CWMBR 138

Chapter 138

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Ain's certainty wasn't entirely without basis. He wasn't the type to heed his parents' or other relatives' opinions in the slightest, and everyone knew that fact.

At first, they might panic in this chaos and try to contact him, but soon they'd shake their heads at his stubborn attitude and one by one lose interest. As for Ain’s parents? Well, they'd go back to living like strangers, traveling and hopping from one party to the next, just as they always had.

Once that happened, the only thing left would be Ain Wise, trailing behind him a trail of bizarre rumors.

Declan, rubbing his chin as he imagined this sequence, sighed softly. So that bastard planned to spend his life staring at paperwork before dying alone and miserable? If so, he was utterly foolish to the very end!

"If the line dies out, does all your vast fortune just vanish into thin air? Huh?"

"I suppose I could just have it buried with me when I die."

"You're so bitter. Ugh."

Declan glared at Ain, who wouldn't back down an inch, then sighed.

Right after the divorce, Ain had been as lifeless as a stuffed doll. Compared to that, at least now he was processing the papers on his own desk. He couldn't exactly say he was better, even as a polite lie, but at least he wasn't completely dead to the world. That was a relief.

He heard he'd been to a party last night where Bridget was attending. Had they exchanged even a few words there?

"So the party you went to yesterday was somewhat bearable? Your face looks a bit more alive... Oh, wait, no."

The moment the party came up, Ain's face darkened. He turned pale as a sheet in an instant, and Declan couldn't help but bite his tongue.

Ah, so he wasn't getting better—he was just burying himself in paperwork to escape reality.

Ain, who never attended parties or gatherings without personal gain, had accepted an invitation from someone he hadn't even exchanged names with—solely because Bridget was attending. Declan had secretly cheered him on, thinking that even though he hadn't said goodbye on the day of the divorce, he must have wanted to greet Bridget somehow, even if it was through such a pathetic method.

"Did Miss Pennington give you a hard time?"

"……he couldn't even get a word in."

"Not even a greeting?"

"No."

Iliont, who had attended the party with Ain, testified in a low voice. It was a warning implied in his words: it would be best not to bring up the party in front of Ain.

But Iliont's words, meant as consideration, seemed only to churn Ain's insides further. He flung the documents he held, pressed his temples, and stared out the window. Fergus, who had just been relieved to finally get back to work, glared at Iliont with eyes full of resentment.

Declan, who had been looking at Fergus with pity despite his escape from the endless task of updating the alimony list, suddenly glanced around the office.

This place, which initially felt distinctly temporary, had somehow settled into a semblance of permanence. Another office attached to this one housed numerous staff assisting Fergus and Iliont, and reports flying in from across the country piled up here instead of their original offices.

Though divorced, Ain showed no intention of leaving Glynford. He was the very definition of an ex-husband overflowing with lingering attachment.

"Oh, come on."

Declan thought he should diligently collect and gift him the Terbia Monthly. If he wasn't going to work, at least reading the Terbia Monthly would be somewhat beneficial. If he searched the Terbia Monthly thoroughly, there would surely be a column explaining 'The Attitude an Ex-Husband Should Adopt'. There was no more perfect guidebook on male-female relationships than that.

"If you stay here, you'll keep hearing news whether you want to or not. How can you endure acting so weak-hearted?"

Ain frowned at Declan's question, disguised as a soliloquy. He spoke in an irritated tone, clearly displeased with the topic.

"Just arrest Ronan Pennington already. They say he's boiling with rage."

"There's a proper order to things. The royal investigators say their inquiry isn't finished yet. What can I do? Just rein in those debt collectors you've got tailing him. At this rate, he'll get kidnapped before we even get him to court."

"Might as well kidnap him first, then bring him to court for a day or two."

Ain muttered softly, shifting his gaze to several newspapers carelessly tossed under the desk. He’d bought them to check if the desired article had been published.

Following the divorce announcement, a follow-up article delving deeper into the details included a single photo obtained through secret channels. It was the very photo showing Ain’s and Donna’s face.

Naturally, that single photo alone cemented the Wise couple's divorce grounds as Ain Wise's infidelity. The photo's source was officially listed as an unidentified informant, but in reality, Fergus had personally distributed it to the media. He'd been instructed to time it with the divorce announcement, and he'd handled it with almost excessive perfection. Thanks to that, Ain Wise's scandalous private life was laid bare on the chopping block the moment the divorce was announced.

