To My First Love, With Regret - 119

Eve took a deep breath to steady her racing heart. With the gravity of someone prying open the lid of a long-sealed coffin, she cautiously opened the box. From that moment on, she scanned its contents with the meticulousness of a coroner examining evidence of a crime.

The proof of smuggling was exactly as she had anticipated. In essence, Eve had just received a marriage proposal from a man who deserved to rot in prison for a very long time.

Well now. If I hold my tongue and become an accomplice, I suppose he might evade his cell.

Contrary to her hope that this would resolve her dilemma, she was right back where she started. Eve remained standing, motionless, at the crossroads.

—Haa….

As she let out a weary sigh and sank into her chair, a memo on a manila envelope—one she had pushed aside without opening—caught her eye.

｢This conversation is unrelated to the smuggling, but I am enclosing it as I believe Kentrell ought to know｣

Eve opened the envelope. Inside was a transcript of a wiretapped phone call between Ethan and his father, Jack Fairchild.

The date was only last week; the line used for the call was located in Ethan’s own bedroom.

Had Ethan been so certain that a household consisting only of a young Duke and a foolish woman would have no reason to bug his room? Just a few walls away, he had discussed things Eve was never meant to know.

Jack Fairchild (hereafter Jack): So, you’re really not going to show your face even for Christmas?

Ethan Fairchild (hereafter Ethan): (Sighs) I told you, I’m busy with work.

Jack: Busy with work, my foot. You’re just distracted, chasing after some woman’s skirts.

Ethan: But that is my work. The basic strategy is to slip through the cracks when a person’s heart feels empty during the holidays.

Jack: (Tsking sound) What are you lacking that you’d stoop to wooing that traitor? You should just drag her off and shove a ring on her finger. That would be the end of it.

Ethan: (Sound of breath, as if exhaling cigarette smoke) I know. In fact, I plan to give her just a few more days. If she still holds out, I’ll take her by force and stand her before the altar.

Jack: (Laughter) I see. So, will you be putting a precious grandson in my arms by next year?

(Approximately 5 seconds of silence)

Jack: Why aren’t you answering?

Ethan: We’ll have to wait and see.

Jack: Wait and see? What for?

(Approximately 4 seconds of silence and rustling noise)

Ethan: Eve told me… that she’s infertile.

Jack: What?

Ethan: She says she can’t have children anymore.

Jack: (Snorting) You believe the words of that vixen who stabbed you in the back? She’s clearly playing tricks because she’s read your intent.

Ethan: I wonder. It’s not as if the thought hasn’t crossed my mind, but…

(Approximately 3 seconds of silence and the sound of something tapping)

Ethan: We’ll know soon enough.

Ethan: If that woman has deceived me again… (Sound of something breaking) …then I truly won’t show her any mercy this time.

Jack: Right. You’ve been played enough. You haven’t forgotten what you lost, have you?

Ethan: Once I have my son, I’ll make sure she ends up just like the other Sherwoods.

Until now, the idea that he had come to strip her of Kentrell had been nothing more than Eve’s gut suspicion. But now, it was different. Ethan had confessed it with his own lips. And as of only last week, he had not abandoned this ambition.

Had he truly given it up by today?

Ha. Eve let out a short, mocking laugh.

She was right to trust the cold-blooded path he had walked until now, rather than that fervent, silver tongue of his.

—Because I still love you.

Do you really think I’ll take the bait of ‘love’ and offer up my neck, knowing you’re sharpening a blade behind your back?

—If this isn’t called love, then the word love has no reason to exist in this world.

Fine. The word ‘love’ no longer exists in our world.

Unless, of course, its definition is ‘a means for deception.’

And so, Eve put a period at the end of her agonizingly foolish hesitation. She decided to seal her lips forever. How could she ever open her heart to a man who promised to kill her if she spoke the truth?

Evelyn Sherwood would not die. She would survive, and she would soar.

Even if she had to run from Ethan Fairchild to the very edge of the earth.

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It was the morning of January 2nd, a time when the feverish excitement of the New Year had yet to fade. The world was catching its breath during a fleeting, timed truce, but for Evelyn Sherwood, the war—where the enemy marched toward her without pause—could not afford a delayed opening. Armed with a birdcage veil covering her face and a lawyer by her side, Eve stepped into the Military Police Headquarters in the capital, Richmond.

—I wish to report an officer who is tarnishing the prestige of the military by exploiting army supply routes as smuggling channels.

She was led straight to a desolate office.

—What is your relationship with the officer in question?

As she answered the investigator sitting across the desk, Eve suddenly realized she had experienced something very similar before. Ten years ago, at the Cliffhaven Police Station. That day, she had desperately defended Ethan’s innocence to save him; today, she was exposing every one of his sins to save herself. The same scenery, the same mouth—but the altered relationship drew out a diametrically opposed testimony. Eve washed down the bitter taste in her mouth with a sip of the low-grade coffee she had intended not to touch.

