My Ex-Husband Came Back Crazy - Chapter 1

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 1
Chapter 1. The Fracture
Celia Veil Lisandra Vivienne Brickwell—she was born with everything a child could possibly have.
As the eldest daughter of a Lady from House Brickwell, one of the two great families that had safeguarded the empire for generations and upheld the throne itself, there was nothing she lacked.
She did not know how immense the glory she possessed truly was, but she understood perfectly that she must always hold her head high.
She spent her childhood draped in a Golden Lace and Silver Thread Embroidered Dress, within tea rooms perfumed by subtle herbs, and beneath wall clocks that chimed at their appointed hours.
And so by five years old, Celia had already mastered the art of sipping tea with gloved hands and graceful composure, and could tie her own ribbons without a servant’s help.
It was precisely because of this peaceful and orderly existence that her first meeting with him would become the event that overturned her entire life.
That day, the Imperial Garden was hosting its Annual Sponsor Event. It was also Celia’s official first outing into society, clutching her busy father’s hand.
Ministers lined up to pay their respects before the Crown Prince, while young nobles quietly occupied a corner of the garden, hidden from the eyes of their elders.
The weather was mild.
The sunlight gleamed sharp as a blade, yet without heaviness, and the warm summer air drifted through the garden in abundance. The fragrance left by dawn dew as it dried evaporated gently from the petals, and roses, lavender, and clematis each boasted their own scents, tickling her senses.
“I must pay my respects to His Majesty. You stay here quietly with Solame.”
To be expected to remain quiet when faced with such a beautiful vista—Celia kicked petulantly at a pebble beneath her feet.
“Oh, Miss. You mustn’t do that. You’ll soil the hem of your dress!”
That nagging Solame.
Celia’s lips pouted at once.
Who knew when her father would return, and they wanted her to stay with that fussy maid—someone counted among the five most particular servants in the capital, no less?
‘Absolutely not!’
In the end, she escaped Solame with the lie that she was going to play with children her own age. Free at last, Celia explored every corner of the Imperial Garden.
When the leaves gleamed with sunlight as their lantern, even the wingbeats of tiny insects shone transparently in the light. Tree shadows rippled across the glass like watercolors.
As she admired all of it with sparkling eyes, her ears perked up at the sound of a boy’s low voice beyond the shrubbery.
“—So the reason Father can’t leave the meeting room right now is because of Brickwell?”
She had no choice but to halt her eager exploration mid-stride.
‘What?’
She had just heard the name ‘Brickwell.’
Her head rose up like a tortoise’s.
Beyond the shrubbery stood a golden-haired boy. Early summer sunlight poured between the leaves. In that light, he looked unreal, like an illustration from a storybook.
“…I’m sick of it. Brickwell is never useful, no matter how many times I hear that name.”
Celia’s eyes flashed.
Wondering if she’d heard wrong, she rubbed her earlobe with her fingertip.
“I find it even insulting that Father would stand face-to-face with such things.”
Immediately, surprise transformed into fury. Five years of a life lived without restraint found its outlet in action.
“How dare you insult our father!”
She stormed forward indignantly, her hands planted at her hips.
Whether startled by the sudden voice, the boy who had been looking down at a servant turned to face her with widened eyes.
His gaze fell upon her slowly, with an unhurried calm.
“You’ll have to take back what you just said.”
The boy looked her up and down.
His eyes held an oddly composed quality that didn’t match his age.
“…Your father?”
“Yes!”
This mysterious boy studied her intently.
There was something unnaturally quiet in his gaze, like that of an adult, and it made Celia falter for a moment.
The boy’s golden hair was combed neatly, his bangs falling softly over his forehead.
His luxuriant locks gleamed somewhere between honey and platinum, drinking in the sunlight, and kept drawing her eye so intently that she had to force herself to look away.
Instead, she fixed her gaze on the green eyes beneath his long lashes.
Those green eyes, which held the verdancy of leaves, were a clear shade. In shadow they appeared blue; when touched by light, they shone like fresh summer foliage.
They looked exactly like the eyes of the Rabbit Doll she had recently come to adore most.