The Wise family, who would normally have launched an open legal counterattack, remained silent, allowing the embers to smolder and grow hotter.

With just a few seeds planted, journalists eagerly spun plausible narratives. Testimonies from Bredford residents, interviews with former staff at the newlywed home – these pieces of evidence supposedly proved how Ain had neglected and treated his pregnant wife with stinginess.

Those who had previously trembled at the Wise family's power seized upon this flaw. Especially among the upper class, who had recently fallen out badly with Ain, they began gleefully inflating the scandal. It took less than three days for Ain Wise to become branded as the world's most notorious miserly scum.

Consequently, even those who had initially rejoiced at Ain Wise entering the marriage market began to show signs of unease one by one. No parent would want to send their daughter to a man who not only refused to provide his pregnant wife with a maintenance allowance, but deliberately isolated her in a remote mansion to induce a miscarriage, and who slept with women indiscriminately, quietly disposing of them when he grew tired of them.

Even the closure of the Glynford Grand Theater—admittedly a temporary hiatus, though no one bothered to inquire about the details—was seen as evidence. Rumors spread that he wasn't just failing to support his in-laws, but actively ruining them. The moment the financial gain—the most crucial factor in marrying into the Wise family—vanished, Ain Wise's value plummeted instantly.

The only silver lining, perhaps, was that his diminished value in the marriage market was treated separately from his business influence. Whatever rumors circulated behind his back, his established track record ensured no immediate business repercussions.

But…………….

Ain recalled the fountain pen carefully stored in his drawer. It was the very pen he'd used to sign the divorce settlement. Since then, he hadn't dared touch it again.

Only a few days had passed, yet he felt his life had twisted into something profoundly different. While their divorce had granted Bridget freedom, it had bound Ain in inescapable chains.

"We're strangers now."

A bondage he could never escape.

***

The mansion Ain had restored for Mrs. Olden was nearly perfect, but there was one thing that didn't sit well with Bridget.

It was the fence.

"A wall must be this high to truly serve its purpose!"

"But it looks too plain now. How about planting ivy vines? It would look absolutely splendid."

"But Mrs. Ottertz, these red bricks alone make this wall beautiful, don't they?"

Wayna and Jane seemed quite taken with this tall, sturdy wall, reminiscent of a castle rampart. As they said, at this height, safety was beyond doubt. Even if large trees were planted inside and their branches bent outward, climbing over them seemed highly improbable. Adding ivy vines would complete a rather splendid appearance.

Her mind understood. She knew this was the best solution.

But she couldn't help feeling a pang of regret. The mansion of Mrs. Olden she frequented as a child hadn't been surrounded by such stark, high walls. Back then, the iron fence was low enough for a child to climb over, and there were even dog doors, offering multiple paths into the estate.

While Jane and Wayna fiercely debated whether to plant ivy vines, Bridget slowly walked along the wall. Her gaze scanned the wall absently, as if searching for a hole that couldn't possibly exist among the endless uniformity of the bricks.

As she moved along so slowly, Bridget suddenly realized she had strayed too far from the entrance and turned back. It was the very moment she took a step to head back.

Snap!

Startled by the force grabbing her arm, Bridget spun around. She hesitated, having reflexively tried to push the other person away.

"……………… Donna?"

Bridget found herself scanning her.

Standing there, wrapped almost completely from head to toe, she looked nothing like the glamorous Donna Bridget was used to seeing. Her eyes and lips, usually heavily painted, were completely colorless, making her look like a sick person. Even worse, her skin, devoid of any makeup, appeared rough and dry. 

Her untidy hair was weighed down and flattened by the shawl. The shawl itself was made of an excessively thick and coarse fabric, looking suffocating just to look at. The threads sticking out in places on the shawl's surface suggested it was cheap to begin with.

The skirt visible beneath the shawl wasn't in much better shape. The area around the knees was shiny and worn, and the ambiguously short hem clearly showed splatters of mud.

Donna was someone who scrutinized every detail of her own attire and that of her attendants. Yet now, she looked worse than the servants she commanded with a flick of her wrist.

Anyone familiar with the actress Donna Green would likely pass by without recognizing her. If that was the intention, it was a brilliant choice indeed.

"Miss."