Chapter 442 - Dogfight


Clemente hurried the carriage madly and arrived at none other than her home, the Bartolini mansion. Countess Bartolini immediately stormed into the most unhomely part of the entire mansion.

It was Isabella's annex, and there, Clemente was faced with the scenario he feared most.

“...Sabella. Our poor Isabella.”

A familiar voice was whispering words of love.

'DiPascal...!'

Clemente held her breath and hid herself. The only shelter she found was a loosely locked door. The old hinges creaked, and any fear of being discovered was blown away by the tenth blow she received from DiPascal’s whisper.

“Your husband... You damn bastard... how could he run away by himself, abandoning such a beautiful wife?”

The Count DiPascal, whom she had dreamed of, praised Isabella in her home. He also cursed her younger brother. DiPascal's voice grew louder and louder as he became excited. Clemente's anger also grew more and more intense.

“How could he do such a thing to such a pitiful person like you! To my beloved Isabella...!”

If he had called her 'My dear Clemente,' she would have been happy to hear nothing in the world. If he had been angry with old Count Bartolini, who had wronged her, it would have been a heavenly song. The very thing he wished to say to her, he was whispering to his sister-in-law, the most terrible in the world. Isabella's croaking voice rang out in response.

“Oh, Andrea.”

It was a sly voice that was only worn when a man was present. Clemente felt something rising from deep within his stomach. Count DiPascal stuck his knife into it.

“Isabella, run away with me.”

'Ugh!'

Clemente held his breath. That was the offer she had made to DiPascal. The man who had coldly rejected her was the first to plead with Isabella. It was physically painful and tearful.

But... there was no answer from Isabella. 

Clemente felt a strange laughter in their silence, and Clemente's intuition was utterly accurate.

'You crazy bastard, you want to starve to death together?'

Isabella had no intention of running away with DiPascal now. In her eyes, Count Andrea DiPascal was a man who had married well and saved her life.

The Countess of DiPascal came from a very wealthy family, and thanks to her generous dowry, he was able to lead a rather flatulent life in the capital.

What if he ran away and abandoned his sweet wife? But Isabella was pretty and sobbed in front of him.

“No, Andrea. Then we would be sinning.”

It was not that Isabella had never let her temper out on Count DiPascal. But after that, Count DiPascal had not heard from her for a long time, and only came running today after hearing of Isabella’s misfortune. She instinctively realized that if she wanted to keep this man hanging on, she would have to pretend to be a sly person for a while. Isabella whispered in a trembling voice that suited DiPascal perfectly.

“I just don’t have the courage, I just don’t have the courage.”

Count DiPascal was completely fooled by Isabella's cute acting. He was at a loss when Isabella burst into tears. He was about to cry, too.

“Oh, Isabella. Isabella. I realized during the time I was not seeing you. I can’t live without you.”

He clung to Isabella desperately.

“I don’t need anything else. I’ll run away with you. Take my hand. I’ll give you everything I have.”

Isabella thought, 'What have you got? What else have you accumulated on your own, other than the dowry for your wife?'

Clemente, who was forced to watch the chaotic love affair between his lingering lover and the world's most hated woman from the royal box, felt her blood pressure soar, and her skull felt like it was going to burst.

At that moment, Isabella said something Clemente would never forget.

“Andrea, you are too good for me. You should find a better woman than me.”

'Damn, that's what DiPascal said to me.'

“Go back to the arms of the Countess DiPascal. You deserve it.”

To Clemente, who had just met the man, it sounded like a real-time translation.

'You are too insignificant to touch my pride. I can even show off my wife without batting an eye, so please just accept my compliments and get out of here.'

Clemente was shaking with her fists clenched at some point. Andrea DiPascal, whom she had risked everything to be with, was hanging on to Isabella de Mare, whom she hated the most in the world. And Isabella had thrown away Andrea’s devotion like an old shoe.

The superiority and inferiority of power were so obvious. Clemente, who had found the meaning of her life in her passionate love affair with a man, could not accept this fact.

Clemente didn't even realize that she was straining her entire body. By the time she realized it, she had already lost her balance and was falling against the door she was backing up against.

CLANG!

The old oak door opened wide on both sides.

Bam!

Countess Clemente de Bartolini was squatting on the floor of a small room in the annex of her house.

Fortunately, she did not witness the greatest humiliation of her life right away, because the two handsome and beautiful married men, Andrea DiPascal and Isabella de Contarini, were so busy licking each other's tongues that they had no time to look at the floor.

They only noticed Clemente's presence and her butt-stomach thump after a loud noise.

Isabella was the first to spot Clemente, who was pretending not to know her while kissing him.

“...!”

Count DiPascal, who was completely absorbed in the kiss and giving it his all, noticed it a moment later.

“?!”

But once Count DiPascal noticed, he was like a flash of lightning. His face turned pale, he let go of Isabella and slowly backed away, then he turned away, saying, “Save me!” Isabella screamed in surprise.

“Andrea? Andrea? Hey!”

But he did not return. The two women left DiPascal alone in his tracks.

Isabella had no reason to pursue him. It was a good thing she had been planning to coax him out anyway.

Clemente didn't bother to chase after DiPascal either. At this moment, the delicious Isabella was in front of Clemente. Clemente opened her mouth with a trembling voice.

“...You. You and your husband are in a mess, and the only person you can trust is your parents.”

Clemente's eyes were bloodshot, and her knuckles were pale.

“Your father is gone. Your brother is finished. You don’t have an older brother to give you money, and you don’t have a father to look after you. Do you know that you have to do well and risk your life for me right now, or not?”

