Chapter 47
It was well known among reporters that Johannsen Ehrenberg had recently stormed into tabloid offices and turned the place upside down.
At times, he even went so far as to threaten closure, throwing around the Ehrenberg ducal name to get his way.
He could do that because even the young Duke Veron had lent him his authority, and occasionally accompanied him in person.
For the reporters, it was nothing short of an ambush.
It had been years since they’d started exploiting Kyrie Haswell for tabloid fodder, and only now were the Ehrenberg heirs reacting?
“Why now, though? Why suddenly blow up after all this time?”
“Well, isn’t it obvious? It’s probably because of Elise Ehrenberg.”
The more Kyrie’s notoriety spread, the more Elise’s name came up in public.
People were beginning to pity her, whispers that the Crown Prince might break off the engagement because of her wicked Sister were growing louder. And separately, the Empress’s displeasure had been mounting by the day.
“If Her Majesty really does cancel the wedding, Elise Ehrenberg’s position will be in serious jeopardy.”
“Still, it’s a little funny how they’re only getting worked up about it now.”
The reporters puffed away at their cigarettes, grumbling nonstop. One of them suddenly slapped his palm with a fist, as if struck by an idea.
“Speaking of Ehrenberg’s second son…”
“What about him? You know which paper he’s planning to storm next?”
“No, but… he did say something kind of interesting.”
“Interesting?”
All eyes turned to the reporter who had spoken. Someone called over the bartender and ordered drinks, everyone knew that a proper story needed a little liquid courage to come out.
The reporter took a gulp of whiskey, the liquor burning his throat, and finally spoke.
“You know how he raided our office last week, right?”
“Of course.”
“Well, while he was there, he said something a little… provocative.”
“Quit stalling and just spit it out.”
“He said something like, ‘If any of you were real reporters, you’d be writing about the Grand Duke first.’”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I thought it was just drunken nonsense and ignored it, but…”
The reporter took another swig and continued.
“He got really fired up and said something about how we could expose the Grand Duke’s hypocrisy if we just stormed his estate. Then he asked why we weren’t doing that.”
Laughter rippled through the group. They exhaled smoke with amused expressions.
“Well, that’s a fresh take on nonsense.”
“How the hell would you even get into the First Grand Duke’s townhouse? It’s in the middle of the capital.”
Just then, a man seated in the corner, his face marked by a noticeable scar, chuckled and spoke. He looked like a journalist, but something about him was off.
“Actually, after I heard that, I went to check it out. The ducal estate is under repair. There’s a crack next to the greenhouse.”
“What?”
Their expressions instantly shifted, interest flaring in their eyes. No one seemed to register that the man, despite his journalist’s garb, was a complete stranger.
One of the less drunk men hesitated, trying to talk some sense into them.
“Guys, think about it. This isn’t just anywhere, it’s the First Grand Duke’s townhouse. If we sneak in and get caught, ”
“The Grand Duke can’t maintain heavy security, not by the Emperor’s decree. There are gaps.”
“And if we do get caught?”
“The Emperor rather enjoys this sort of scandal, doesn’t he?”
The scarred man chimed in again.
“Sure, he’s terrifying on the battlefield, but here in the capital? No one outmaneuvers the imperial family.”
No one had a retort to that.
“Anyway, it’s not like we’re actually going to break in. Just looking for some leads.”
“Leads, huh.”
“Like, what kind of life is the Grand Duchess living, holed up inside that estate?”
The men’s eyes gleamed at that single sentence. A flood of lurid headlines flashed through their minds, and the enormous bonuses that would follow.
The men, huddled together in the smoky bar, began murmuring among themselves.
“Everyone’s sales tanked after the Grand Duchess went into hiding, right?”
“There’s been nothing that grabs attention like she does.”
“If we can catch anything usable out of this…”
Their faces were lit with predatory anticipation.
Someone whispered, “I’ve got a few sets of workers’ uniforms left over from that undercover job.”
And with that, the decision was as good as made.
“Let’s at least go check it out.”
The scarred man stood up and left the tavern. Waiting outside, Elise’s maid handed him a pouch of coins the moment she saw him.
Neither of them said a word as they went their separate ways.
The reporters, now fired up, shouted.
“Let’s go!”
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
The Grand Duke’s estate, when they reached it, was every bit as enticing as they had imagined.
