My Ex-Husband Came Back Crazy - Chapter 63

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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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Chapter 63
Chapter 7. Origins (3)
Celia had always despised parties.
The corset that squeezed her body. The shoes that pinched her feet. The smile that threatened to crack.
She loathed high society, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know how to move within it.
“The author who wrote the original ‘The Funeral of Rain’ was Edwin Valkain.”
Everyone turned their attention to her—those seated in chairs and those lingering about who had failed to find a place.
“He was from the Estra Republic. During that period, all works underwent strict censorship. An ending that romanticized the union of nobility and commoners would have been difficult to permit.”
Celia continued, her Fan held just beneath her chin.
Each time she tilted her wrist, the fan’s ribs opened and closed with fluid grace, and eyes naturally gathered toward the elegant tip brushing against her pale skin.
“Moreover, Estra was politically unstable at the time due to disputes over maritime trade rights. The atmosphere prioritized order and loyalty over personal love.”
“Truly, you are exceptional, Celia. Then, might I ask why you recommended Marian de Vero’s adaptation?”
The small table in the corner had become the center of the party without anyone quite noticing.
Most of those gathered there simply wanted to exchange a word with her. A man among them finally gathered his courage, his face flushed. He performed a rather dignified bow, hand pressed to his chest.
“Marian de Vero was a celebrated playwright. When she adapted the work for the stage, the ending changed.”
Celia turned her gaze toward him.
His breath caught silently as those winter-dawn blue eyes held him.
“Rather than the heroine throwing herself into the sea, the story ends with her departing the harbor aboard a merchant vessel.”
“A most intriguing conclusion, truly. Yet the fact that the two lovers never reunite still makes for a sorrowful ending. Rather like the anguish of a man who carries love for someone already married, wouldn’t you say?”
The words were a mixture of jest and sincerity.
A dense, precarious current spread through the air. Olang found herself swallowing involuntarily.
Celia lifted her glass as if nothing had occurred.
“Then I should recommend Elisa Rowen’s adaptation instead. The ending resolves the question of station through an inheritance dispute, allowing the lovers to be reunited. The anguish of one harboring such immoral sentiments has no chance to shine—what a dull tale indeed.”
Laughter erupted at her clean dismissal of the man who had attempted to appeal to her.
Though the target of the mockery, the man showed no displeasure. Rather, as if honored, he brought her hand to his lips.
‘I thought she looked so cold…’
Olang stared at the scene, dumbfounded.
She had long forgotten Chloe’s request.
‘I’d only heard rumors about how clever she was. Yet she speaks so naturally even with the Academy’s professors…’
Strangely, neither envy nor jealousy stirred in her. When one stands before someone so impossibly elevated, admiration comes first.
‘Lucius Windmere was on bad terms with her once?’
Just how exceptional must a man be to decline such a woman?
She possessed a beauty that commanded attention, a voice like silver bells rippling through dawn air. If he had been her rival…
“…I wonder about Windmere’s young Duke.”
Olang murmured without thinking.
The problem was that her voice came out louder than she intended.
Loud enough for the woman who held everyone’s attention to hear.
“Hm?”
Olang’s hand flew to her mouth too late.
‘What did I just say!’
Her chest heaved sharply. The shock stole her breath, and a small hiccup escaped.
The air around her cooled as if it had been waiting for the moment.
“Lady Olang.”
The thought that ‘She remembered my name!’ did not occur to her.
What was remarkable, instead, was that in a situation where fear should surely have followed, Olang found herself blushing without realizing it.
When their eyes met, she suddenly understood the hearts of all those men who had swarmed toward Celia like moths to flame just moments before.
Celia rested her chin lightly on one smooth, perfectly manicured hand.
Her head tilted slightly, and her neck—impossibly graceful—was revealed in a way that seemed effortless.
Hair the pale color of the first snow falling in early winter fell softly across her shoulders. Beneath it, deep blue eyes glowed quietly. Once you gazed into them, escape was nearly impossible.
Her long lashes cast thin shadows on her flushed cheeks. Between brief intervals of breath, her lips parted slowly.
“In all my years, I’ve never heard anyone express curiosity about my husband right in front of me.”
Celia’s voice was like the first delicate note when an old silver music box is finally opened.
That refined tone stretched thin as thread and wound around her ear.
“Curiosity? Or perhaps… interest?”
“No, no. That’s not what I—”
“Either way, you should abandon it. He won’t appreciate it.”
Who?
Her? Or…
Then a low voice, like the drawing of a taut string, layered over hers.
“Celia, I’ve been looking for you.”
A shadow settled naturally around Celia’s shoulders.
Lucius Windmere, who had appeared without warning, carried a formidable presence.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
It was an intentional, possessive display.
As if to prove he was the only one who could touch her, his large hand brushed her shoulder and descended to her waist.
“Were you well on your own?”
Two people who shared no resemblance stood side by side.
That contrast became balance, and that balance became a form no one could easily penetrate.
***
The party had reached its peak of intimacy.
True to its name as a “Wine Party,” morality’s boundaries grew lax wherever wine flowed. After a few exchanges of glasses, distances between people vanished in an instant.
Lucius tilted his wine glass as he watched a woman.
It was, of course, Celia.
“The bravest on that day wasn’t the hunting hounds, but the horses pulling the carriage.”
An appropriately pleasant smile, yet appropriately cold eyes.
Refined and elegant bearing paired with fluid eyes that read their marks with precision.
“Even as the driver panicked and fled, the horses remained docile. I thought to myself that day—how fine it would be to grant each of those horses a sword, as knights carry.”
Laughter rippled through the room.
People delighted in her jest, offering drinks to one another.
Lucius gazed upon this new facet of Celia for a long time. He had discovered yet another version of her he did not know.
He was pleased by this fact, yet something gnawed at him restlessly.
‘I’ve completely forgotten her face.’
In a single day, Celia had erased every reproach and unnecessary attention directed toward her.
She willingly drained wine she didn’t enjoy and denied the unexpected fact of her pregnancy, displayed their relationship, and in doing so, even erased the phantom of a rival who had never existed.
Her delicate appearance, as if it might shatter at any moment, was merely the surface. His wife had never needed his help.
‘Still, I wish she would look at me more.’
The way he yearned for her.
He felt a desperate hunger to reveal to everyone in this room whose those luscious lips were, whose were those eyes threatening to engulf him, whose was that soft, pale body.
“Sir, Young Duke.”
A soft voice called to him, and he turned his head.
At his slight nod, the diminutive woman’s shoulders trembled.
He had never seen her before.
Yet having heard Celia call her name moments ago, he quickly donned an artificial mask.
Her name was…
“Lady Olang.”
Lucius regarded her quietly from above.
If Celia’s way of observing others was detached yet composed, the attention Lucius offered carried something deeper and more ambiguous, regardless of form. Deep enough to stir a young lady’s heart.
Yet Olang had already bitten the inside of her mouth to collect herself. She had sworn countless times not to make another mistake. She quieted her breathing and clasped her gloved hands together.
“I have something to convey to you…”
Lucius waited quietly with a slight smile, as if inviting her to speak.
“Lady Chloe asked me to deliver this to you…”
Yet he quickly found himself frowning, his lips pulling down.

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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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