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Ray leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as he quietly exhaled a cloud of smoke. His mind was entirely consumed by thoughts of Rose.
Only after the ashtray had piled high with ash was he able to somewhat alleviate his sense of self-loathing.
Slowly opening his eyes, Ray's gaze landed on the newspaper his secretary had left behind.
The Podium.
Though smaller in scale than the Oakley Liberal, it was a newspaper growing rapidly relative to its short history.
Stubbing out his final cigarette, Ray opened the paper and read the editorial his secretary had marked.
<May Orturan Know Shame>
Beneath the rather intense headline was the name ‘Emily Rodner.’
It was a name Ray had heard before.
There were a few women who participated as guest contributors for magazines, but until now, there had never been a woman employed as a formal journalist, especially not as a political reporter, like Emily Rodner.
He recalled a time when every party he attended was abuzz with the news that a woman from a respectable noble family had taken up such a profession.
<Shame is one of the essential emotions for humans. This is because it is an emotion that leads a person to reflect and evolve. Do we, the Orturans, possess shame?>
Ray's eyes narrowed at the provocative opening. He quickly scanned down the fairly lengthy column. The reporter was sharply and specifically pointing out the baseless rumors and hatred directed toward Bolton.
<According to our investigation, contrary to the rumors, there were no special favors involved in the process of Elliot Davis's name being added to the Gresburn development project. Rather, because Dunsville was included in the development zone, the competition rate was far lower than for other projects, which is why Davis was able to secure a spot.
An official from the Oakley City Hall stated, “Mr. Davis had the qualifications on several previous occasions, but he often lost in the final competition because he was from Bolton,” conveying that it was an open secret that he had, in fact, been disadvantaged.
‘Boltonians with Boltonian money!’
It is reported that this slogan is echoing through Gresburn now that Elliot Davis has been removed from the development project due to criminal allegations.
It means either exclude Dunsville from the development zone, or if it is to be included, develop it with the money of other Boltonians.
The people of Dunsville pay taxes to Orturan, have served for Orturan, and live on Orturan soil.
Elliot Davis pays taxes to Orturan, conducts business in Orturan, and creates jobs by employing Orturans as staff.
Where is Bolton in all of this?
Orturans are too preoccupied with attacking an invisible Bolton. In the meantime, what truly matters is forgotten.
Tariff and trade issues remain unresolved, the ruins of war have yet to be fully restored, and people are still starving to death, dying while working, and dying because they cannot receive treatment.
In such a time, to engage in indiscriminate criticism and spread false rumors simply because someone has a Bolton ancestor or Bolton blood is a far too petty move for a proud great power.
The Orturan I know is not such a country.>
The latter half was filled with scathing criticism of the Daily Oakley Review.
Reading sharp phrases such as ‘an outdated newspaper that lays out delusions from its own head without proper investigation or evidence’ and ‘malice that incites people through clever fabrications without any countermeasures,’ Ray felt he understood why his secretary had brought this reporter's column to him.
Closing the newspaper, Ray opened the remaining documents his secretary had brought.
He didn't even have the time to fully feel his self-loathing or sense of betrayal.
He had to set everything right before Rose chose the easy path of escape.
* * *
Ray, who was leaving the Antaka Embassy after visiting to discuss the official position on the treaty, ran into Marcel Garnier.
“You must be very tired lately.”
The pianist standing in the hallway greeted him first with a soft smile.
“I saw that Avery left the party today along with the senior members. I heard he's forming a new party.”
“It's welcome news for once,” Ray replied indifferently, making Marcel laugh.
The Prime Minister was surprisingly remaining silent.
He surely knew that remaining silent in this situation was equivalent to taking Ray's side.
The superficial reason for Avery's departure was a protest against the Prime Minister's silence, but in reality, it was likely because he saw a chance of winning.
Since Ray was currently shaken, Avery probably thought that if he formed a new party and put forward a candidate of his choosing, he might not become a minister himself, but he could plant a few people in the assembly. He was still utterly foolish.
If Avery left the Conservative Party, Ray could become far more free.
“Is Rose alright?”
After hesitating for a while, Marcel asked.