Then, as if he’d understood something, the corners of the boy’s mouth drew down uncomfortably.
“I wasn’t cursing—I was stating facts. Your father’s mistake has kept my father trapped in that meeting room for two hours now.”
While she surveyed him, he finished surveying her in turn, then crossed his arms in an unruffled manner.
With his arms folded, the boy regarded her with a cool gaze.
“…What?”
Celia, who had emerged ready to give him a piece of her mind, froze.
“I’ve been taught that accepting one’s shortcomings is the mark of a true noble. Apparently you weren’t. Now I understand something of House Brickwell’s education, thanks to your conduct just now. How kind of you.”
Five years of life.
That day, Celia learned what it meant for one’s head to feel numb.
It took her a moment to parse his twisted words, though only a moment.
Soon after, she examined the boy’s attire rather than his face.
An ivory linen shirt and cream brocade waistcoat. Over that lay a deep navy velvet jacket, buttoned only at a single clasp. She took note of the intricate lace trim on his sleeves and the brooch embroidered with his family’s crest upon his chest.
Celia’s expression crumpled at once.
“That’s… the emblem of House Windmere!”
Only direct blood relatives were permitted to bear a family’s coat of arms.
Unlike Celia, who had recently welcomed a second younger brother, House Windmere had produced only a single heir to date.
Lucius of House Windmere—that one person she had heard about tirelessly since birth.
Now that she knew whom she was facing, Celia’s voice, already sharp, took on the edge of a needle.
“Ah, I see. My father mentioned this recently. He said the Lord of House Windmere seems to have lost his hands and feet, for he won’t lift a finger, and Father ends up handling all his affairs as well.”
Twitch.
Lucius, who had maintained an expressionless face throughout, felt his eyebrows twitch.
Celia let out a small laugh, raising her short, plump hand to her lips in an affected manner.
“But it’s all right. My father says that nobles must, of course, understand the shortcomings of their ‘inferiors’ and guide them forward.”
“You.”
Lucius’s pupils trembled. His breath was drawn sharply between his lips.
His greatly dilated pupils locked precisely onto her as a target.
“Well, that’s enough. You must have a difficult time of it, though. Your father probably doesn’t have many ‘inferiors’ he can actually manage.”
“Are you insulting House Brickwell right now?”
“That wasn’t my intention. If it sounded that way, I apologize.”
Young as she was, Celia understood that one didn’t cause trouble in the Imperial Garden.
She scraped together what little patience she possessed—less than an ant’s worth—though her body trembled. A Lady couldn’t resort to fisticuffs like the paupers of Dunrow Hallow, the slums.
Of course, fisticuffs were forbidden, but no one said anything about using her tongue.
“You’re right. All the same, aren’t you lucky? You can at least manage the empire’s foremost Draper.”
It was a vicious comparison, likening House Windmere—whom traditionalist nobles despised as upstart gentry investing in industry—to mere fabric merchants. Celia had only recently learned the word from conversations between her parents, so she didn’t quite grasp how insulting it truly was.
What mattered was that she had compared a family with power second only to the throne itself, just as Brickwell’s was, to some pretentious lowborn merchant.
Lucius’s response came immediately.
His cheeks puffed out as if he were clenching his teeth hard.
At the same time, he raised one finger.
His index finger, encased in black glove, pointed squarely at her.
“Now that I think of it, I’ve heard that House Brickwell’s Butcher has a hobby of taxing outdated customs.”
Fire flashed from Celia’s eyes. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists.
“One should know dignity. Tarnishing another’s ears with vulgar speech is hardly a good habit, you know. Whatever House Brickwell taught you, I can see there’s nothing about you worth my interest.”
And with that, Celia’s already minuscule patience ran dry. As minuscule as it was—smaller than her pinkie nail—it was enough to be exhausted.
Celia brought her pretty sky-blue shoe down hard upon the ground and…
What happened next hardly needed explanation.
They both clenched their fists in fury and rolled across the grass until their hair turned the color of the lawn.
Nearby nobles rushed over to separate them, and the commotion was such that the gardener who maintained the garden’s beauty year-round shed tears.
Thus began their enmity.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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