My Ex-Husband Came Back Crazy - Chapter 6

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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 6
Chapter 1. The Fracture (6)
Celia officially had two younger siblings.
Evandor, who was two years her junior, was the heir apparent of House of Brickwell and a striking beauty with white hair like hers.
There was no shortage of people who flocked to him, drawn to the small mole embedded just beneath his eyes and his charming dimples.
A scandal with a certain widow had surfaced just two days prior, yet everyone dismissed it readily enough—a man who welcomed all comers and grasped at no one, a true wastrel of high society in both name and deed.
To Celia’s mind, he was a brother hopelessly vulgar, yet she could not deny his popularity.
The problem was that Evandor was an unwelcome guest at Windmere.
“What are you doing here?”
At her icy words, he rolled his eyes playfully and shrugged.
“That’s the first thing you say to a brother you haven’t seen in ages?”
“I’m not in the mood for games. What business brings you to Windmere?”
Her grip on his forearm tightened with urgency.
Evandor’s easy smile vanished. He yanked his arm upward sharply, flinging her hand away.
The force sent her fingers snapping back.
Celia bit her lip hard, glaring at him, and Evandor’s brows knitted just as sourly in return.
“I had business, so I came. Why do you have to dig into it?”
He spoke in a growling tone, his hand striking the edge of her shoulder. The weighted pressure of his fingertips bore down upon her shoulder blade, and he looked down at her coldly.
“…….”
“…….”
A brief silence fell between them.
Finally, Celia let out a short breath and turned her chin away sharply—and above her came the sound of air deflating.
“I was startled because you pressed me like that after so long. I’m not angry with you, sister.”
As if he hadn’t just darkened his expression, he melted into an easy smile and swayed his torso lazily.
“I came to see you as well, and Father had something he wanted me to tell the young duke here.”
“Father had something to tell Lucius?”
At the mention of the man who had turned her mind upside down, Celia’s feet—which had been twitching with the urge to leave—planted themselves firmly to the floor.
“Did you think I’d lie? But the young duke can’t be seen right now, so I was looking for you.”
Enveloped in an inexplicable dread by his ease, Celia felt anxiety creeping up her spine.
Under the name of Reconciliation, the two houses had clasped hands, but that was all it amounted to.
Just as Celia was treated as an outsider in this household, Windmere was enemy territory to Evandor.
Yet her father, knowing this, had sent his favorite child—Evandor himself—into the very heart of Windmere’s main residence.
Celia found it incomprehensible.
‘What message could be so important that Father would send Evandor himself? Is it that urgent? Or perhaps…….’
Just as her body began to lean toward Lucius’s chambers in the main residence, Evandor spread his feet and trapped hers between them.
“By the way, what’s wrong with Lucius Windmere?”
Celia looked up at him warily.
“He’s definitely somewhere in the castle, so why won’t he see me?”
He did not bend his back or extend his hand. Instead, he leaned forward, caging her within his shadow.
Screened by his broad shoulders, even the ceiling lamp lost half its light; the shadow blanketed her collarbone and descended to her chest.
A phantom sensation of a presence pressing beneath her skin.
“Sister. I’m asking you.”
His voice dripped with honeyed sweetness, yet his eyes remained cold.
The air thickened like lead.
“……Lucius was attacked. He’s been wounded.”
The East Pavilion where they now stood was a place Lucius had given to Celia when they married.
Even though she had her own chambers, she hadn’t wanted to spend the entire day in the main residence crammed with Windmere’s people. Lucius had yielded to her obstinacy and granted her this place—the East Pavilion.
Yet her heart trembled even though no one could enter here without her permission.
“He was attacked?”
“Yes. He’s too busy with his recovery right now, so it will be difficult for you to see him.”
His voice carried the faint edge of mockery.
“At least he didn’t die?”
“No, he’s alive and well.”
Should she also mention that he’d lost his memory?
Or perhaps she ought to hold her tongue, in case it proved temporary. As doubt flickered across Celia’s eyes, he narrowed his gaze.
“That’s a shame, really.”
At that, Celia let out a hollow laugh.
Evandor showed no surprise at the fact of the attack itself; instead, he merely sighed as though genuinely disappointed.
‘From his reaction, it seems the Duchess was right—it was House of Brickwell who attacked Lucius.’
But why?
Though such a thing was plausible, now that she had become part of Windmere, there were aspects of this that made no sense whatsoever.
Her own father had chosen to reconcile with Windmere when it served his purpose. So why would he now deliberately sow discord anew?
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to wait a few more days for the young duke to recover.”
“……What? Wait—Evandor. You’re staying here several more days?”
Those were words no sane person would speak.
“Why are you reacting like that, sister? You get to stay with your favorite brother. Don’t you like that?”
“That’s not what I mean. The Duchess is already blaming House of Brickwell for Lucius’s attack. If you stay in the main residence in circumstances like these, do you have any idea what could happen?”
With Lucius incapacitated, suspicion would fall upon everyone far more readily.
Celia tried firmly to send him away, but the moment he sensed her resistance, Evandor’s mouth curved downward.
Having cast aside his mask of smiles, he folded his arms tightly across his chest.
“Father has already decided this. You’re not about to question Father’s decision, are you? Or my choice?”
“Evan—”
“Surely my sister isn’t about to defy our father?”
……Damn.
Celia dug her teeth into her own tongue.
