My Ex-Husband Came Back Crazy - Chapter 77

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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 77
Chapter 8. Aftermath (7)
The day of Farenheit’s birthday gala had arrived.
After casually mentioning the schedule, Lucius paused at the mirror as he dressed, turning to look at her.
“Shall we go together?”
“No.”
Celia refused outright.
Lucius regarded her for a moment, then fastened the last button, his disappointment plain across his features as his lips curved downward slightly.
“All right. Do be careful while you’re out.”
She’d expected him to press further, so his acceptance surprised her.
He could be peculiarly sensitive when it came to Farenheit, after all.
‘He was jealous before. Why isn’t he trying to stop me?’
Celia searched for an explanation as she studied him from head to toe, trying to be fair.
‘Well, I suppose… he’s busy.’
The bridge construction had been relentless lately, consuming every moment; he barely seemed to have time for sleep.
The project had to succeed. Once it was complete, both military supply lines and commerce would transform beyond recognition—far greater than anything now. Celia recalled the massive Cast Iron Grand Bridge she’d seen before.
If they could truly raise that structure, the profits flowing through it would be staggering enough to take anyone’s breath away.
‘Though if it fails, the old guard will tear him to shreds and bury him in shame.’
She narrowed her almond eyes and gave Lucius a sidelong glance. His purpose for going out seemed obvious enough, but she asked anyway, for propriety’s sake.
“Where are you headed?”
Instead of answering, Lucius merely smiled enigmatically.
“……?”
What was that about?
It was mildly suspicious, but right now she had more pressing matters to attend to.
“Have a good trip.”
Celia hesitated at the doorway as he waved, then reluctantly raised her hand in return before turning away.
In the corridor, Anne appeared as though she’d been waiting.
“Anne. The letter?”
“Here it is.”
Celia accepted the reply from “someone,” and immediately brought the edge of the page to her lips, grinning.
“Send two of the fastest horses and my personal carriage.”
She swept through the halls in her elaborate gown and took the prepared flower bouquet in hand.
Today’s party at House of Lowends would be a gathering no one would ever forget.
***
Whose birthday was it, anyway?
The House Head’s, or perhaps his wife’s?
Though Celia knew perfectly well it was Farenheit’s birthday, she feigned indifference.
Honestly, she didn’t care either way.
Celia simply stepped into the manor. Golden curtains billowed like waves across towering windows, while every wall displayed an array of artwork adorned with fragrant rose arrangements piled on thick.
Expensive possessions crowded together, yet the taste struck her as painfully provincial.
‘Filled with vanity that pretends to be modest—just like the master of the house.’
At Celia’s harsh assessment, a footman stationed at the entrance fumbled awkwardly at her unexpected arrival.
She dropped an invitation into his palm and jerked her chin.
“Open the doors.”
The gala was already in full swing.
Normally, no host would be pleased to have a guest arrive unannounced at such a moment. But when that guest is Celia of House of Windmere, the story changes. The footman recalled his master’s delighted expression and raised his voice.
“The Consort Celia Windmere has arrived!”
She stepped inside.
Hands holding glasses froze mid-sip, and lips mid-conversation stilled. Celia walked in as though such attention were her due—as though she’d known it all along.
A single flower rested delicately in her hand.
It was a stunning sight—her flowing white hair complementing the blue of her gown, which evoked the depths of the sea itself. The pale pink bloom she carried stood out beautifully against her flushed cheeks.
“My, Consort.”
“Welcome. With the Consort’s arrival, I’m sure our guest of honor is truly delighted.”
An elderly noblewoman at the forefront smiled, her hand raised gracefully, while an elderly gentleman beside her added something slowly.
“Given that you once shared a connection with the birthday celebrant, I did not expect you’d attend. Surely this cannot sit comfortably with you?”
That old man looked familiar, though she couldn’t place him.
“Why should it trouble me?”
Celia raised the flower in her hand slightly.
“I’ve taken the trouble to bring a gift, after all.”
