This Marriage Must End In Tragedy Chapter 17
17. The Culprit Who Posed as a Lover
“Damion, why did this painting appeal to you?”
At Ansi’s question, he swallowed dryly.
It wasn’t anything special. Just the realization that even this austere woman had interests of her own.
No, that wasn’t quite right. He had already known through prior investigation that she liked stars. He had simply come to feel that truth firsthand.
Damion offered her a casual smile.
“It’s probably a silly reason.”
Ansi was now gazing at him intently. Damion hesitated for a moment before opening his mouth.
“It reminded me of the night sky we saw after escaping the maze that day.”
It was a line meant for her, but not a lie.
His gaze moved from her pitch-black hair to her wide, round eyes, then to her lips, softly pressed together.
Would she deflect it? She wasn’t the type to handle sentimental words very well.
But her response wasn’t what he expected.
“I remember that night a lot, too. I’ve seen the night sky countless times before, but I guess it was the first time I looked up at it with you.”
Damion was, for a moment, at a loss for words.
Perhaps because it was the first time that he had heard such straightforward honesty from her.
He smiled deliberately, gently.
“That makes me happy.”
“I think we’ll have many more memories like that.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Those two simple words—looking forward—made something churn strangely in Damion’s chest.
It was a strange sensation.
“I heard you’re quite knowledgeable about art. Would you mind if I joined you?”
She tossed the question lightly as she glanced around the gallery.
Had she looked him up?
Expectation and curiosity—good omens in the discovery of love. And it was true that his ability to evaluate art objectively was decent, which might appeal to her.
But oddly enough, he didn’t feel like showing off.
“I’m not particularly knowledgeable.”
His reply came in a flat tone.
“Don’t you collect paintings? I heard the ones you’ve acquired are quite valuable.”
“Just luck. When I purchase a painting, I don’t base it on technique or prestige, but whether it evokes a personal memory, or simply gives me a good feeling.”
That wasn’t exactly the standard way of collecting art in this country. Just look at the attendees of this exhibition—each of them raving about technical mastery, intricate detail, or the profound depths of abstraction.
Personal memory? That was too amateurish, too lacking in flair. Not something that would appeal to most.
But there was nothing he could do about it. Unlike his older brother, he had never received formal education on how to appreciate or consume art properly.
His eye had been shaped not by experts but by lonely hours, wandering the corridors of the palace, staring at paintings in silence. That was how it had begun for him. No wonder it was unpolished.
Ansi tilted her head. Then, in her usual dry tone, she said,
“I think that’s a good reason.”
“After all, it’s a painting or a photograph; in the end, they’re all just moments captured in time. If a single image can evoke memories unique to each person who’s lived a different life, then I think that’s the most meaningful value a piece can have.”
Damion slowly nodded, unconsciously turning her words over in his mind. Her quiet, offhand comment had gently overturned something he had taken for granted.
“And considering that you and I aren’t the only ones who noticed this painting,” she added, “your eye for art doesn’t seem half bad.”
Her gaze had shifted to the small sticker beside the painting, marked as sold.
Proof that he had purchased it.
He stifled a smile and nodded as if unaware.
“That’s fortunate, then.”
He stepped closer to her. The strange flutter from earlier had already dissipated.
Together, they began walking, naturally falling into step beside each other.
As they strolled through the gallery, she studied the paintings with a calm, composed gaze. Landscapes of the capital, portraits of unknown figures, a still life of flower vases—countless artworks entered and exited her pupils.
And when a painting of a lake was mirrored in her eyes, Damion, who had been watching that lake through her deep irises, posed a question.
“There’s a boating event on the Benue River in a few days. Would you be my partner?”
Ansi turned her gaze toward him.
Within those large blue eyes, his figure was now beginning to appear.
Click.The sharp tick of the clock's hand echoed through the store.
Ansi, who had been seated with a book in her hands, lifted her gaze toward the clock hanging on the wall.
Six o'clock.There were still two more hours until Madame Roma was expected to return.
"Keep an eye on the store for me, Ansi. In exchange, I won’t charge you rent this month."
It had been an offer she had no reason to refuse. And so, she had spent the entire day watching over the space.
The shop’s merchandise was nothing short of precious. Everything appeared brand new—yet not a single item truly was.
