VWTI 29

Chapter 29

No, no way. Even if someone’s dying, reacting like that makes you a failure as a human being.

Raymond might be a bastard in every possible way, but he was still my childhood friend—someone who had never been absent from any moment of my life.

Whether I liked him or hated him, losing such a big piece of my life felt far too early for someone my age.

So I looked at him with a hint of worry… only for Raymond to lift one corner of his mouth and shrug.

“They say it’s a head of household’s duty to properly mediate between the wife and the concubine.”

…Truly, Raymond was not a man worth worrying about.

So absurd and infuriating that I couldn’t even find words, I simply stared at him with my mouth open, waiting for him to continue.

Maybe—maybe—he’d pick up on the madness he’d just said and follow it with, ‘I’m joking, obviously.’

But whatever he read in my silence, Raymond only assumed an even more irritating posture.

He practically sprawled against the carriage seat back, waving his hand lazily.

“You suddenly got quiet, so I figured you’d finally accepted Stella’s existence. But I hear that no matter how indifferent a woman pretends to be, she can’t ignore another woman. And you’re especially jealous.”

“Wow…”

I was speechless.

There were so many wrong things in that sentence that I didn’t even know where to start.

His idea of handing the Martur family line over to Stella’s child was already absurd, but this went beyond that.

If I bent over backwards, I could pretend he did that because he “loved Stella so much.”

But this talk of “the female species” wasn’t just insulting to me—it didn’t even treat his precious Stella as a fellow human being.

I pressed my fingers to my brow in an attempt to steady my mind.

But the headache only intensified.

Because Raymond’s nonstop babbling was pounding at my skull.

“…Anyway. Even if Stella is the perfect virtuous wife, you can’t ignore her birth. I don’t really think you’ll be any good at your role as my wife, but since you were born a noble lady, you’re the only one who can become the Duchess of Martur. So…”

“So what?”

“As the official wife, I think you deserve proper respect. I’d assumed you’d be satisfied with nothing but the title of my wife, but judging by your behavior lately, maybe not.”

His gaze practically asked me, ‘Was your love for me only this much?’

No—this wasn’t a question. It was contempt disguised as one.

A mockery: that even the great ‘Yevgenia’s’ love amounted to no more than this.

If I argued blindly, he’d twist it into me protesting, “How dare you doubt my love!”

Grinding my teeth, I forced myself to stay calm and attempt a rational conversation.

“There’s something we need to correct first, Larson. I’m not jealous of Stella, nor do I whine or act clingy or—ugh—any of those disgusting things.”

“Ha, don’t be ridiculous. You—”

“Let me finish. I genuinely don’t have feelings for you anymore. I don’t want you in my future—not as a husband, not even as a friend. The Lord must’ve finally gone senile, giving your name to me, but…”

Trailing off, I undid the button at my neck.

To hide the name engraved on my collarbone, I’d covered every part of me except my arms—so I had no choice but to bare the upper part.

Before he got any strange ideas, I hurried to reveal the state of the name. My hands fumbled in my haste.

Tch, maybe I should ask them to put fewer buttons next time.

At last I managed to pull the dress aside, opening just enough buttons to expose my clavicle—

FWIP—

“Mm—!”

My vision flipped in an instant.

One moment I was sitting upright; the next, my body had been shoved onto the carriage seat.

But Raymond’s infuriating face remained squarely in my view.

The worst part was that it was getting closer.

In the past I would’ve frozen, thinking surely he wouldn’t—surely… but not anymore.

Between the black strands of his hair, his red eyes glinted.

In them, I could clearly read a dark, smoldering desire.

One wrong move here, and something truly horrible could happen.

When Yulan looked at me that way, my heart fluttered, not twisted in disgust. Right now, I feel like I might vomit blood.

I didn’t bother hiding the terror on my face as I struck him—face, shoulder, chest, wherever my hand landed—with all my strength.

A frenzy.

That word fit perfectly.

Luckily, my fist found an excellent spot, landing with satisfying force.

“Ugh!”

Raymond reeled back, unable even to hold his face, staring at me in shock.

Seeing him feel even a fraction of the revulsion I’d felt was oddly refreshing.

But I couldn’t stop now.

If I didn’t hammer the point in, his delusions would only grow fat and bloated.

“Stay far away. You’re disgusting. Look—this is where your name used to be.”

“…Used to?”

“The Lord must pity me, because He’s been taking your name back bit by bit.”

I never doubted the Lord existed, but I’d never imagined He directly watched over us either.

Pretending to be a devout believer just to justify the situation made me feel a bit—no, extremely—embarrassed.

My face grew warm, but I’d said what I needed to say. He wouldn’t misunderstand now.

“What nonsense. I’ve never heard of a name fading—not even in myths. Even if you’re angry, that’s too ridiculous a lie—”

“If you’re so doubtful, then look! Open your damn eyes and see for yourself! Two letters are gone!”

I thrust my collarbone toward him under the dim carriage light.

I didn’t need to wonder whether he saw the missing letters.

His crumbling expression answered clearly enough.

“You’re Raymond Larson, not ‘Emond’ Larson, right? The Lord knows my heart is completely gone.”

I’d felt embarrassed at first, but this “Lord said so” excuse was incredibly effective.

If he called me a liar or a fraud, I could just retort, “What, do you not believe in the Lord?”

And unbelievers were treated as barely human—just above rebels and criminals.

No way the heir of a ducal family could accept such stigma.

Satisfied, I couldn’t help but smile.

“So please, stop imagining I’m jealous of Lady Aer or that I have any lingering feelings for you.”

A perfect finish.

And just in time—we would arrive at the Martur estate soon.

As I refastened the buttons one by one, Raymond muttered with his head hanging low.

“…That can’t be.”

“What?”

“You were… the girl who hurt herself just to get my escort once.”

A story from when I was still ‘Yevgenia.’

She had once even climbed onto a window ledge to get his attention.

Maybe Raymond’s current delusions were partly her fault…

“Yevgenia, there’s no way you could love another man.”

“Huh?”

“There isn’t another heir in the Empire with conditions as good as mine.”

The way he said it—so confidently—made his gaze look eerily dark.

The time when I once saw him as a prince in a dream now felt distant, almost nightmarish.

But falling in love wasn’t a crime.

Really, Yevgenia wasn’t the one at fault.

Right. The one whose brain is broken is Raymond. Everything started with that idiot.

After fully justifying myself, I straightened even the faint wrinkles in my dress.

Then I crossed my legs, rested my chin lightly on my hand, and spoke calmly.

“I’m not sorry at all, but even an ordinary baron’s son—if I wanted to—could be raised to your level in no time.”