, make an effort on your own.”

Ah, yes. That pretty mistress. The thought of her came to mind.

Come to think of it, rumors had spread through Buerno that Dimus had been keeping a mistress close lately.

“I’ve been rather infatuated with her lately.”

She remembered Dimus’s arrogant voice.

So he’s madly in love.

“I’ve just had a rather amusing idea.”

Luzia smiled brightly.

“Find me a skilled painter and hand over this piece. Instruct them to complete it as I direct.”