Chapter 41

“…God is angry? What nonsense.”

Enoch glared at Duke Jemia, carefully choosing his words.  

He was not a devout man—but the world was filled with those who were. This was a sensitive topic he couldn’t treat lightly.

‘Besides…’

Enoch thought of Asla’s face as she’d dozed off during her massage the night before. A dull ache settled in his chest.  

After all, the last princess of a kingdom that worshipped that very god—was his wife.

“It’s already been two years since the fall of the Holy Kingdom! So why has divine wrath yet to subside? Why has it spilled onto my land, onto the innocent?!”

“Please, calm yourself.”

The more Enoch listened to the Duke’s rising voice, the more unease twisted in his gut.

‘Surely not…’

He fought back the ominous premonition swelling in him.  

The western and southern regions of the Empire bordered the old Holy Kingdom, where religious fervor still ran deep.  

The Jemia family of the western territories had long been known for their devout faith—so Enoch reminded himself it wasn’t unthinkable.

But it was a flimsy reassurance. Duke Jemia’s next words shattered it completely.

“I can’t hold it in any longer!”

“What is it you’ve been holding in? Frankly, I haven’t seen much effort from you.”

“…How insolent. I wager your forebears in the Ventus crypt are weeping blood at the thought of a man like you inheriting the ducal title.”

Enoch snorted inwardly.  

‘Is that so?’

He had a clear idea who would truly fail to maintain those ancestral crypts someday.

When Enoch remained unmoved, Duke Jemia slammed his cane on the floor again with a sharp thud, shouting:

“This is why God is angry! That so-called princess of the Holy Kingdom has discarded her grace and customs, only to marry a greedy duke obsessed with wealth!”

“…What did you just say?”

Enoch froze, his expression turning glacial the instant the Duke spoke of Asla.  

Talet, who had been quietly observing until now, also tensed—his glare now locked on the old man, burning with fury.

But Duke Jemia plowed on, heedless.

“Tell me I’m wrong! Why must my beloved lands bear the burden of divine wrath?!”

“…If they’re so beloved, why are you trying to sell them?”

“…What did you say?”

Enoch’s fury ignited.  

He was sick of people dragging Asla into matters unrelated to her.  

Just when she had finally begun to rediscover happiness through her hobbies—yet again, someone was trying to bring her down.

“I’ve been patient, but frankly, if our side doesn’t buy that land, the ones being tossed onto the street will be House Jemia.”

“W-What did you say?!”

While Duke Jemia’s face flushed with rage, Enoch’s tone remained terrifyingly cold.

“I hear your wife’s extravagance is legendary. Not just her—the entire Jemia household seems incapable of recognizing reality and continues to burn through wealth.”

“Enoch Ventus!”

“You say God is angry? If anything, He’s angry that the devout House Jemia is being forced to leave their ancestral land.”

“Insolent cur!”

“No, Duke Jemia—you are the insolent one. You were the first to drag my wife into this.”

The moment Enoch finished speaking, a chill swept through the room.  

Duke Jemia broke into a cold sweat from the sheer pressure Enoch exuded.

For days, he had come to argue and impose his will—and not once had Enoch raised his voice or lost his temper.

Now, for the first time, he had. And it was terrifying.

But Duke Jemia couldn’t back down. He gripped his cane and stood abruptly from the sofa.

“Mark my words! I will uncover the cause of these fires myself. I shall petition His Majesty the Emperor and His Holiness the Pope to investigate this absurd disaster!”

“What nonsense.”

“It’s already been months since the fire broke out. If even that investigation unit you’re so proud of can’t find the cause, then it’s time we turn to those who can wield holy power! They’ll uncover the truth, and I’m certain they’ll prove me right!”

Duke Jemia spat out his final words, glared at Enoch, then stormed out of the executive reception room with his cane.  

Enoch watched silently as the Duke’s attendants scrambled after him in alarm.

He exhaled deeply and rubbed his forehead.

“Crazy old man.”

“……”

“The Pope would never authorize a divine investigation over some damn fire.”

The situation had spiraled into the absurd, leaving Talet equally disoriented. His throat felt dry from tension.  

Just then, a signal arrived—urgent. Talet quickly excused himself from the room, only to return moments later with a troubled look.

Enoch frowned at his expression.

“What?”

“My lord… the madam met with the former duchess. At the hotel.”

“…I gave strict orders to keep her away.”

Enoch raised his voice sharply, but Talet shook his head.

“The madam sensed something was off. She insisted on handling the situation herself and dismissed the disturbance.”

“Damn it. I need to go—”

“There’s no need, sir. She’s already here. She came directly to the company.”

The tension in Enoch’s brow relaxed for only a second before returning, heavier than before.  

He couldn’t imagine what nonsense Margo had spewed.  

Why had she come?  

Had she cornered Asla again, pushed her into asking for a divorce?

The fear clawed at his chest.

One after another, people were threatening his fragile relationship with Asla.  

First Duke Jemia, now Margo—how many more?

Enoch’s anger flared.

“Put someone on the former Duchess. I want proof of her connection with Lisette Grosset. Track every contact.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Enoch wanted to personally dig into Margo’s schemes, but that would have to wait.

Right now, Asla—who had come to his office for the first time—had to come first.

He rose from his seat, straightened his clothes and hair, and strode out with firm, urgent steps.

