5.
Before marrying him, she was a woman who did nothing but attend bridal lessons at a castle in the Blanc region. Even after marriage, she had never managed a contract, let alone seen one up close. Yet, where on earth had she learned the intricate nuances of notarization and legal formatting?
Suspicion reared its head in Max’s chest again, but he had something else to say first.
“Did you not learn that one does not enter into a contract lightly?”
There was a risk that Freya might draft a document unfavorable to him, but if he set his mind to it, he could easily turn the tables and lay a trap of his own.
“Max.”
But Freya was a woman who exceeded his expectations, just as she always had.
“If you could only trust me, I would be willing to write a hundred more contracts like this.”
The look on her face was strangely lonely. Instead of suppressing the wariness rising within him, Max snatched the quill from her hand.
“Should I proceed with the terms exactly as we discussed yesterday?”
Beneath his hand, the white paper filled rapidly with his elegant script.
“Yes. Oh, and aside from the two conditions we talked about yesterday, there is one more thing I would like to add, if possible…”
Hearing her final condition, Max hesitated for a moment before scribbling the third clause.
“Then, as for the compensation in case of a breach…”
Ironically, the conversation they shared to facilitate their divorce flowed more naturally and peacefully than any moment they had spent together as a married couple over the past two years.
✦ ✦ ✦
“Max, did you see today’s newspaper? The caricature of you and your wife is quite impressive.”
Auguste, having just entered the office, dropped the paper onto Max’s desk with a sharp thud. With thoughtful malice, it was neatly folded to display the satire section, ready to be seen at a single glance.
Cross-class 【Love】 Obsession?! Give me love or give me death!
Max indifferently skipped over the large ‘X’ marked across the word 【Love】 and lowered his gaze to the palm-sized drawing beneath it.
Inspired by the slogans of the Great Revolution, the satire depicted a gaunt, skin-and-bones man with a woman kneeling before him as if proposing. The man’s skeletal face brought to mind *The God of Time Devouring His Children*, a work by an artist who had fled Eswania years ago.
The man, who looked as if he were screaming and gasping for air simultaneously, was dressed in the black tuxedo of the bourgeoisie. In one hand, he held a limp tricolor flag, and around his neck was a menacing dog collar fit for a ferocious hound.
The woman kneeling before him held the leash.
She wore a Rococo-style dress of the sort seen in the capital’s oldest taverns, draped in exaggerated ruffles that made her bosom appear ridiculously, unnaturally prominent. She remained on her knees, clutching the man’s lead while holding her other hand aloft.
Clutched in her raised hand was the neck of a white eagle—the symbol of the Blanc Ducal Family.
“People still believe your wife intends to hand over the entire Blanc estate to you. They don’t even dream that your divorce is on the horizon.”
Auguste, a long-time friend and secretary, was one of many desperately waiting for the news. To be precise, if one were to compile a list of those eagerly awaiting the divorce of Max Russell and Freya Russell, the names of marriageable mademoiselles, their mothers, and the widows whose seats had become vacant would stretch as long as the roster of noble families since the founding of Grandcen.
And Auguste would be the first to proudly place his name at the top of that list.
“So, you’re saying Madam Russell asked for a divorce contract?”
Auguste muttered, picking up the document Max was drafting to confirm its contents.
“Your wife is accepting a divorce? I’d sooner believe that chickens have teeth.”
“She attached conditions.”
“It’s because those conditions are so suspicious that I’m skeptical! Wanting to become a business partner for two years—what on earth is she plotting?”
Max was the one who wanted to ask that. What was she thinking?
*“I want to learn about business management. Since, once I divorce you, I will be the one to inherit the Blanc family. Two years. Let me learn the management know-how as your partner.”*
It was well known that he was a brilliant businessman, but for her to want lessons from him… If this weren’t a divorce negotiation, Max would have thought Freya was simply looking for an excuse to spend time with him.
“Besides, what is this clause?” Auguste narrowed his eyes, pointing to the paper.
Article 8. Special Contract Conditions. Until the divorce procedure is completed, M. Max Russell and Mme. Freya Russell must fully perform their duties as a married couple.
That was a demand Freya had suddenly insisted upon last night.
“Duties as a married couple? Isn’t the promise of a divorce just a lure, and this the real motive?”
A trap. If it were that woman, who had spoken only of love for fifteen years, it was certainly a move she would make as a last resort. Even so, it didn’t matter.
“That’s not important. Unless you think I can’t dodge a trap set by that woman.”
“Then what is important?”
“The problem is whether I will be able to handle it.”
Auguste raised his eyebrows as if he had heard a foreign language. “Handle? Are you afraid it’s a duty the great Max Russell can’t manage?”
*No. I’m afraid I’ll want to handle it.*
Swallowing his reply, Max took the contract back and pulled it before him.
“Well, it’s an advantageous contract. It wouldn’t be a disaster if we were the ones to break it.”
Watching Max return to his writing, Auguste continued.
“Especially the compensation clause—if you don’t divorce within twenty-four months, Madam Freya Russell transfers her mining rights to you. I could believe she proposed that knowing exactly what the company needs right now.”
That was precisely why it was suspicious. Auguste’s voice lowered meaningfully, echoing through the room.
Auguste Delaporte hated Freya Blanc. He hated her so sincerely that, five years ago at the wedding, he was the only one who did not clap when the couple walked down the aisle. Had it not been for his friend’s earnest request, Auguste would have gladly stepped forward when the priest asked, “If there is anyone who has an objection to this marriage, speak now.”
His resentment stemmed not just from her obsession with Max, but from her pedigree. As long as Freya Blanc remained the heir to the Blanc Ducal title and the only daughter of the Duke, Auguste would have hated her even if she were a saint. He was a man who despised the nobility, and he made no effort to hide it.
“Max, you must consider the possibility that this contract isn’t her idea, but one that came from the Blanc family. That man is someone who would do anything for profit—even if it means throwing his own daughter into the mud.”
Auguste pointed out that the Duke might use this contract to gain time, only to nullify the divorce later and avoid the compensation. He could strip his daughter of her succession rights, rendering her unable to exercise any authority over the family’s assets.
“The divorce is the smaller problem. If the real purpose is to insert his own daughter into this company…”
“Stop.”
Max looked up from the contract. Under his gaze, Auguste scratched the back of his head in annoyance and stepped back.
“Fine. It is ultimately your choice. I’m only speaking because I’m a narrow-minded man plagued by prejudice.”
Watching Max finish the contract, Auguste sighed inwardly. Even after being played by Freya Blanc, his friend still held a soft spot for her. To Auguste, such an attitude was incomprehensible.
After all, what feelings other than hatred and resentment should exist between the grandson of a revolutionary hero and the daughter of the aristocratic house that survived it? Add to that her boundless obsession and the years her father spent manipulating Max’s life for his own interests—if he had been in his friend’s position, he would have shot the woman and her father dead and finished himself long ago.
But fortunately, Max Russell was not Auguste Delaporte. After enduring five years of hell, he had finally found a path to escape the Blanc family’s grip.
‘In the midst of this, should I be grateful that Freya Blanc, whom I thought would be a huge headache, is being cooperative?’
Then again, if she had caused a scene and refused the divorce, that would have been its own source of anxiety.