chapter 70
Quentin Dal took a piece of paper from his pocket and attached it to the artwork’s caption.
People murmured in confusion at Quentin Dal’s action.
“The artist’s name has changed!”
Someone shouted after seeing the new caption Quentin Dal had put up.
“Quentin Dal?”
“The artist is Quentin Dal?”
A commotion erupted. People crowded around the artwork to see the changed artist name.
As the crowd pressed in, Serret was jostled, so Yuan pulled her into his arms to shield her. Serret looked up at him from his embrace.
Yuan was keeping a careful watch around them so that no one could bump into Serret. Seeing Yuan protect her like a solid wall made Serret feel strangely unsettled.
Was this behavior because he still hadn’t realized his feelings for Lydia? Serret lowered her gaze, troubled.
“What on earth is going on?”
Holding Serret, Yuan asked Regan in a slightly irritated tone.
Regan, who had been looking at Serret in Yuan’s arms, finally met Yuan’s gaze.
“What’s going on? It’s interesting,”
Regan replied brightly, wiping away a bitter smile.
“Was that artwork by Quentin Dal?”
Serret asked Regan as she freed herself from Yuan’s arms.
Regan’s expression, pretending ignorance, formed a thin smile.
“You really didn’t know?”
“Of course not. How would I know?”
Serret feigned innocence.
“Be honest. It’s fine. You recognized Quentin Dal in that painting, didn’t you?”
“I just thought of Quentin Dal. I imagined that if Quentin Dal were playing a prank, he’d paint it like that.”
“You’ve got quite the eye for art…”
Regan studied Serret with an intrigued gaze.
At that moment, Yuan grabbed Serret’s arm and pulled her back into his embrace. Serret, who had been about to say something to Regan, found herself buried in Yuan’s arms again.
“Your Grace?”
Serret lifted her head from Yuan’s chest and frowned. She tried to break free, but Yuan’s hold on her shoulders and waist was strong, making her struggles futile.
“Your Highness, we should be going now,”
Yuan said to Regan, his expression clearly displeased.
“You can’t just leave now,” Regan replied, scratching behind his ear in embarrassment.
Serret, still in Yuan’s arms, nodded in agreement. She needed to take her painting, but there was nowhere to go.
At that moment, a reporter’s voice called out to Quentin Dal:
“I understand this painting sold on the first day of the Salon. Who bought it?”
Serret looked up at Yuan and said:
“Your Grace, please let me go.”
“It’s dangerous.”
Yuan shook his head as he looked down at Serret.
“I don’t know what’s dangerous, but I’m fine.”
Serret pushed Yuan away and freed herself from his arms. Yuan sighed unhappily at her escape. Regan flinched at Yuan’s expression.
“Who bought the painting?”
The reporters continued pressing Quentin Dal for the buyer’s identity.
Quentin Dal laughed heartily and spoke:
“It’s the only person here who recognized me in this painting.”
“Duke Popwell, Your Highness?”
“Not me,” Regan said loudly in response to the reporter’s question.
All eyes turned to Regan standing in the back.
“And which lady is it?”
Quentin Dal spoke again, drawing attention back to himself.
“There’s a lady here with a remarkable eye for art.”
Regan followed up on Quentin Dal’s cue.
Serret rolled her eyes internally at the showmanship between Quentin Dal and Regan. They really worked well together.
“She’s here?”
“Who is it?”
People asked excitedly at Regan’s words.
Thanks to their masterful showmanship, Serret, now regarded as an art connoisseur, decided to just enjoy the moment.
“It’s me.”
Serret raised her hand slightly.
All eyes turned toward her. Those who recognized her as the Duchess of Precutster murmured among themselves.
Smiling gently, Serret glanced at Yuan, curious about his reaction.
Yuan stared at her, stunned. He couldn’t believe the buyer of that painting was his wife.
“You said you’d oppose it,” Serret said, swallowing a laugh at Yuan’s expression.
“Ha!”
Yuan let out a bitter laugh of disbelief.
Serret whispered softly:
“Don’t forget that you said you respect my taste.”
“If it’s this kind of taste, I’ll have to reconsider.”
At that moment, Quentin Dal approached Serret, bowing politely before speaking.