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The receptionist instinctively bowed the moment a young and beautiful noblewoman appeared in the company lobby.

Her upright posture, noble gaze, and the dignified aura surrounding her were simply overwhelming.  

The receptionist couldn’t help but think—she reminded him of their respected president, Enoch Ventus.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Asla Ventus. I’ve come to see the President. I don’t have an appointment.”

He’d vaguely heard rumors that the Dchess had appeared at the Ventus Hotel in the capital, but never imagined she’d come directly to the company like this. He was taken aback.

“I’ll show you in right away.”

Doing his best to remain composed, the employee led Duchess Ventus to the elevators.

“Thank you.”

Her gentle tone didn’t match the rumors.

The last princess of the now-fallen Holy Kingdom—said to be hiding away in the Ventus estate, consumed by guilt over the kingdom’s demise. Some whispered she was gloomy and disliked human interaction, though she had once been an object of admiration across the empire.

Yet she was far from gloomy. Her voice was as clear and bright as a wind instrument, and the blue dress she wore suited her perfectly. She was a striking beauty.

Most of all, the pink-tinted hair—a mark of the cherished royal Sherita bloodline—and the mysterious, ocean-hued eyes possessed a strange power. They were both enchanting and calming.

“This way, please.”

“Thank you.”

The staff member pressed the elevator button for the president’s floor after ushering her in.

‘She’s kind.’

The Duchess’s quiet words of gratitude touched the receptionist belatedly.  

Someone had said the reason the President has been in such a good mood lately was because his wife had come to the capital.  

Though they’d only exchanged a few words, he was convinced—she must be a good person.  

He smiled warmly to himself.

Behind him, Asla scanned the inside of the elevator with complicated emotions.

This was the elevator Enoch rode every day.  

He went up and down it like it was part of his home.  

Thinking that made guilt creep in unexpectedly.

“The President is in a meeting with Duke Jemia. I’ll inform his secretary of your arrival.”

Upon entering Enoch’s office, Asla nodded at the receptionist who bowed to her.

“Thank you.”

“Would you like some tea? Do you have a preference?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

After politely dismissing the employee, Asla slowly walked around Enoch’s office, taking in her surroundings.

Through the tall glass windows, the capital spread out before her in a grand panorama.  

One wall was lined with books and files, neatly organized.  

The smell of ink and paper filled the room. Everything was spotless, so tidy it almost felt sterile, devoid of human warmth.

But it was still different from the library back at the Ventus estate.

That library had always felt hollow—soulless, unused. A place that held none of Enoch’s essence.

But this office—here, she could feel him in every corner.  

It was a space molded by his hands and habits. It resembled him.

Realizing this was where her husband’s real life was unfolding, Asla let out a hollow laugh.

“All that time waiting for him at the Ventus estate… was meaningless.”

Her chest felt hollow.  

She turned her gaze away.  

The mahogany desk was as orderly as the rest of the room, but buried under stacks of yet-unread documents.

Asla stared quietly at the towering pile, then noticed a door on the right side of the room.

Drawn in as if hypnotized, she walked over and opened it—only to find a small room beyond.

She let out a bitter laugh.

“Here it is.”

Enoch had once casually mentioned it during a conversation.  

Just as Margo had said earlier—Enoch Ventus, the Duke, had a separate space where he rested and slept.

The small room connected to his office was so bare, it was hard to believe it belonged to the owner of the grand Ventus estate and the luxurious Ventus Hotel.

A bed, a nightstand, and a single dresser.  

That was all.

The man who left behind the vast Ventus manor chose to sleep, eat, and live here.

Asla was struck speechless.  

The elegant Duke Enoch Ventus she had imagined while reading about him in the newspapers… had been living in a place like this.

She had never once glimpsed the shadow behind his perfect exterior and success.  

Just as she was about to turn around, hands trembling, her eyes landed on two bottles—one brown glass, the other clear—on the nightstand beside his bed.

‘Brown… that’s for psychiatric meds.’

Sedatives were usually stored in amber bottles to protect them from light.  

The clear bottle held sleeping pills, no doubt.

The moment she saw with her own eyes the reality of Enoch’s inner wounds, a dull ache bloomed in her chest.

She had thought they’d grown closer recently—how foolish she’d been.  

She had never truly grasped the depth of his suffering.

‘Is it Enoch’s fault for hiding everything?

‘No… it’s all my fault.’

A wave of self-disgust crashed over her.  

Enoch had mentioned it in passing, and Vice President Robert had as well.

She’d known he was hiding something—yet still, she had taken him at his word when he said he was fine, and simply waited.

Naive, foolish Asla.

So of course he didn’t trust her.

That conclusion struck her like standing at the edge of a sheer cliff.  

Cornered mentally and emotionally, the color drained from her face.

“Asla?”

Drowning in her own thoughts, she snapped back to reality at the sound of his voice and turned her head.

Dressed in a crisp white shirt and neatly tailored suit, Enoch stood there, staring at her with a look of stunned confusion.

He began walking slowly toward her, unable to hide his unease.

“Why are you… here?”

There was a boyish nervousness in him, like a teenager caught hiding something.

Asla, gazing at him steadily, composed her voice.

“The door was open, so I came in. But… this doesn’t seem like a suitable residence for Duke Ventus.”

Enoch thought she was joking.

Just like that, he regained his composure.