Chapter 8: Mercy of an Angel

At that moment, Oliver’s blue eyes burned intensely.

“What… did you just say?”

“O-Oliver!”

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Before Vincent could stop her, Oliver took off running straight for Madame Charlotte’s shop.

“Hey! Are you insane? Watch where you’re going!”

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A coachman shouted angrily, yanking his reins when Oliver dashed recklessly into the road.

Even after being hit by the carriage, she staggered to her feet, limping but determined, her teeth clenched tightly.

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“Huff… haah…”

‘Melanie!’

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Her mind was consumed by the thought of her naïve little sister.

‘Sister, just the thought of being sold off to the brothel makes me want to die.’

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The sound of Melanie’s trembling voice as she cried into her chest at night echoed vividly in Oliver’s mind.

‘Don’t worry, Melanie. I’ll protect you, no matter what. So, don’t you worry.’

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Even that foolish, naïve promise of hers.

“Oliver, what are you doing here at this hour?”

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Pierre, the store manager, adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose as he looked at her.

“Madame… where is she?” Oliver gasped.

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“What? You’re looking for Madame at this time of day? Have you lost your mind? Naturally, she’s still in bed—it’s not even morning tea time yet!”

But before Pierre could stop her, Oliver headed straight upstairs to Charlotte’s private residence above the shop.

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**Bang! Bang! Bang!**

“Madame! Madame!”

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Of course, the firmly locked door didn’t so much as budge.

“Please, Madame! Please open this door!”

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Oliver pounded the door with her sawdust-covered fists, her desperation evident in every strike.

Just as it seemed she might break the door down, Vincent caught up to her and dragged her back by the shoulders.

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“Oliver, if Madame casts you out, what are you going to do? Do you really think she’ll talk just because you throw a tantrum? She’ll only make things worse!”

“Melanie’s been sold! Do you understand, sir?”

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“I know. I get it. But calm down for now—”

“Calm down? Do you even know who might have taken her, what kind of monster—”

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Like a wild animal, Oliver turned back toward the door, raging.

“You! I’ll report you to the police! You won’t get away with this!”

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Click.

The sudden sound of the golden doorknob turning filled the tense air.

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Click, clack, click, clack.

Charlotte stepped out with calm, deliberate steps, her face as cold as her poise. Without hesitation, she struck Oliver hard across the face.

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Slap!

“…!”

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The slap was so forceful that Oliver’s pale cheek swelled instantly, her lip splitting and the metallic taste of blood spreading in her mouth.

“Report me? You?” C

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harlotte sneered, her voice dripping with mockery.

“You promised to wait!”

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Oliver shouted, her blue eyes blazing with fury and sorrow.

Charlotte faltered briefly under the intensity of her glare but quickly recovered, her crimson lips curling into a taunting smile.

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“I did say I’d wait. But I never said how long, did I? I’ve waited plenty—three whole years, to be exact.”

Oliver’s clenched fists trembled as her anger grew.

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“You don’t seem to understand, but girls lose their value as they age. You should be grateful I didn’t sell her off as soon as she hit puberty.”

Oliver’s voice cracked with barely contained rage

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. “She’s only seventeen!”

Charlotte fanned her face delicately, casting wary glances at the workers who had gathered to watch the commotion.

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“Yes, seventeen. Old enough to know what’s what, isn’t she?”

“…You’re insane,” Oliver growled, unable to contain the vile curse that escaped her throat.

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“Now, now.”

Charlotte taunted, relishing the power she held.

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“What’s the point in asking who or where she was sold to? Are you planning to go fetch her yourself?”

The madame chuckled darkly, her gaze traveling over Oliver, whose features—despite her disheveled state—were undeniably striking.

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“You’ve been a diligent little worker, quiet and obedient. I’ve been kind to you, haven’t I? And yet, you think you can challenge me? How arrogant.”

Oliver remained silent, her body trembling with restrained fury.

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“You should be thankful, you know. I handed your sister over to a very wealthy and prestigious gentleman. She’ll be his mistress—a far better fate than most.”

As Oliver’s fists trembled harder, Charlotte leaned in close, whispering maliciously into her ear.

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“And by the way, Oliver, I hear the authorities are rounding up stowaways without proper identification these days. Before reporting me, perhaps you should beg them to keep quiet about ‘your’ status, hmm?”