“Thank you for recognizing me, Duchess.”
“Thank you for introducing me to such an amusing work,”
Serret said, as if she had known all along, extending her hand to Quentin Dal.
Quentin Dal took her hand and kissed the back of it. Someone cheered at the gesture, and for some reason, people started clapping.
At that moment, the narrative of the controversial self-portrait was complete.
A newly recognized artist, Quentin Dal, and the Duchess of Precutster, who recognized him. And Quentin Dal paying respect to the duchess who recognized him.
Their interaction became a work of art in itself.
Everyone enjoyed the sudden event—except Yuan.
In the lobby, Yuan’s face reflected his discomfort. He was clearly in a foul mood.
Two workers carried the painting up the stairs.
That problematic painting Serret had bought was about to hang in his house—in his wife’s bedroom. Yuan shot a sideways glance at Serret, who stood nearby.
“Does it really need to go in the bedroom?”
Why insist on hanging it in the bedroom? Was there nowhere else in this huge house?
“I told you. This is my painting.”
“I know you bought it. But there’s no need to place it in the bedroom.”
“It’s a painting I treasure.”
“You want to keep that kind of painting in the bedroom?”
Yuan’s words came out sharply. He didn’t want a naked man’s painting in his wife’s room.
“That’s not just a painting. It’s art. By Quentin Dal.”
Serret widened her eyes at Yuan.
She wanted him to see it as art, but Yuan could not bring himself to see it that way.
“It doesn’t look like art.”
“You’re just looking too quickly. Take a closer look, and you’ll see its beauty,” Serret said, smiling.
Her cheerful smile was beautiful… and irritating. Yuan frowned and walked toward the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“To look closely. To see if it’s really art.”
Yuan answered curtly.
Serret hurried to follow him, holding his arm as they ascended the stairs. She even hummed a little tune along the way.
Why find pleasure in such an indecent painting? If she wanted to see a naked man, she could look at me instead.
To fuss about not wanting to see her husband naked but hang another man’s naked body in the bedroom… Really, she should be looking at me instead.
“Do you like it that much?”
“Of course. Do you know how much I paid for it?”
“I don’t.”
“One thousand Loupings,” Serret whispered.
Yuan’s eyes widened. One thousand Loupings for a Quentin Dal painting? No wonder she was excited.
Considering recent Quentin Dal paintings sold for tens of thousands of Loupings, this one might even fetch a hundred thousand. Its value surely rose after the commotion.
Even so, Yuan could not accept that the painting would hang in Serret’s bedroom.
He sighed and headed up to Serret’s room.
In her bedroom, workers were finishing up, removing the paper from the painting.
“Wow!”
“Oh my!”
Hannah and Eve exclaimed in awe as the painting was revealed.
Yuan crossed his arms and stared at the wall. The painting was enormous, taking up half the wall.
He was thoroughly displeased.
“Thank you for your hard work… Hannah,”
Serret thanked the workers and handed Hannah some money from her bag. She gave the money to the workers as a tip. After the workers left, Hannah and Eve stepped aside.
Now, only Yuan and Serret remained. Serret glanced at him. Yuan, conscious of her gaze, carefully examined the painting.
A naked man lay on a couch, covered below the waist by a precarious red cloth.
He covered his eyes and nose with his hands, leaving only the lower face visible. His head tilted back, one leg raised. The pose was quite provocative.
“Ha.”
All Yuan could do was sigh. Why did Regan create such a painting? Yuan wanted to remove it immediately.
Frowning, he stepped closer.
He noticed a scar on the man’s waist—like a dog bite.
Yuan’s gaze shot to the man’s face. Though half-covered, someone about him came to mind.
“Self-portrait.”
Yuan murmured the painting’s title.
The title explained everything. Yuan’s face twisted instantly.
“Now does it look like art to you?”
Serret approached him, smiling.
“It looks like an eyesore,” Yuan said.
“An eyesore?”
Serret narrowed her eyes.
Yuan turned from the painting and headed for the door. Behind him, Serret grumbled:
“It’s a precious painting! It’s not one to call an eyesore!”
Ignoring her, Yuan left the mansion and headed to the Grand Duke’s residence.
He intended to confront Regan Popwell, who had dared to sell his naked image to his wife.
