To My First Love, With Regret - 85

Ethan remained oblivious to the tectonic shift in Eve’s perspective. He glanced down at the underwear she had neatly folded on the nightstand, then hooked a finger through the fabric as if casting a line, dangling it before her eyes with a smirk.

The Princess snatched the garment away with a glare at his playfulness, but she didn’t put it on. Ethan felt a prick of suspicion. Instead of preparing to leave, she lay still in his bed as if waiting for something.

What on earth are you waiting for?

His throat began to feel parched. He tilted the flask again, his eyes never leaving her, and asked:

—Are you planning to sleep here?

—I’m dizzy. I’ll rest for a moment before I go.

Eve had to suppress a sneer. You came here to forcibly plant a seed, yet you don’t even have the common sense to know that one shouldn’t move for a while after ejaculation to increase the chances of pregnancy?

—I suppose you overdid it. You’re physically weak, yet you had the nerve to ask for another round…. Honestly, your lust always gets the better of you.

In this moment, she was almost grateful for the man’s ignorance—grateful that he was being fooled, unaware that her goal was identical to his.

However, she wasn’t at all grateful for his touch, considering he wasn’t going to ejaculate inside her again. Ethan sat leaning against the headboard, drinking while staring intently at Eve as she lay on her side. She hoped the hazy heat rising in his eyes was merely the effect of the alcohol.

Eve wanted to hide her fury, yet she found herself unable to look away from him. As she watched with bated breath, he licked his whiskey-dampened lips and leaned toward her. Was he going to pull her close for a kiss?

—Want a sip?

But what he thrust toward her wasn’t his mouth; it was the mouth of the flask. Eve let out her held breath and pushed him away.

—You’re offering alcohol to someone who’s dizzy?

He gave a wry smile and drifted back without resistance. It was a relief that he wasn’t trying to act like a lover, but she found no pleasure in being scrutinized like a rare animal that had wandered into his bed. She needed to divert his attention elsewhere.

—When did this place become a gallery?

At first, only the lighthouse by ‘Leclerc’ had been hanging, but since then, various paintings had appeared all over the walls. There were even canvases leaning against easels and furniture, as if he’d run out of wall space.

Finally losing interest in Eve, the man set down the flask and stood up. He headed toward the leaning canvases and asked with a grand display of feigned generosity:

—Is there anything you want?

—No.

Why would I want my own paintings?

Eve struggled to keep her eyes fixed on his back, desperate to avoid looking at the shameful pages of her diary displayed around the room.

Ethan stopped in front of a particular easel and stood there for a long time, chin in hand like a connoisseur admiring a masterpiece. The canvas was covered with a cloth, leaving her to wonder what he was staring at so intently. Suddenly, he turned back to Eve and threw out an unexpected question.

—Do you know Maximilian Graf’s Masquerade?

—How could I not?

It was a masterpiece whose name even a layman with no interest in art would have heard. To ask a painter—no matter how unknown—if they knew such a work was an insult. Furthermore, Masquerade held a special significance; it was a piece her father, a great admirer of Graf, had yearned for but never managed to possess.

—Have you seen it in person?

—No.

Because that painting was in Constanza.

—Have you ever wanted to see it?

—I have, but that’s….

Before Eve could finish the sentence with ‘impossible because it’s in a private collection,’ Ethan whipped the cloth off the easel.

The hidden painting was none other than that very Masquerade. The masterpiece her father had coveted his entire life, failing to grasp it no matter how much money he offered.

This makes no sense.

Eve stared at the canvas, breathless. It was a contradictory, brilliant depiction of a tragic moment where lovers fail to recognize each other and pass by. Regaining her composure, she asked indifferently:

—A reproduction?

—No, the original.

—…What?

The shock nearly forced Eve to sit up, but she caught herself just in time, remembering why she was lying in her enemy’s bed. Ethan brought the painting over to the bedside so she could admire it to her heart’s content. Yet, she was more curious about something else.

—Why… how do you have this?

Her voice trembled with bewilderment and disbelief.

—I suppose you could call it a trophy from this mission.

—…You mean to say you didn’t go to the front to defend the country, but to pillage?

Pillaging treasures from foreign territories during wartime was a common occurrence. Ridiculously, if a state does it, it’s a legal confiscation; if an individual does it, it’s an inexcusable crime.