“A flower as a present, how lovely.”
The elderly man’s smile—pleasant enough, though his eyes resembled a toad’s—broadened further.
“Indeed, now that the Consort has married, you seem to have softened considerably.”
“……?”
She tilted her head and murmured.
“It’s been nearly three years since I married. Ah, I suppose you’ve been so absorbed in that research no one else has managed to accomplish that you’ve lost track of time.”
The old man’s face crumpled instantly.
Someone stifled their laughter behind a fan, their hand visibly trembling with barely suppressed mirth.
“Ahem, ahem! I meant a marriage in the deeper, more meaningful sense. Surely the public knows your relationship with the Duke has improved lately. Women, you see, need their husband’s affection to find peace of mind.”
What utter nonsense was this?
“The Consort of old was charming, but you today have clearly learned propriety—it’s truly wonderful to see. Your father, the Duke of Brickwell, must be so pleased that his only daughter has discovered a woman’s maturity.”
What was the punishment for murder again?
‘Tower exile at best, I think. And execution by the same method as the crime, if I recall correctly.’
She should have asked her father to teach her how to kill without leaving a trace.
With that thought, she stepped between them and moved on.
“Don’t worry—I intend to meet all your expectations today.”
She added the remark without turning back.
In that brief window, Celia had already moved several paces away. Her eyes gleamed like a hunting dog’s, sharp and focused on her prey.
And that target was engaged in conversation with a few guests deeper inside.
Farenheit, smiling and lifting his head, caught Celia’s gaze as she passed—and his face went rigid.
“Celia?”
His lips formed the word clearly, even from a distance.
His expression was worth seeing—the hand holding his glass nearly dropped, his shoulders stiffened, and his face shifted between joy and shock in an instant.
Farenheit hurried in her direction.
He shouldered his way through the crowd, straightening his jacket as he approached, absently running a hand through his hair, and arranging his smile back into place—the whole performance was laughable.
“C-Celia?”
Rather than reply, she studied him slowly from crown to sole—his face, his neck, his shoulders, his hands. Finally, her gaze settled on the button fastened to his chest.
“…….”
Just as she’d suspected.
It wasn’t a mistake.
Nobles commonly wore brooches or buttons engraved with their family crest. Celia herself had never bothered to attach such a trinket bearing House of Windmere’s emblem, but most did.
But unlike her, Farenheit had been excessively fond of that insignificant ornament ever since his student days.
As he drew near, Farenheit said something strange, evidently lost in his own fantasy.
“Is this… for me…?”
He caught sight of the flower bouquet in her arms and drew breath sharply.
“Thank you. Such a beautiful arrangement.”
The shy tone cut off abruptly. Celia’s hand rose the very next instant.
Smack—
She hurled the bouquet at him.
Pink petals struck his chest and scattered across the floor—the expected sequence of events.
“Oh. My mistake.”
Who could possibly believe those words, delivered without the slightest blink?
Farenheit stared down at the ruined flowers at his feet, frozen.
“Won’t you pick them up?”
“……C-Celia.”
Eyes bore down on him from every direction.
“Surely you’re not refusing my gift?”
Farenheit’s cheeks flushed, then drained of color entirely. Finally, he bent one knee and reached toward the trampled blooms.
The moment he exposed the back of his head—a target she would have loved to strike—Celia snatched a glass of wine from a passing servant’s tray.
What followed was inevitable.
Splash—
“!!”
The crimson liquid cascaded down his shoulder, back, and the nape of his bent neck in a satisfying stream.
Celia stamped her heel—soon to be discarded anyway—directly onto the back of his hand still clutching the flower.
“I was so delighted with your gift that I came to return the favor.”
A sharp intake of breath escaped him as he jerked his head up quickly. Celia rewarded him with her most radiant smile.
“Are you pleased?”
Moments later, startled shrieks and gasps erupted from all sides.
“Lord Farenheit!”
“Consort Windmere! What is the meaning of this!”

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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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