Otherwise, she feared she might give in to the surge of rage and slap that insolent face.
“Of course not.”
Knowing her lie was transparent, Evandor pretended to accept it gracefully.
“Besides, I’m happy to see you. It’s been the first time since we met at the imperial commendation ceremony sixty-two days ago, hasn’t it?”
Damn him.
Now there were two irredeemable bastards under this roof whom she despised.
“Aren’t you happy to see me after so long, sister?”
He tapped the marble floor with the tip of his foot and tilted his body sideways. His gaze held hers as though demanding an answer—a weight she couldn’t bear.
When she didn’t respond and began rubbing her eyes, large hands suddenly wrapped around her arm. As he applied pressure, a sharp sting bloomed.
‘If Father ordered him to lick his boots, he’d do it without hesitation. And now he’s doing this to me…….’
Her fingers trembled as they gripped the fabric of her dress.
“I’m truly happy, sister. Isn’t it the same for you……?”
His voice toward her was smooth yet thick and heavy as unsweetened black tea. She tried not to meet his gaze, tried not to answer, but those gleaming eyes were relentless, and finally her lips parted.
“Of course I’m happy. How could I not be?”
“Really? I knew it.”
His arm dropped away from hers in an instant.
A lukewarm breath escaped between his lips, which had risen in mockery.
“I’ve really missed you too.”
***
Evening had fallen, that hour when everyone was preparing for bed.
Having sent away the fussing servants, Celia emerged from the bath like a drowned rat and collapsed loosely into an armchair by the window.
Pale moonlight seeped through the gap in the drawn curtains, casting the room’s contours in a cool blue wash.
“Why is Evandor even here?”
Father had sent him, he’d said, but he wouldn’t tell her what for.
She couldn’t even guess how long he meant to stay…….
Once a situation began to unravel, it only tangled further, engulfing her.
Then, abruptly, the lights in her room went out.
“Oh.”
The flickering candles that had created such a pleasant ambiance consumed themselves entirely and vanished.
Now that she thought of it, the maid had been about to replace the candles earlier.
In her haste to send her away, she must have forgotten.
Startled, Celia turned her head about, surveying the darkened room.
From somewhere came a creaking sound.
Celia flinched and took a step backward. Her foot caught on the carpet, and her body lurched. With no one to catch her, she tumbled toward the floor.
As she cried out and writhed, a thin line of light seeped across her body. It lingered at her ankle before gradually spreading.
“Celia?”
The light was soon swallowed by someone’s shadow.
The heavy door swung open, and a figure emerged alongside a voice both familiar and strange.
Their eyes met in an instant.
“……Lucius.”
He held a small lantern, its flame burning amber, as he opened the door to her room.
Celia’s head snapped upward. The flickering firelight beyond the glass cast soft shadows across his cheekbones, jawline, and the bridge of his straight nose.
A droplet fell from her wet hair, trailing down her collarbone in a slow descent. Her dressing gown had slipped open, revealing her shoulders, and wet strands of hair clung to her skin. The loosely tied sash at her waist gaped enough that the pale curve of her flesh was barely visible.
His eyes, moving as though taking in the scene, swept over her as though consuming her whole.
The wind outside the window barely filled the silence between them. Celia slowly clenched and then unclenched her hands resting on the floor. Her damp fingertips were cold.
He stood in the doorway for quite some time, saying nothing.
Lucius was not one to avert his gaze first, and this moment proved no exception.
Standing as a barrier in the room’s air, he took his first step, pressing quietly onto the carpet as he approached.
“Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere?”
His long stride closed the distance swiftly.
Startled more by his approach than by the fall itself, Celia’s face went slack, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
His hand suddenly extended toward her.
“Can you stand?”
His voice was unexpectedly gentle, but she avoided his hand, her gaze trembling.
“Why are you here?”
The thin beam of light he’d brought illuminated the entire room around them.
Lucius standing in her chambers. In a room she had furnished to her own taste, the man seemed foreign, almost grotesquely out of place.
“Did my sudden arrival startle you?”
His tone had always been gentle, true enough. But the cold edge beneath it—honed like a blade—had neutralized that softness before now.
Yet gentleness in both word and tone together proved unbearable.
“There’s no way you startled me!”
Her sharp retort came with a flash of temper, and somehow his smile only deepened.
The arm holding the lantern gradually lowered, and the room dimmed into shadow-soft light.
With his hands now free from holding the only source of light, Lucius pushed the hand she’d rejected beneath her waist.
A chill crawled up her spine. She turned to wrench her arm away, but gasped and froze at the sight of his chest suddenly before her eyes.
The muscle that had lost nothing during his days of unconsciousness loomed so near it might brush her cheek.
Just as she raised her hands to push him away, he brought his face close to the pale nape of her neck, visible through her wet hair, and whispered:
“It’s true, then, isn’t it?”
“……?”
“A husband seeking out his wife’s bedchamber is only natural. There’s nothing for you to be surprised about.”
“……What?”
He lifted his head abruptly.
“Though I’ve forgotten much, I’ll do my best to try, Celia.”
A laugh tumbled out like exhaled breath. He bared his teeth slightly and tilted his head.
Pushing back her wet hair, his long fingers found the nape of her neck. His laughter traced down her nape like an electric charge.
“Surely my body hasn’t forgotten how to spend a night like this?”
Celia went rigid, turning to stone.

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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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