The crack left in the wall from the renovations looked like the gaping maw of a dragon guarding treasure. Even those who hadn’t seriously considered entering before began whispering.
“Should we just… slip in for a quick peek?”
“Just for a bit…”
Anyone sober enough to think had stayed behind at the bar. The ones who made it this far had long since left their reason behind, drawn by the scent of profit. The consensus was swift.
Just a quick look, then they’d be out.
“Damn it. Don’t push!”
“Shut your mouth! You want to get caught and kicked out?”
“Do you know what it took to get this info?!”
The men who had snuck in found themselves facing a most unexpected figure.
“……”
A heavy silence fell over the intruders.
The men, suddenly sobered, looked around in panic. Kyrie was just as stunned.
‘How…?’
Had they actually known there was a weakness in the estate’s wall? Even if they had,
‘This is the First Grand Duke’s estate, of all places.’
It was proof, more than anything, that the Grand Duke’s authority had waned significantly.
Kyrie wondered idly whether Dominique would find this amusing, or deeply displeasing, as she reached to the floor.
“Wait a second. Isn’t that…”
One of the reporters, eyes darting around, finally recognised her.
“M–My lady, the Grand Duchess!”
“What? Are you serious?!”
“You idiots! What do you even use your eyes for?!”
A wave of chaos erupted. The air buzzed with excitement, but to Kyrie, it felt like a threat.
“It’s… truly an honour to meet you!”
“We’ve been dying to ask you some questions!”
Some of the more brazen ones, who’d privately developed a strange sense of intimacy with Kyrie through years of writing about her, stepped forward. A few of the more sensible men paled, quickly trying to slip back out.
Kyrie looked at the disorganised bunch with a stunned expression before responding coolly.
“You want me to talk with intruders who illegally entered the Grand Duke’s estate?”
“Ah, well…”
“Not only brazen, but clearly unaware of the value of their own lives.”
The disdain in her voice was real, so much so that even those who had thought themselves friendly toward her flinched.
In truth, Kyrie had always been disgusted by them. The tabloid writers who twisted every rumour to suit their narrative and crafted her image as a wicked woman,
‘Sure, they made me famous in a way. But still…’
This was never part of the deal.
“You’d all do well to get out. Now.”
“Whoa!”
One still-drunk reporter blinked wide-eyed. He was one of those who had never actually met Kyrie, only butchered her with his words from afar.
He was the descendant of a long-fallen noble house. When writing about high society, he would pour all his bitterness into his work. Once part of that world himself, he’d been cast out, and now found release only in lashing out.
To him, Kyrie looked far younger and smaller than he’d imagined, far from the lewd seductress he had painted in his stories.
She looked so young, so fragile, that any normal man might’ve felt guilty for ever speaking about her that way, but her face… that beauty really could have earned her the label of ‘temptress.’
And most of all, her sharp tongue reminded him of one of his more scandalous articles, one that featured a seductive woman’s tongue bringing the Grand Duke to ruin.
“Meeting you in person… you’re just as the rumours say.”
“You lunatic!”
Some of the other reporters tried to stop him, but he didn’t back down.
Seeing that Kyrie was alone, and bolstered by the fact that he had once belonged to high society himself, he grew bolder.
“That tongue of yours… so sharp, I hear.”
He sneered. Kyrie, once again, responded coldly.
“Spare me the nonsense and get out. Before I call the guards.”
“Oh? So ignoramuses like us aren’t even allowed to pursue the truth?”
“Someone shut him up!”
Even as they said it, the reporters looked to Kyrie, eyes gleaming with curiosity, desperate for her next words.
But Kyrie only twisted her lips into a crooked smile.
“You don’t care about the truth. You just like to dress things up with pretty words.”
“Excuse me?”
“What you write is fiction. Not journalism.”
“……”
“Don’t tell me you really believed you were writing for justice.”
The reporter’s face turned red, then pale, then red again.
To him, Kyrie wasn’t a victim of their stories, she was a woman so vile she deserved every word.
Even as a fallen noble, he’d taken this job only to support his household in hard times, and now this debauched villainess was treating him like filth?
‘Does she not fear what we can write?’
That was why he approached her.
“Agh!”
A sharp cry rang out, and the air around them froze.
Droplets of blood began to fall, dotting the floor like red stars.