The ones who shared the dirtiest secrets were also the ones who could be the most honest. Clemente, who always spoke pretty and sweet words, beat Isabella raw.

“I can hear you talking dirty all the way here! You shake your butt here and there, embarrassing the family!”

But Isabella was no pushover. The point where they could be honest with each other was the same here, too.

“Oh, Sister. Did you kick me out of the palace ball today because of the family’s disgrace? Because of that, no one from the Contarini family can enter the palace. Who the hell is causing the family’s disgrace?”

Isabella had a vague idea that what had happened today was Clemente's prank. And now she knew why Clemente was acting so childishly.

“Oh, is it because of Andrea?”

A victorious smile appeared on Isabella's lips.

“I didn’t know he was my sister’s lover. You and that guy weren’t really in a position to claim rights here and there, right? And how would I know you were that serious?”

Isabella, who had been whining, started to get angry as she spoke.

“No, and your conduct? Who is lecturing whom? Right now?”

But Isabella wasn't the only one who was upset. Clemente, who had seen such an unsightly sight and was embarrassed in front of a man, was also very excited.

“You were just tangled up with Andrea a little while ago!”

Clemente's rebuke echoed through the reception room.

“Dirty bitch!”

Isabella heard that and looked back at Clemente with a laughable expression.

“Dirty bitch?”

She crouched down and peered at Clemente, who lay sprawled on the floor.

“You’re doing this to me just because of a kiss? Man, you really are a shameless bitch. Excuse me, sis.”

A devilishly beautiful and cruel smile appeared on Isabella's face.

“It seems like you treasure and remember every single guy you dated because he looks like you. But honestly, so many guys date me that I can’t even remember their names.”

The words coming out of Isabella's pretty lips were 180 degrees different from the husky voice she had used to speak to Count DiPascal a moment ago, and their sarcasm pierced the heavens.

“But, y-yaaaah. Since you don’t have many opportunities to meet men, you must really cherish each and every one of them. You can’t forget that one and are still fussing about it?”

"Hey!"

Clemente was so angry that he didn't know what to do.

“You said all that while eating the soup I gave you and the bread you ate?!”

But Isabella didn't say a word.

“Excuse me. That soup was made because I kept my mouth shut.”

She brought up something very old: Clemente's original sin.

“If I had opened my mouth then, you would be in some country convent instead of Count Bartolini’s house! Huh? Who owes what to whom?”

The incident with the Marquis of Campa at the masked ball at Palazzo Carlo. From that moment on, Isabella's bright future was shattered. Isabella could not suppress her anger. They were fighting, almost screaming, but no one showed up. That was Isabella's situation in this house. She became more and more angry.

“Honestly, I was the one who turned the Marquis of Campa over and got broken off by Duke Cesare! Who is living well at whose expense right now!!”

Isabella's reality and imagination were mixed up. She had never been engaged to Duke Cesare, but in her mind, her sister's engagement and breakup were as if they were her own. And in Isabella's imagination, the engagement had been broken because she had turned Clemente's infidelity 'out of loyalty.' But Clemente laughed sarcastically.

“Are you eating well and living well?”

Clemente also had much to say. The Count Contarini family, who were not well off enough to live a luxurious life in the capital, gave their eldest daughter to Count Bartolini as a concubine. They said that the Bartolini family was an old and noble family and that Count Bartolini was a good person, but the real reason was that they were able to receive a bride price while marrying off their daughter to a respectable noble family, rather than taking a dowry.

With the money they earned from selling Clemente, Count Contarini invested all his money in Ottavio. Whether it was education or connections, there was nothing Ottavio did not enjoy.

Just when the well-bred Ottavio, the creation of Count Contarini, was about to bear fruit through marriage to the young lady of the wealthy Baron de Castiglione, Isabella came in and ruined everything.

“Even though you enjoy it with nothing on!”

Isabella ate the social life that Clemente had sacrificed her life to lead, daily. Invitations to the palace, the title of Countess, it was all nonsense. It wasn't fair.

“Humanly. I live with an old, impotent husband. I can’t even see my children because he can’t be a husband. I might as well go out a little!”

It was absolutely unfair that DiPascal, who was equally bad to everyone, was hanging only on Isabella!

“You have a young husband and children! Shouldn’t you be doing that? Shouldn’t you be doing that to me?”

Isabella snorted at the scolding Clemente. She said cutely.

“Sister.”

Isabella's purple eyes were cold as she spoke.

“Sister, that’s because your face proportions match your old, impotent husband.”

Isabella. A person who lives in a strictly hierarchical world. A person who is angry that the staircase she is standing on is not the top floor.

“For me, Ottavio is the same. It doesn’t suit me. It doesn’t suit me at all.”

Isabella screamed explosively.

“To me, Count Bartolini or Count Contarini are fifty and a hundred! If Count Bartolini is three points, our great Count Contarini is seven points, but what I want is a man with ninety-eight points!”

Clemente spat out, looking fed up.

“...Bitch, a piece of trash who threw away her humanity.”

Isabella laughed at Clemente's insults.

“Hey, Sister, you don’t stutter. I thought you were tall, but you’re fine.”

Her smile deepened, revealing her white teeth.

“You should have done this earlier. Then DiPascal might have kissed you.”

Empty, empty, empty. Empty, empty, empty.

“He said he didn’t want to touch your lips because he was afraid he might catch your stutter. Mu—ah.”

Clemente's expression contorted into a hideous grimace against Isabella's face, who was pretending to kiss her, and then suddenly sank. She became a very calm, expressionless face. Isabella realized in that moment that she had crossed the line.

Clemente turned around abruptly.


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