—No, the owner gave it to me.

—They just gave this to you?

Even the richest man in the world wouldn’t hand over a family heirloom like it was candy.

—They wouldn’t have given it for nothing.

Ethan gave a small smirk, as if she were talking nonsense, and added:

—It was the price of a ticket.

—…A ticket?

—A ticket to Lavinia.

The moment Eve heard the destination, the entire picture became clear. He had smuggled the owner of the painting—a citizen of Constanza—into Lavinia, and accepted this masterpiece as payment.

—They’re a citizen of an enemy state. Isn’t that an act of treason?

—It’s not like the owner of this painting was a soldier or a government official.

He explained that they were merely a civilian who couldn’t escape the country because the Constanza government wouldn’t let them go. However, that statement only proved that the owner of this masterpiece was no ordinary civilian. They must have been someone of significant influence.

—After getting crushed so badly in the amphibious assault, the smart ones were doing everything they could to escape, realizing the country would soon fall. How could I not help people crying out for their lives on a sinking ship?

—So, you helped them stow away for a steep price?

Ethan let out a low laugh, as if he found a shocked Eve cute.

—I don’t know why you’re so surprised.

He leaned down like he was dealing with an innocent child, meeting Eve’s frozen eyes as he asked:

—Eve, who am I?

With their gazes locked, he tilted his head slightly to the side. It was a playful gesture, yet a dangerous madness flickered in his smile.

—I’m a heinous criminal.

Ethan Fairchild, you are….

Yes, he was a criminal.

She had momentarily forgotten, blinded by his mask of a righteous hero and his polished uniform. Beneath all this deception, the reality of Ethan Fairchild was that he was a gang leader with black blood in his veins.

Surprisingly, the method to peel off this thief when the time came was something he had been carrying all along. Unaware of the brutal picture of betrayal the woman before him was busily painting, he continued to sneer.

—I’m a selfish bastard who only cares about living well. Conscience? If you try to keep something like that, you just get stepped on and killed by the people who don’t have one.

Ethan’s gaze pointed pointedly at Eve.

—You’re right.

Yet, the woman before him aimed right back at him, shamelessly empathizing with the bitter lesson Ethan had gained at the cost of losing everything.

Smiles graced both their faces. While hiding daggers behind their backs. It was a perfect masquerade.

—Now, then….

Ethan leaned loosely against the easel and asked:

—How does it feel to see a once-in-a-lifetime masterpiece in the flesh?

—I see why my father was so desperate to have it.

The moment she confirmed it was ‘the item his enemy could never possess,’ a victor’s smile bloomed overtly on Ethan’s lips. How satisfying it must be for him—to have conquered the daughter of the late Duke of Kentrell and now to flaunt the very trophy the man had coveted.

Yes, enjoy that thrill of victory to your heart’s content. For soon, you will be the loser.

Eve calmly laid her trap.

—Will you send this to your underground vault as well? It seems a waste to bury it under the earth.

—Well….

Ethan stared at the painting, lost in thought, before suddenly turning back to Eve.

—Should I give it to you?

Eve was speechless for a moment at his casual attitude, as if he were handing a child a piece of candy. The man who had received this painting as payment for a dangerous crime would know better than anyone. He knew its value was astronomical.

And he also knew it was stolen property.

In other words, that painting was evidence of a crime.

—I’ll accept it without reservation. Thank you.

She had worried it might be an empty remark made in jest, but Ethan didn’t hesitate for a single second, smiling as he gave her the painting.

—Wow… to think I would own Masquerade.

The reason Eve was laughing so triumphantly like a winner was not even remotely the same as the excuse she gave out loud. However, since anyone would laugh like this upon acquiring such a legendary masterpiece, Ethan didn’t seem to suspect the true intent behind her smile at all.

—Don’t put it up for auction. Things will get complicated if they try to verify the provenance.

—It’s a gift. How could I sell it?

In the eyes of this man currently wearing a satisfied smile, Eve must look like a stupid socialite simply overjoyed to receive an enormous gift.

Once, Eve had loathed herself for wanting to learn the dirty tricks of a swindler. But only today did she admit it. Chantal—even that swindler had qualities worth emulating.

There is no acting more clever than pretending to be empty-headed. For only when everyone considers me harmless can I plot the most harmful of things.