My Ex-Husband Came Back Crazy - Chapter 2

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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 2
Chapter 1. The Fracture (2)
Since the founding of the Empire, House Windmere has guided the Empire’s finances and diplomacy through trade, foreign relations, and emerging industries.
And House Brickwell has solidified its position through military might and loyalty without peer.
Both families boasted Founding Merit and enjoyed power and status second only to the imperial throne, yet that the relationship between Windmere and Brickwell was poor had become common knowledge.
The discord that had passed down through generations of both houses was like a deep chasm.
No matter how much water was drawn from it, the flow continued; no matter how much fresh earth was piled in, it only carved deeper fissures.
And the children of Windmere and Brickwell inherited that discord faithfully.
Lucius of Windmere and Celia of Brickwell, born a mere three days apart, were bitter rivals so eager to devour each other that even the roosters crowing every dawn knew of it.
At five years old, at their first meeting at an imperial garden reception, the two had rolled about grabbing hair and collars, screaming in fury—a grudge far deeper than anyone had imagined.
A boy who should have become the Empire’s finest gentleman and a girl who should have become a dignified and graceful lady snarled at each other, yet everyone simply said, “Well, it’s Windmere and Brickwell,” and moved on.
But all fights must end.
One day, the two families promised to cease their meaningless conflict and at last clasped hands.
The method the two families employed to extinguish the flames that had burned for two centuries was simple.
They married off their children to each other.
It was an agreement, reconciliation, transaction, and compromise in which the wishes of the parties involved counted for nothing.
***
Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windowpanes, draping the carpet with a languid haze.
Deep within the castle, in a Study rarely frequented by others, Celia sat with her feet primly together and turned the pages with a delicate hand.
Beneath her thin gloves, the pages moved with steady grace.
“My lady, my lady. Do look at this.”
At the sound of her summons, Celia lifted her eyelids, just pausing from tucking her tumbled hair behind her ear.
She frowned at the title “my lady,” never having grown accustomed to hearing it, and glanced at the damp Newspaper Article her maid Anne extended toward her. It was unclear where the girl had procured it, but it was quite stained.
“Another article like this has come out!”
Her feet, which had been sprawled lazily during this rare afternoon without the master of the house, suddenly gathered beneath her.
A sharp gaze fixed upon the article. Soon she had no choice but to abandon her book and snatch the grimy paper.
Anne bounced beside her saying, “The lady found it in the waste bin, but—!” though Celia’s ears had clamped shut at the sight of the headlines before her.
“……Damn it.”
Ungraceful words, unbecoming of a lady of her station, erupted from her lips.
Anne squeezed her eyes shut as she’d anticipated, and Celia tensed her slender arms. Crumpling the newspaper in her fist, her hand shot upward, then came down with a snap against the wall, driving the paper into the stone.
“Who keeps publishing this drivel meant to incite gossip!”
The newspaper slid pitifully down to the floor, where a particularly large headline glinted.
[ The Secret Date of the Windmere Count and His Wife! ]
Beneath the title, text small as ant tracks spun fantasies about the private lives of the two newly married couples who, two and a half years ago, had overcome their families’ discord. Fantasies that they had gone on a cozy date, dined at the Empire’s most famous restaurant, and then taken an evening stroll!
“My lady, please calm yourself! Surely it’s something our Count or the Windmere Count has orchestrated!”
Anne clung to her mistress in distress as rage consumed her.
Eventually, Celia simmered long enough that she pressed her forehead and slid down into the wingchair.
This wasn’t the first time, nor the second—yet each time such an article appeared, she dutifully burned with fury.
“I’ll fetch some tea! Please rest for a moment!”
Anne gauged the situation cautiously, then scurried out. She’d been sharp enough to recognize that retreat was her best option at this moment.
With Anne gone, silence settled over the room. Celia, her snow-white hair draped long over her shoulders, leaned back against the chair’s arm. The anger that had occupied her features gradually gave way to calm.
“Sigh……”
She swallowed the many words that floated on her tongue and exhaled a deep breath.
It had been two and a half years since Celia Brickwell became Celia Windmere.
Merely two and a half years—and yet, a full two and a half years.
People no longer wagered on when the reconciliation between Windmere and Brickwell would crumble.
Those who had laughed, saying it wouldn’t last a week, or that it might manage half a year at best—they had quietly accepted the couple’s reconciliation.
