My Ex-Husband Came Back Crazy - Chapter 64

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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 64
Chapter 7. The Source (4)
Chloe Larendel.
After Olang had delivered the letter and disappeared like a man fleeing, Lucius stood motionless in his spot, like an ancient tree.
“Would you care for another glass, sir?”
Lucius lifted his head slowly at the attendant’s words.
“Pour another, if you would.”
He accepted the refill into his empty glass, his thoughts drifting away.
‘She didn’t send a servant—she’s using a girl of her own standing to reach out to me.’
His gaze darkened.
“Then enjoy your evening, sir.”
“……Yes.”
By the time the attendant had withdrawn, Lucius was forced to acknowledge it.
Chloe Larendel would be a far greater variable than he had anticipated.
‘I knew I’d have to meet her eventually, but this is sooner than I expected.’
He had already branded his past self as worthless, already accepted Chloe Larendel as his former affair partner—consigned to history.
Yet there was one thing that nagged at him.
To deal with her perfectly, he needed to pinpoint that weakness and move past it.
Perhaps a kinder version of Lucius Windmere would never think such thoughts. But he no longer had the patience for hollow pretense.
‘I can’t afford to let the past trip me up now.’
He couldn’t destroy the trust he and Celia had so carefully built over something so trivial.
“Lucius. Don’t sit there brooding—have another drink with us, why don’t you?”
It was then that unfamiliar faces turned to him with easy familiarity.
“Why not? Will you pour me one?”
Lucius drained his glass in one motion, as if shaking off thought, and stepped toward them.
They were all part of the “Lucius Windmere network” he’d cultivated, so the conversation came naturally.
“The Duchess’s wine collection never fails to impress.”
“Here—let’s toast to tonight.”
Their glasses clinked.
While the others, already drunk enough to abandon their manners, had loosened their shirts and sprawled with their weight on one knee, Lucius maintained his posture perfectly upright.
“This vintage… I think Celia would like it too.”
Half was genuine; the other half was deliberate display.
“……Cough.”
“I’ve only heard rumors, but so it’s true—you and Celia Brickwell, that is… the Duchess, you’ve really become that close?”
Casual remarks tumbled out.
As his Academy classmates added their own comments, Lucius opened his mouth somewhat slowly.
“It’s hardly strange to cherish one’s wife.”
“Still, hearing you say it sounds odd.”
“The old folk always said it—time is a sun that melts even the grandest iceberg!”
Lucius brought the glass to his lips.
The glimmer that usually shone in his emerald eyes grew dim.
“…that I care for Celia so—”
“Hmm?”
“No, it’s nothing. Rather… I wanted to ask about something else.”
The drunk are difficult to manage, but their tongues grow loose. He drained another glass and placed his hand on the shoulder of the man beside him.
“I hear there’s been some amusing gossip about us lately?”
The hands of the glasses stopped midair, then froze. The laughter died uneasily, and eyes darted between them.
“Oh—you knew about that?”
“Well, I suppose you would.”
Lucius wore the calm, warm smile he always did—flawless as a perfect mask.
“I must admit, it’s been weighing on me. I’d like to at least understand the situation. Could you tell me the details?”
“…Truthfully, what good would it do you? And besides, after tonight, I don’t think the talk will surface again anyway.”
“I can brush off gossip about myself easily enough.”
His voice dropped, coming a beat too late.
“But since Celia’s involved, I don’t particularly enjoy her name being dragged through unnecessary chatter.”
He paused, composing his words carefully.
His voice flowed like a finely honed instrument, its timbre smooth and penetrating, carrying the inexorable warmth of the sun that strips a traveler of his coat.
“Well, I understand your feelings, but…”
“I thought you’d see reason. If your own wives or fiancées were tangled in such a matter, wouldn’t you be equally concerned?”
A silence settled among them—men whose shirts had come undone, their earlier laughter still fresh—while Lucius stood at their center, not a thread out of place.
Finally, the softest-hearted among them, the one who often spoke of his fiancée, dropped his gaze.
“The thing is… actually—”
***
Tiresome.
Celia blinked, as if pushing the residue of emotion beneath her lashes.