Charlotte’s voice dripped with venom as she watched the stubborn boy standing before her, refusing to let a single tear fall.

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She added, almost dismissively.

“So go back to work, if you want your overdue wages.”

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“And if I refuse?”

“…What?”

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Oddly, Charlotte felt more unnerved by Oliver’s defiance at quitting than by his demand for Melanie’s whereabouts.

“If you want your back pay, you’d better learn to speak nicely, Oliver. Understand?”

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A smirk tugged at the corner of Oliver’s split lip.

“Shouldn’t ‘you’ be the one worrying?”

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“W-What?”

“How do you plan to keep that wretched shop running without me?”

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“Y-You insolent—!”

“Report me as a stowaway if you want. Without Melanie here, I’ve no intention of working like a dog for you anymore.”

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“Oliver, you—!”

“Who knows? Maybe I’d find resting in a prison cell more tolerable.”

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Charlotte was the only one caught off guard by Oliver’s unexpected reaction.

“You’re a devil, Charlotte Duré. I swear, I won’t let you get away with this.”

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Oliver’s shoulders trembled with barely restrained rage as he turned to leave, Charlotte’s shrill voice echoing behind him.

“Ha! A pauper like you dares to insult Viscountess Duré? Go ahead, pray to God for your miserable little life. Let’s see if He bothers to listen to someone like you!”

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Vincent, standing nearby, could do nothing but chew on curses as he watched Oliver’s fragile shoulders quake with anger.

“That damned fox… she knew how hard Oliver begged for Melanie.”

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Not just Vincent—everyone who worked under Charlotte had seen how tirelessly Oliver had labored to protect Melanie.

But unfortunately, none of them were in any position to openly take his side against their ruthless employer.

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As Oliver staggered away, his pale face drawn with exhaustion and despair, the workers could only look on with pity. Finally, one of the maids hesitantly stepped forward, holding out a handkerchief.

“O-Oliver…”

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“I don’t need it.”

“Take it. Just in case.”

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The maid gently pressed the handkerchief into Oliver’s cold, trembling hand and whispered hesitantly.

“…The card. The man who bought Melanie.”

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For a moment, Oliver’s deep blue eyes grew impossibly darker.

* * *

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Mikhail answered with a look of amusement, as though he’d just bet on an intense equestrian match.

“Did everything go well with Madame Charlotte?”

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“That woman? She’s all about the money. She signed the contract without hesitation.”

“Well, she’s desperate, isn’t she? Selling off a girl who hasn’t even come of age yet—no wonder she’s uneasy. She probably leapt at the chance when we offered to keep quiet.”

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Mikhail clicked his tongue, thinking of Madame Charlotte, whose judgment was sharp but character lacking.

“Report her to the police. Collect enough evidence to make sure she never steps foot in society again.”

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“…Understood.”

“Keep the contract safe. If she tries to backtrack, we’ll shove it right in her face.”

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“Of course.”

Mikhail idly pulled out his pocket watch, checking the time.

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“Still, the boy seems slower than I expected.”

Alain de Drône sighed softly beside his master.

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“Surely, Your Grace doesn’t expect him to make it here from Avenir, where Million is located, to the Violette estate in under an hour?”

“If he runs at full speed, it should be possible,” Mikhail replied casually.

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Alain shook his head.

“It’ll be at least 3 p.m. before he manages to arrive, assuming he comes directly here. Even by carriage, the trip takes a good thirty minutes. The problem is…”

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Alain inhaled deeply, still looking uneasy.

“We can’t be certain whether Oliver Enel will actually come to you for help. That’s the real issue.”

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Mikhail, however, seemed utterly indifferent, lighting a cigar as he spoke.

“It’s a good opportunity to test whether the brother hauling stones to pay his sister’s ransom truly meant it.”

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But Mikhail’s casual musings were interrupted by the voice of a footman announcing a visitor.

“Your Grace, someone named Oliver Enel requests an audience. How shall I proceed?”

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“Show him in politely,” Alain instructed, glancing at the time and marveling.

“Seems he ran all the way here without taking a single breath.”

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Mikhail smirked faintly, the corner of his lips curving upward.

“Well, he’s young. That’s the age when one thrives on little more than grass.”

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Alain shrugged.

“With this, I suppose we can confirm his devotion to his sister is genuine.”

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