Details passed back and forth: Eve’s personal information, the identity of the officer who committed the illegal acts, the nature of their relationship, and the grounds for the accusation. The investigator, whose face had been a mask of formal indifference, eventually took on a dark expression and asked for a moment to pick up the receiver. He called someone and, in a grave voice, requested support from the party on the other end.

—…Yes. If there was collusion with an enemy nation, this may fall under espionage rather than simple smuggling….

Espionage. Eve bit her lip at the chilling word. She hoped, for God’s sake, that he hadn’t betrayed his country. But that was not an area for Eve to dare judge.

—Yes, thank you. I will be standing by.

It seemed the executioner holding the hilt of judgment was on his way. After a wait of about forty minutes, the firmly closed door finally opened, and Eve froze upon seeing the figure who walked inside. The face of the strikingly handsome man, dressed neatly in his Army officer’s uniform, was familiar. Though his features had grown sharper with the passing years, he was unmistakable. The man also seemed to remember his connection to Eve; with eyes reflecting a mix of delight and awkwardness, he extended his hand.

—Lady Evelyn, it has been a long time.

—Duke Eccleston….

For a rare moment, Eve’s voice trailed off.

—I suppose here, I should call you Colonel?

The man sharing a dry handshake—one better suited for an interrogation room than a ballroom—and wearing a restrained smile was Edwin Eccleston. He was the man Eve had once tried to set up with Crown Princess Helena in order to get herself into university. They had crossed paths occasionally since childhood when the two ducal families interacted frequently, but they’d had no contact since becoming adults. Thus, the relationship had been maintained only as a shallow acquaintance, someone Eve would contact only when she needed to ask about the state of the war.

Edwin Eccleston was a gentleman among gentlemen. If Ethan was a rugged wasteland atop a cliff, Duke Eccleston was a well-tended garden tree. From head to toe, he exuded a suffocating perfection, an elegant grace that never faltered. Because of that, he was boring to a fault, possessing zero romantic appeal in Eve’s eyes; however, if she had a daughter, she would have pushed her to marry such a man at all costs.

No, wait….

Eve suddenly recalled an old scandal about Duke Eccleston that had been circulating. Every male in this world, whether a saint or a villain, was bound to have another face—one that was dark and twisted.

I’m sorry for taking it back, daughter. Please, just live alone.

Eve’s stray thoughts were shattered when Colonel Eccleston naturally took the seat of honor that the investigator had hurriedly vacated.

—I didn’t expect to see you again here.

Eve moved past the awkward moment with a formal smile and a question.

—But in what capacity are you here, Colonel? I heard you weren’t part of the Military Police.

—I am currently serving as the Director of Army Intelligence.

At the appearance of yet another unexpected titan, Eve reflexively caught her breath. She was ignorant of military matters, but she knew what the Intelligence Bureau did. A counter-intelligence unit that hunted spies who gnawed away at the country while hiding their identities. And to think that the highest-ranking commander, not just some rank-and-file member of that Bureau, had come to see me.

At first, she thought it was a disaster. To have to reveal her shame and scandals in their entirety before a social acquaintance she hadn’t seen in years—and a noble Duke at that.

—It is a pleasure to meet you, Director.

However, putting emotions aside and looking at it through the lens of reason, this was nothing short of a stroke of luck. At a negotiation table, it is always much easier to get what you want when the leader, rather than a subordinate, is sitting there. She didn’t have to waste time going through countless underlings. She could immediately settle terms with a man of power who could recognize the exact value of the hand Eve held and had the ability to pay the surest price.

But wouldn’t this be the worst possible catastrophe for Ethan?

Eve offered her condolences to her former lover, who was about to meet the judge of hell, and officially opened the negotiations. The evidence she handed over was just the tip of the iceberg.

—The most decisive evidence is sleeping in a bank vault. As you can see, the key to that vault is right here.

Clink.

Eve pulled out a small brass-colored key, gave it a light jingle, and immediately hid it deep back inside her handbag. The negotiator, who was quick on the uptake, understood her silent message.

—The state is not stingy toward a patriot who turns over all evidence. What is it that you want?

Though a hint of cynicism lingered in the word ‘patriot,’ his attitude when asking what she wanted radiated the confidence of a tycoon offering a blank check. Liking his straightforward manner—that suggested he could give her whatever she desired—Eve made her demand boldly.

—I don’t ask for much. Only that the informant’s identity be protected.

It was time to discard the old aristocratic habit of speaking in polite circles. She wouldn’t be an aristocrat much longer, anyway.

—I mean that in exchange for handing over all the evidence, you must guarantee a new identity for myself and the Duke of Kentrell, personal protection, immediate departure from the country, and safe asylum.

There is one way to obtain a new identity without ever being caught by the king of the underworld. It is to not forge a fake one at all. One simply needs to borrow the hand of legitimate public power to create another perfect ‘truth.’