“She sent a letter, but she doesn't seem alright at all.”
The transparent worry and pity appearing on the artist's handsome face irritated Ray.
How on earth did she send a letter?
What did she say to this man, while she only told him to give her a divorce?
The fact that he felt such a sense of deprivation toward a mere pianist made him feel so ridiculous that he almost let out a scoff, but Ray held it back.
“I appreciate the efforts Mr. Garnier is making,” Ray spoke slowly.
The man before him was using his connections in the art world to the fullest to defend public opinion. Ray had even heard of the efforts he was making.
It bothered him that Rose's feelings seemed to be reflected in those desperate efforts.
“I will take good care of Rose.”
Sensing the boundary being drawn, Marcel fell silent, but not for long.
“Leaving her in the mansion like that—”
“She is not ‘that girl,’ she is my wife.”
Despite the cold interruption, Marcel wore a faint smile. It was a smile that, every time Ray saw it, strangely reminded him of his wife and made him feel foul.
Had the long time Rose spent with this man influenced her smile?
“Just because she is your wife, Duke, doesn't mean Rose ceases to be Rose. Do you think confining her in your arms will stop the thoughts in her head?”
It was a smile that seemed to read right through Ray's inner thoughts.
“I once thought a tree would grow in the shape it was pruned. But in the end, it stretched out however it pleased.”
Ray detested these kinds of literary metaphors and inefficient ways of speaking.
“You may think I'm overstepping, but I'm saying this out of concern for Duke Crawford. If you only stifle her, you will also suffer, Duke Crawford.”
Stifle? Ray couldn't understand.
How could the best way to protect a woman be described as stifling her?
The outside world was full of things trying to hurt her. Everything would surely leave a scratch on that woman's heart.
Why was it wrong to prevent her from seeing such things?
“You are indeed overstepping.”
At the short, dry response, Marcel gave an awkward laugh with a troubled expression.
“Since you call it concern, I'll accept the sentiment. Farewell then.”
With a nod of greeting, Ray left the embassy.
His mood remained at rock bottom all the way back to the Crawford mansion.
Marcel Garnier's arrogant advice and his attitude of claiming Ray's method was wrong continued to grate on his nerves.
He just had to prove that he wasn't wrong.
Upon arriving at the mansion, Ray's gaze lingered briefly on the piano room next to Rose's bedroom as he intended to enter.
He was told that Rose no longer played the piano and no longer came to this room. That she didn't even leave her bedroom.
It was what he wanted, but he was equally anxious.
Something was definitely, fundamentally wrong. No matter what she did, he was not satisfied.
Entering the bedroom, he saw the back of the woman lying on the bed as if dead.
Sitting on the edge of the bed and placing a hand on Rose's shoulder, Ray thought.
He would coax and soothe her so that she would never utter the word divorce, nor even think of it.
It was because he was bothered by the fact that he had spoken too harshly out of anger the last time he saw her.
“……Are you here?”
The woman, who had her eyes closed, opened them and slowly pushed herself up. It didn't seem like she had been sleeping.
He could tell from her pale face and her smaller frame that she had grown thinner over the past few days. For a moment, a sharp pain flashed through his chest. It was an unfamiliar pain.
“Rose.”
When he called her name, she looked at him in silence.
Her lifeless green eyes looked as if they were dying.
The eyes that once sparkled while looking at him were gone. The warmth, the laughter, and the playfulness that had been contained in those eyes had all vanished.
“Just hold on a little longer. I can finish this soon.”
Even as Ray brushed the hair back from her forehead, Rose remained still without answering. However, the mere fact that she didn't push him away wasn't enough to reassure him.
He wanted to find a trace. A trace that she had affection for him, evidence that it still remained.
Their lips met.
As Rose's lips, which had hesitated for a moment, parted slightly, his tongue pushed inside as if it had been waiting.
Pushing his tongue deep, Ray searched her mouth obsessively until he got a reaction from her.
Until a moan broke through her parted lips.
As Ray climbed on top of her, the bed shook violently.
Seeing the woman, whose face began to flush, panting beneath him, he finally felt a bit of relief. Because at least then, she felt alive.
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