Chapter 97

 

Yvonne and Florence had little in common, both before and after Iona’s regression.

 

If the two were suddenly on friendly terms, the reason was obvious.

 

The only thing that had changed from the past was Iona, and both women shared a common dislike for her.

 

“What should we do, shall we investigate further?”

 

“Given that Yvonne has been careful not to reveal more, let it be. I have a rough idea of what she might do.”

 

Iona expected that Florence had heard from Yvonne about the Crown Prince’s request for a partner.

 

Given Florence’s fiery temperament, it was highly likely she wouldn’t let this humiliating situation slide.

 

What methods could there be to prevent Iona from attending the royal ball as the prince’s partner?

 

The tactics to tarnish the reputation of a woman of marriageable age were quite typical.

 

Iona shrugged her shoulders lightly and said,

 

“I guess I’ll have to be careful with alcohol and men for the time being.”

 

***

 

The nighttime soirées were, in fact, more raucous and glamorous than the daytime gatherings.

 

People exaggeratedly clinked champagne glasses, laughing and gossiping about their intoxication. Blushing cheeks and excited kisses were followed by hands clasping together, ascending to the ballroom.

 

In the boisterous atmosphere, any whispered words were often asked to be repeated, though it hardly mattered since nothing of significance was said.

 

Here, everyone’s interests were the same: alcohol and the opposite sex.

 

Thus, Brantley, who had a slightly different agenda, found it hard to blend in.

 

‘Well, if I were to be honest, it’s just that money was added to that list for me.’

 

Thinking this, Brantley sipped from his glass, scanning the room once more.

 

He had thought it would be easier to find his target at this smaller-scale party compared to a general ball, but it wasn’t so.

 

The dense crowd in the confined space made it even harder to discern individual faces.

 

It was only after a considerable search that Brantley finally spotted his person of interest.

 

Without hesitation, he made a beeline towards them.

 

“Good evening, Miss. Allow me to introduce myself for the first time. I am Brantley Visdorf.”

 

She was strikingly beautiful, making one wonder why she hadn’t been noticed sooner.

 

Brantley, in pure admiration, meticulously observed each of Iona’s features, thinking she was someone he would have wanted to talk to even if they had met by chance.

 

Fortunately, a seat next to Iona became vacant as another guest left.

 

Brantley naturally took the spot.

 

In any other gathering, such behavior might have warranted expulsion, but in the relaxed atmosphere of this soirée, many impolitenesses were tolerated.

 

This was also why Brantley had marked this evening as an opportunity.

 

Sure enough, Iona accepted Brantley’s approach naturally.

 

“Pleased to meet you, I’m Iona Modrov.”

 

“Haha, of course, I know who you are. Who here wouldn’t know your name?”

 

“You might not, if you came from a different region. You seem to be from the East, am I right?”

 

“You have a good eye, yes, that’s correct.”

 

Despite hearing that she was a woman of few words, Brantley found the conversation less awkward than expected.

 

Thinking it unexpected, Brantley smoothly continued chatting with her, while also mingling appropriately with the others around.

 

‘That way, people will remember my face.’

 

With that thought, Brantley intently watched the glass in front of Iona.

 

The hall was excessively loud with music and people talking. One could hardly notice if something happened right under their nose.

 

Seizing a moment when everyone’s attention was elsewhere, Brantley discreetly added something to Iona’s drink.

 

Pouring a strong liquor on top made it indistinguishable in color and scent.

 

As Brantley pushed the glass back towards Iona, he casually said,

 

“Now then, shall we toast again?”

 

“That sounds good.”

 

“I haven’t seen such a drinker like you in a long time. Haha.”

 

Without any need for Brantley to encourage her, Iona had been steadily emptying her glass at a rapid pace.

 

It almost made him think there was no need to use any drug at all, considering the amount she had drunk and how difficult it would be for her to walk home sober.”

 

Nevertheless, being cautious never hurt, so Brantley watched intently as Iona swallowed the drink he had offered.

 

“Ugh.”

 

It seemed she had reached her limit.

 

Iona covered her mouth, looking nauseated, and furrowed her brow.

 

She hurriedly got up from her seat, saying,

 

“My stomach feels upset, uh... Excuse me for a moment.”

 

It appeared she was heading to the restroom.

 

Brantley did worry that she might vomit up what he had just given her, but as long as she became incapacitated, whether it was due to the alcohol or the drug was irrelevant.

 

Instead of showing his anxiety, Brantley sent Iona off with a look of concern.

 

Watching her stagger away, Brantley called over a nearby waiter.

 

“Follow the lady who just left and check on her. If she seems unwell, escort her to the lounge.”

 

While saying this, Brantley slipped a gold coin and a small note with the location of a specific lounge into the waiter’s pocket.

 

Such maneuvers were common in these settings, so the waiter complied with Brantley’s request without hesitation.

 

Blending back into the crowd, Brantley casually glanced at the clock on the wall, timing the minutes.

 

He had planned to personally escort Iona out once she returned to the banquet hall, but fortunately or unfortunately, it seemed she had gone straight to the lounge without returning.

 

No matter how long he waited, Iona did not return to her original spot.

 

‘She must have gone straight to the lounge, it seems.’

 

Thinking things were progressing smoothly, Brantley stood up.

 

It had been precisely 30 minutes since Iona had left.

 

By now, the drug’s effects should have fully taken hold.

 

Stepping out of the banquet hall, Brantley briskly crossed the corridor, heading towards the lounge where Iona had been directed.

 

‘Women’s feuds are indeed terrifying.’

 

As he rolled up his cufflinks halfway, Brantley chuckled to himself, recalling a woman who had approached him a few days earlier.

 

She was veiled in a thick robe and masked, making it impossible to see her face, but her voice gave away her youth.

 

The task she proposed was exceptionally vile for someone her age.

 

‘Exposing her to shame to spread rumors of her promiscuity, such a cruel plan for one so young.’

 

Of course, he was no better for accepting such a task, especially when the client promised a substantial sum.

 

After all, it involved meddling with a noble.

 

Even without her status, Iona was not an easy target.

 

Brantley, not believing he could overpower a woman who had risen to the position of the prince’s guard through sheer might, was a cautious man.

 

Rather than drawing suspicion by being too forward, he chose a more indirect approach to simplify the task.

 

The special concoction of sedatives and muscle relaxants he mixed was sure to render any resistance futile.

 

He had already bribed some of the banquet’s staff and a few strong men, the latter waiting inside the lounge Iona had entered.

 

The plan was foolproof.

 

Even the strongest woman couldn’t fight off several men, especially under the influence of drugs.

 

‘Well, considering how drunk she was, she might not even be able to put up a proper fight.’

 

Internally, Brantley hoped she would lose consciousness and not remember anything about tonight.

 

That way, he could claim it was a consensual encounter the next day.

 

After all, it was somewhat frightening to incur the wrath of someone who wields a sword, no matter how lucrative the job.

 

Wondering if he should have brought more alcohol from the banquet hall, Brantley knocked on the lounge door.

 

“Miss Iona, are you there?”

 

“...”

 

“Are you feeling alright? May I come in and check on you?”

 

He asked tentatively about her condition, but no response came from inside.

 

It seemed she had indeed fallen asleep there.

 

Humming to himself, Brantley opened the door and stepped inside, only to freeze in his tracks.

 

“...”

 

Something was terribly wrong, no, it was horrific.

 

The woman who should have been helplessly sprawled out was waiting for him, wiping a blood-stained knife with a handkerchief.”

--- End Of The Chapter ----

 

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