My Ex-Husband Came Back Crazy - Chapter 3

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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 3
Chapter 1. The Fracture (3)
Celia despised Lucius.
She’d grown up nursing grievances toward Windmere since childhood, fed by the old rancor between their houses, but even setting that aside, she simply disliked the man himself.
Windmere’s only son, born merely three days before her.
A detail the gossip-loving nobility found endlessly amusing.
From the moment they’d existed in the womb, they’d drawn people’s attention.
Fans had fluttered in eager hands—who would prove superior? What history would this generation’s children write?—their curiosity barely concealed.
And as if to oblige their expectations, Celia and Lucius had been at odds.
“If you knew I was attending this party, shouldn’t you have stayed away, even if it meant cutting off your own legs?”
“Well. The lady hosting this affair asked me directly to come. Why shouldn’t you, who’s merely riding on your brother’s invitation, be the one to leave instead of me, who was personally invited?”
They’d exchanged such barbs without hesitation in front of crowds at more than one gathering.
Five years old, six, seven… eighteen, nineteen.
Starting from their first meeting at five, they’d written new history every year.
The story of them grappling in the royal patronage chamber over insulting each other’s fathers was merely the beginning.
Celia had once slapped his face, and Lucius had once drowned her in a pond. Celia had stolen his Hunting Hawk, and Lucius had nearly beaten to death a man who’d been her betrothal candidate. Celia had thrown tea in his face, and he’d trampled her books underfoot.
That was the sort of thing.
The fact that their houses despised each other was merely an excuse.
Somewhere along the way, they’d come to hate not the houses, but each other.
She abhorred him as much as he despised her.
Everyone knew it.
Rumors had spread to this effect:
“Lady Celia won’t so much as glance at anyone who’s set foot in Windmere?”
“Lord Lucius won’t visit any place Lady Celia’s ever looked upon.”
So two and a half years ago, when a single newspaper arrived, its impact was tremendous.
[Windmere and Brickwell Lay Aside Long-Standing Discord, Forge Marriage Alliance as Symbol of Reconciliation!]
The rumor spread far enough that the Marquess of Wexley, famous for sleeping excessively and the matron of all ladies, an honored member of the Privy Council, had supposedly bolted upright from her bed and tumbled to the floor.
The reconciliation of two houses was fortuitous, but the marriage of those particular heirs—who’d become infamous for their enmity?
Everyone had an opinion.
Rumors flew that Celia had gone on a hunger strike, or that Lucius had abandoned his house and fled. As everyone watched with bated breath to see how things would unfold, eventually a grand wedding ceremony took place.
Those two—a man and woman who’d entered expressionless despite skipping even an betrothal ceremony—were acknowledged by all to have done their utmost.
One could only imagine the anxiety everyone felt through the ceremony’s end, swallowing nervously the whole time.
Would they tear the vows mid-ceremony? Hurl the rings? Crush the bouquet?
Fortunately, none of those things happened.
Because they, despising each other as they did, had made one new vow together with complete accord.
[Divorce After 3 Years.]
Yes—it was this single line of promise that allowed her to endure the dishonor of taking the Windmere name in marriage.
A vow she and Lucius had made alone, together.
“Ah, my son…! My son, Lucius!!”
“There was an Attack, an Attack! Because civilian homes stood behind, the young lord fought desperately, but…he was struck by the Arrows they fired and fell from his horse, his head striking hard!”
His golden hair—the very thing that had made her come to hate the color gold—was soaked with blood.
The acrid reek of blood filled the vast castle.
“We’ve done everything possible for treatment. Now…we can only entrust it to the young lord’s will.”
The physician’s voice, the castle staff’s shouts, and the Duchess of Windmere’s voice as she teetered on the edge of unconsciousness tangled together in a maddening drone.
Celia gazed at the man lying on the bed—barely breathing—with a slanted, disdainful look.
Her eyes were dark-shadowed from having lost sleep through the entire night because of that damned creature flirting with death.
Divorce After 3 Years.
With only six months left on that promise, a new problem had arisen.
Their covenant contained not a single line of contingency for such circumstances.
***
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The clock, made from oak timber, ticked with measured regularity.
It had been half a month now. Lucius, having returned gravely wounded, still hadn’t opened his eyes.
Celia, who hadn’t properly slept in all that time, glared at the irritating clock with furrowed brows. The hands above its face moved with thin, delicate precision, indifferent to her rage.
“Young mistress, the young lord has long since passed the critical point… Please, go rest. For the sake of this old man, don’t become another patient.”
Celia hadn’t budged from her chair until the physician, noticing her state, finally ventured to speak.
“If he’s passed the critical point, why hasn’t he woken?”
At her measured question, the physician wiped cold sweat from his brow.
“He suffered a severe head injury. The abdominal wound wasn’t life-threatening, but recovery will take time.”
The physician’s complexion after half a month of grueling work was dire—one might’ve believed the patient on that bed was him rather than Lucius.
Celia turned her gaze to the man on the bed.
‘What the hell am I doing here because of him.’
Her expression darkened as she looked at Lucius lying half-covered on the pristine white bedding.
The bandage wrapped snugly around his abdomen ended neatly below his ribs. Yet even now, a dark stain seeped faintly at its edge.
‘He said the stitching was good. He wouldn’t die like this, would he?’
His face was so composed he seemed unlike someone gravely injured—the discrepancy unsettled her.