‘Whoever arranged this, whoever made me sit here like this… if you ever cross my path, you won’t escape easily.’
And she had the strange feeling, these last few moments, that someone was staring at her. Well, likely her imagination—but the irritation was unavoidable.
Yet despite the turmoil churning beneath, her lips maintained their smile. A perfect public smile.
“You must be delighted, Duchess.”
Just then, a young lady in a pale-pink dress folded her fan and whispered.
“Everyone was so worried when you married. But there’s no need for that now, is there? Your father must have had such foresight—he forced through the marriage despite all that opposition.”
Beneath the table, Celia’s hand twitched. With each fraying of her patience, she’d been plucking feathers from her fan; now the last one was nearly gone.
“…What exactly do you mean by that?”
“Oh, nothing in particular. It’s just that you seem so happy now, you must have nothing left to envy in the world.”
Is she really picking a fight right now?
“The Duke must be equally affectionate at home, I imagine?”
“….”
“Perhaps not. He’s always been someone who values propriety and decorum, so even in private moments, he’d maintain his boundaries. I’ve heard that between family-like companions things are different, so I was merely curious. I do hope I haven’t upset you?”
Yes. She’s fighting.
That face—looking closer, she recognized the young lady from a house that had once sent marriage proposals to Windmere and been rejected.
Perfect. Celia had already achieved what she wanted from this evening, and now exhaustion and irritation were all that remained. She opened her mouth.
“Family-like companions, you say? Even if I were to satisfy your curiosity, I doubt you’d believe me. Why don’t you ask the Duchess’s Affair Partner, her father who abandoned the home, and her mother who gave her bed to a lover instead?”
“D-Duchess! What exactly are you—!”
It was then that a familiar warmth suddenly materialized at her back.
Before Celia could even turn her head, strong arms wrapped around her waist.
He pulled her close—an embrace from which there was no escape. His broad chest covered her shoulders, and the firmness of his ribs pressed against her spine through the neat fabric of his jacket.
“Celia.”
A low voice resonated near her ear.
“I’ve been looking for you. Yes?”
When his warm breath brushed her earlobe, the eyes around them grew sharp and piercing.
Celia lifted her head stiffly, like a wooden doll.
Lucius smiled when their eyes met. His face was like the warmth of early spring breaking through winter—gentle, yet somehow loosened by something else.
“Celia…”
When she didn’t respond and remained frozen, he lowered his head to rest against her shoulder.
The motion was loose and natural, like an animal reunited with its master.
But the strength in his arms only grew tighter. At the hint of coaxing in his grip, Celia reflexively grabbed his wrist.
“Are you drunk?”
She whispered the question softly against his ear.
Lucius’s eyes closed more slowly than usual. A faint warmth had spread across his cheeks, unfamiliar to her.
“A little.”
“How did you—”
“Because you weren’t by my side. I wanted to see you.”
“….”
What nonsense is this now…
Celia wasn’t the only one shocked; the young ladies around them had gone still.
The young lady who had been needling her moments before had gone pale, one hand clamped over her mouth. Was that a glimmer of tears at the corner of her eyes?
“Wait—let’s step outside.”
“No. You’re not leaving me.”
The words flowed out softly, pitched lower than usual, with a persistence that clung to them.
That low, husky tone was entirely at odds with his austere face—something he would never produce in his normal state.
‘He always told me not to drink, and now look at him…!’
Unaware of how many glasses of water Celia had drunk for every glass of wine to stay sober tonight, Lucius was already toying idly with her hand.
His fingers slipped between hers, weaving together slowly and gently. His hand was strong yet tender, fitting perfectly with hers.
“Stay with me.”
“…Let’s go outside. Yes. Let’s go. Some air will help you feel better.”
It was his role to coax her when she refused and bristled; unused to managing or guiding him, Celia found herself stumbling over her words.
“I want to be alone with you.”
It was almost a whisper.
The breath that escaped was like a sigh, a strange warmth rising within it.
“……Let’s go to the terrace.”
In the end, Celia grasped his hand and hurried him toward the exit.
The truth—that he was not drunk at all—remained unknown to everyone in that room.

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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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