Home/Please Don't Have Ulterior Motives in a Contract Romance/ch79

Episode 79

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"Welcome back, Grand Duke, Grand Duchess."

As the large doors opened, the butler and servants of the mansion stood in two lines, waiting. They greeted Grand Duke Godwin and Grand Duchess Isabelle with utmost formality as they entered the mansion.

The two wore warm smiles as they acknowledged the servants, then turned to each other.

"Father, you worked hard today."

"Isabelle, you too. You must be tired. We'll discuss details tomorrow; for now, go upstairs and rest."

"Yes. You too, Father."

They parted gracefully and went their separate ways.

Isabelle climbed the stairs with her personal maid. Three other maids followed quietly behind her.

"While I wash and prepare, have that place... prepared in red."

At Isabelle's quiet command, the maid behind her bowed.

"Yes, I will prepare it."

The personal maid called the three maids waiting behind her, instructed them to attend to Isabelle, and then headed somewhere.

Upon arriving in her room, Isabelle undressed, removed her makeup, and bathed, attended by the maids.

"It's done now. You've all worked hard—go and rest."

"Yes, Grand Duchess."

After everything was finished, Isabelle sat at her vanity and dismissed the three maids.

"..."

The three maids bowed and left the room one by one. When the door closed, Isabelle locked it.

She approached one of her bookshelves and pulled out a book with her index finger.

Shhk—

A hidden door opened, revealing a staircase leading somewhere. Isabelle descended the steps as if familiar with the path.

At the bottom, a door appeared. Her personal maid, who had disappeared earlier, was waiting before it.

"Preparations?"

"Completed."

The maid respectfully handed something to Isabelle with both hands.

It was a riding crop—about a meter long, nothing unusual.

Isabelle took the crop and looked at it coldly.

"Open it."

"Yes."

"Wait outside the door."

"Yes, Grand Duchess."

Isabelle entered the room as the door closed behind her. The maid stood with her head bowed outside, as before.

The only difference was her expression. Though she tried to maintain a composed face, her tension was evident—she was trembling with cold sweat, her face filled with fear.

"Ha, how annoying."

Once inside, Isabelle walked slowly, clicking her tongue. The angelic warmth she had shown in the banquet hall and the room was gone.

After a few steps, she stopped.

Before her were the bare feet of a woman.

"..."

Isabelle stared at the figure before her.

Across from her stood a young woman with red hair, her arms tied above her head. Her eyes were covered with black cloth.

Isabelle fixed her gaze on the red hair and recalled the insolent commoner woman she had met at the banquet.

She hated to admit it, but the woman was as beautiful as she was. And she had the man Isabelle had set her sights on.

Isabelle looked at the woman's white back and twisted one corner of her mouth.

Her angelic face transformed—her eyes and lips curling upward, becoming utterly cruel.

She flicked her tongue, strode forward, and raised the arm holding the crop.

Crack!

"Eek!"

Crack!!

"Haa! Please!! It hurts...!"

Without a moment's hesitation, Isabelle relentlessly whipped the bound woman's back.

Judging by her熟练 movements, this was not her first time. Despite the woman's screams, Isabelle showed no mercy—she only grew crueler, laughing wickedly.

At age five, after moving from the annex to the main house to begin noble education, her father had shown her this place.

Just as now, he had tied up a girl of similar age, blindfolded her, and whipped her, teaching Isabelle firmly:

Never reveal your true self anywhere but here.

At first, it was difficult. But Isabelle was clever.

From the moment she received the command "only here," she played the part of the beautiful, wise, and kind flower of society, just as her father had instructed.

But the more she played the angelic, kind woman, the more there were those who dared to crawl up, not knowing their place.

Her pent-up anger grew, and the number of people she had killed in this place was countless.

She eventually learned to act on her own, even killing or harming people outside these walls.

Still, she couldn't bring just anyone here—especially not noble ladies.

So if her target was low-born, she brought them directly. If she needed to be cautious, she brought someone who resembled them, torturing or whipping them instead.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

"Plea...se save me...!"

With every swing, the whip tore into the woman's back, which was soon covered in blood.

Looking at the reddened back, Isabelle once again recalled the woman named Jamila and muttered.

"I'll kill you. How dare a lowly wretch act so arrogantly before me!"

Yes—who did she think she was?

She was of nobler blood than the man who stood before her as king. More legitimate than a half-breed.

And yet those two wretches had dared to mock her. Unforgivable.

How much rage had she swallowed when ordered to leave the palace, forced to perform in front of the useless nobles at the banquet?

Her fury was not so easily quelled.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

"Guh...!"

When the woman's clothes below her waist were stained with blood, she finally lost consciousness.

"Tch!"

Isabelle clicked her tongue at the unconscious woman. Beating an unconscious body did nothing to satisfy her.

She threw the crop to the floor and huffed.

She could order another brought in, but it wouldn't be the wretch she wanted—it wouldn't ease her anger.

Isabelle crossed her arms and fell into thought.

She hadn't expected the King, hostile to her father, to accept a marriage proposal at once. She knew well what her father had done to him.

But she had no intention of giving up.

He would have to marry eventually, so she planned to slowly tighten the noose around him, using herself as a card, until he was forced to choose her.

She could eliminate any noble young lady who stood in her way by any means necessary.

But then an unexpected variable appeared.

She hadn't believed the rumors—but the reality was worse than she'd heard.

She was just as beautiful as Jamila, but the way the King looked at Jamila versus how he looked at her was galling.

There was a last resort, but she wasn't ready to use it yet. That method carried too great a risk—it was a final, desperate measure.

After organizing her thoughts, Isabelle smiled.

If the red-haired woman named Jamila died, the King would surely suspect her first.

She thought carefully and left the room.

She recalled the investigation files of the young ladies she knew, choosing her next pawn.

"Clean this up."

"Yes."

Leaving the maid behind, Isabelle returned to her room and sat at her vanity.

"Good. I've decided."

She sorted through the names that came to mind.

Isabelle looked at her reflection—smiling like a holy, angelic saint—and felt satisfied.

"I'll have to ask Father to investigate tomorrow."

She bit her lower lip lightly, recalling Godwin's words about discussing things in the morning.

She knew her father well—she had to make up for her mistakes at the banquet.

She knew all too well how terrifying her father could be, and the price of failure.

Steeling herself, Isabelle rose from the vanity.

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Clatter, clatter—

"..."

In the deathly quiet dining room, Cael and I sat facing each other, having a meal.

Usually, Allen would have joined us happily, but since I had arrived late from the palace yesterday, he had already eaten.

So it was just the two of us, having a late breakfast.

I was acutely aware of Cael's every movement.

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