All save two: the bride and groom themselves.
“I wonder if Lucius has seen this article.”
‘I can’t be the only one upset. He must have seen this ridiculous fantasy too.’
Anne returned with her tray before long. As she skillfully prepared the tea, Celia regained a modicum of ladylike composure.
“By the way, they say someone from the Charity Hospital that the lady patronizes is coming today. Would you care to receive them?”
As Anne spoke, she gathered up the overturned book and Celia crossed her legs gracefully once more.
“Why should I?”
At her cool reply, Anne laughed as she’d expected.
“As I thought. I’ll tell the lady that you’re unwell and unable to attend.”
“Do as you see fit.”
Anne hummed as she poured the tea into the delicate teacup, its intricate iris pattern in blue. Golden-tinged black tea soon sat before her.
“The milk?”
“Already prepared.”
She brought the warmed milk in a small pitcher, accompanied by sliced lemon instead of sugar—something only Celia in this household requested.
“Windmere’s charitable ventures are none of our concern. You needn’t trouble yourself, my lady.”
Celia did not answer. Her silence was affirmation.
The weighty book in her hands turned its pages. She frowned not long after.
‘Damn Windmere.’
Thinking of it again made her angry; she couldn’t focus on the text at all.
“My lady?”
“It’s nothing, never mind.”
The Study was quiet.
This was the Study that Lucius often used. Celia rarely entered it to avoid encountering him.
Today she occupied it only because he was away, having gone to the Western Mountain of the Fiefdom to address some problem.
No one came seeking out a Study where a lady of Brickwell’s house resided.
The sunset, now deepening, angled long past the bookshelves, and thin steam rose from her favored tea. The delicate aroma drifted through the room, offering modest solace to her troubled spirit.
“My lady, I know it’s difficult at present, but……what if, after another year or so passes, you received a Separate Residence and arranged a Separation from the Count?”
Anne spoke with a resolve quite solid in her voice, the air between them growing slightly thick.
“You can’t spend forever under the same roof, breathing the same air, sharing the same meals with the eldest of Windmere—practically your enemy. One day you could take a Separate Residence somewhere quiet that you like and start fresh!”
Celia let out a small laugh.
As she laughed with such delight, Anne’s step grew lighter.
Anne was practically bouncing, convinced her lady must surely long for such a thing. But a flicker of something else crossed Celia’s gaze as she watched.
“A year or two hence……perhaps we’ll discuss it again when that time comes?”
Celia had no intention of satisfying Anne’s expectations.
Because she had no intention of waiting that long.
Celia swallowed the rest of her thought.
Everyone spoke in one voice: Celia and Lucius were managing their marriage better than expected. The families had reconciled, and as the two had matured with age, they’d grown sensible.
No one considered what thoughts truly drove them to continue this marriage.
‘I’ll be divorced soon anyway. Plans a year or two from now don’t matter.’
Three years into the marriage, they had agreed to divorce.
This was a secret known to no one else, and also the moment when Celia and Lucius had first agreed on anything.
‘Two and a half years have already passed since we married, so only half a year remains.’
Half a year, compared to a lifetime, was but a fleeting instant. She hummed as she finally turned the page.
‘I haven’t planned a Separation, but thinking about what I’ll do after the divorce might be worthwhile.’
Lucius was a man with whom she had built a solid grievance since the age of five.
A man who stood in perfect opposition to her in every way. The sting of having woken one morning married to him still robbed her of sleep.
But that was all in the past. Of late, Celia lived each day counting down the dwindling dates.
‘It will be winter by then, won’t it? Cold. Perhaps I’ll head South where it’s warm.’
She wanted nothing more than to sign the Divorce papers quickly.
From first meeting until now, Lucius had proven useless—save for one thing: his signature on the Divorce papers.
And so she could endure trashy articles like that, could endure the occasional chance meeting with Lucius in the castle, as long as the end was in sight.
‘For the next half year, I think I can bear absolutely anything.’
And merely half a day later, she was forced to take those words back.
Cursed Lucius Elias Rowan Windmere.
“The young master has been injured!”
A man lay in unseemly fashion upon a Stretcher before her eyes.
Blood, vivid crimson, flowed from Lucius’s body and rained down toward the floor.
Six months until Divorce.
An unforeseen catastrophe had descended upon her.

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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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