His breathing was long and quiet, though its rhythm seemed uneven.
If his chest hadn’t risen in small, slow motions with each breath, she’d have believed him dead in sleep rather than merely resting.
“Why don’t you leave instead? You seem like you need rest.”
“How could I leave you, ma’am…?”
“All the other physicians have gone to rest—you excluded. Besides, you said he’s passed the critical point. With or without you here makes little difference now, so go.”
At her insistence, the physician finally withdrew, slipping out reluctant.
Once he’d gone, Celia rose from her chair as well.
She stood at the bedside with her emotions steeled away, casting her shadow over his face. Slowly, she surveyed him from head to foot.
His face was pallid, his lips pressed shut with care. A few strands of hair that had escaped the bandage wrapped around his head lay matted as though wet, like wheat ears damp with dew.
The white cloth covering his brow and ears, extending down to wrap the back of his head, spoke volumes of how severely he’d been injured.
But none of that mattered to Celia.
“You’re not dying on me, Lucius Windmere.”
She leaned over the bed, her weight on the mattress.
Her gaze fixed on the unconscious man with a grim expression, her lips curved in a thin line.
“I won’t forgive you for dying and making me a widow. And if you live like this and I end up nursing you for life—I won’t forgive that either.”
Six months and she’d be free of him cleanly. If he never woke, or if he became disabled and she couldn’t sign the divorce papers but instead had to tend his sickbed—she’d sooner kill him herself and claim her freedom.
Just then, the door opened.
Celia reflexively straightened, and from behind came the sound of choking gasps.
“What are you doing there!!”
The Duchess of Windmere, disheveled and frantic, burst into the room.
She hurried forward and pushed Celia with a feeble arm.
“What have you done to my son!”
It should be obvious: just as Celia didn’t trust the Windmere household, they didn’t trust her.
For two centuries the rift between their houses had run deep. That all of it could dissolve with a single word—reconciliation—would be magic indeed.
“I’ve tended him with the utmost care. For the past two weeks, while you’ve been unwell, I’ve overseen his care personally.”
“Care?! You haven’t done something wicked instead? Ah, you there. Fetch the physician. I need to ensure nothing else is wrong with my son.”
People gathered around them swiftly.
Windmere’s people stood beside the Duchess, while those Celia had brought since her maidenhood took position at her side.
A small boundary had formed in the room.
“Heavens, are you suggesting our mistress did something wicked to the young lord?”
“After all her devoted care—how could you say such a thing!”
Celia’s attendants murmured in her ear at once, and those of the Duchess, hearing them, furrowed their brows in anger.
“My, then you were here out of genuine concern for our young lord? We’d better check whether the sky is trying to show us two suns today!”
“Enough of this! Quickly, bring the physician as the lady commanded!”
None seemed surprised by the frequent friction.
The Duchess pressed her temples as though her head pained her, groaning, while Celia examined her fingernails with indifference.
“Good heavens. I shall attend the young lord myself. It’s no good raising your voices before a patient!”
The physician, dismissing his own recent reprieve, was dragged back. His assistants, arriving with him as if bombs had fallen on their heads, were near tears.
Servants in different attire collided again at the doorway.
“It’s all your fault!”
The Duchess thrust her face through the cluster of maids, her neck flushed crimson.
“Did you call for me?”
Celia gestured to herself with her index finger.
The Duchess, her face flushed red then purple, let out a curse.
“Do you know what I just heard out there?!”
Celia had until now made every effort to avoid entanglement with Windmere’s mistress.
Since they wouldn’t spend their whole lives face-to-face, and she’d be leaving the house anyway once divorced, there was no profit in stirring up conflict.
Consequently, she knew little of the woman, but one thing was certain:
“That the ones who attacked Lucius are likely the young count of Brickwell!”
She doted terribly on her son.
After bearing Lucius, her womb had been damaged beyond repair, leaving her unable to bear more children. Perhaps because of this, she seemed to cling to and lavish affection on her one and only son.
It was a stark contrast to Celia’s own house—where there were two younger brothers and who-knew-how-many bastards from their father’s sordid affairs.
“It’s only speculation, isn’t it?”
“You think that excuse will hold? They’ve discovered that the sword the attackers used was the grand prize from a hunting tournament your house hosted years ago!”
Perhaps because the Duchess knew of Celia’s efforts to avoid entanglement, she’d treated her coolly until now—but today her eyes had gone wild.
“Nothing good has happened since you entered this house!”
Celia, born a fighter, had quarreled with Lucius since she was five—she didn’t let that pass lightly.
“Windmere has run the same as always whether I entered or not. It seems Windmere can’t bear its own shortcomings without blaming me. How lamentable.”
“Ah… ah ah ah.”
The Duchess finally clutched at her own throat and staggered backward.
It was her unconsciousness, she’d lost count how many times.
‘How fragile she is.’
Celia scoffed coolly as the commotion erupted around the Duchess, watching the noise with mild interest.
Lucius was no less a fighter than she. He was skilled at starting quarrels and never shied from those she started.
Yet his mother, who’d borne such a fighter, was so fragile.
Then the heavy door, which had been firmly shut, swung open with a loud sound.
“Madam! Madaaaaam!!”
An elderly man who should’ve been minding his back came bursting out, his face bright red.
Upon spotting her at the doorway when he’d expected her elsewhere, he caught his breath immediately.
“What has—”
“The young lord has awakened!”

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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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