This was a kind of upscale pawn shop, catering exclusively to the upper class.
Some needed urgent cash. Others simply never wore the same necklace twice. And then some couldn’t bear to wear a gift from an ex.For one reason or another, all kinds of luxurious items had ended up here.
Where quality goods abound, customers soon follow. Add the allure of exclusivity—items that can only be found here, along with a sprinkle of good word-of-mouth, and you’ve struck gold.As a result, Madame Roma’s boutique had quietly built a clientele composed of the city's most elite, all under the veil of secrecy.
Ansi was just about to lower her head again when a glint of light from inside a glass display caught her eye.A sparkling necklace.She stared at it for a long moment before reaching up to touch her own neck.
Would it be proper to wear some adornments for a boat ride?
Damion had sent her a few giftsAt the very least, it seemed the man was willing to do that much for her.
Still, she couldn’t afford to rely solely on his goodwill.Men's hearts are fickle; she had to stay vigilant. If she didn’t want him to change his mind, she’d need to make a few efforts of her own.
"I remember that day quite well, too."
"I heard you have a good eye for art."
Ansi had mimicked that steam-engine of a man, spouting pointless remarks, and had carefully investigated him.He’d gone to that exhibition solely because she expected he would be there.
He’d said he liked paintings, so of course he'd attend.And if they were to meet there, he might just take it as a twist of fate.
Whether her plan had worked or not, in the end, the man had asked her to accompany him on the boat.Thankfully, it seemed his interest had not yet faded.
And then it happened.
Ding.The bell on the shop door jingled.
Those who came to this store usually sent a servant in their place, or else arrived shrouded in hats and scarves, doing their utmost to conceal their identities.No one wanted to be caught shopping for second-hand goods.
But the red-haired gentleman who had just arrived either knew nothing of such unspoken rules or simply didn’t care.He walked in, his face on full display.
He stopped in his tracks the moment he stepped inside, eyes wide as he stared at Ansi.He clearly recognized her, but she had no idea who he was.
He must’ve seen me in the papers or something.
“Are you… the proprietor of this store, my lady?”
“No. I'm just watching over it for the day.”
“Ah.”The man gave a small nod, then cautiously looked around the boutique.Before long, he walked straight up to her.
From the inner pocket of his jacket, he pulled out something and asked, suspicion clear on his face—
“Then… do you know who sold this here?”
Ansi’s brow rose slightly.
The man was holding a fountain pen.A very familiar one.
“Did you… buy that, sir?”
“Well, it passed through a few hands. But yes. More importantly, do you know who sold it?”
She replied without hesitation. And at that, the red-haired young man—Henet de Maron—gaped at her in stunned disbelief.
This woman… Ansi de Rubelsa… She’s the one who pretended to be my secret lover?
“Where did you get it? No—more importantly, why on earth did you do something like that?”
Henet stammered, the questions tumbling out in a rush.But Ansi remained utterly calm.Her answer was brazen and firm.
“I’m not obligated to tell you where I got it. And I figured I’d gain more from selling it than by keeping it.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
Damion—do you really know what you’re doing?You’re involved with a woman who goes around impersonating a man’s lover just for profit?
Henet’s mind was a tangled mess.Damion was a smart man—he surely had some idea what kind of woman this was.But this? Even he couldn’t know the full extent.
Still, revealing this might only stir up needless trouble.
He had completely forgotten that he’d once casually lent that fountain pen to Damion at the club, which meant Damion had been the one to provide it to Ansi in the first place.
“My lady, because you sold this, I suffered no small amount of damage.”
“Did you pay a high price for it? I didn’t sell it for much, if I’m honest.”
“That’s not the point…”
She didn’t even seem to recognize him.She had no idea what Henet de Maron looked like, and yet she had gone around claiming to be his lover?
He had no choice.He needed to figure out exactly what kind of woman she was.
“Um… would it be alright if I sat down here?”
“There’s a café across the street.”
“I’ll buy this. And maybe that one too, while I’m deciding.”
Henet purchased a tie pin and seated himself on the boutique’s plush sofa, fixing his gaze on Ansi.
She lowered her eyes and began reading once more.In the quiet shop, only the ticking of the clock could be heard.
Just what kind of woman is she, really?Henet’s eyes narrowed as he continued to observe her in silence.