My Ex-Husband Came Back Crazy - Chapter 84

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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 84
Chapter 9. Remnants (4)
It was hardly unusual for the two of them to disagree.
Celia and Lucius had been that way since they were five years old—bickering over a single toy a party host had given as a gift, debating for half a day before the fountain in the Imperial Garden about who had claim to it first.
It had once been quite a familiar spectacle.
But that was the past.
After the two of them married, something happened that had never occurred before—and everyone held their breath.
Fans folded slowly throughout the salon; hands holding goblets froze at awkward heights. Young eyes glimmered; the seasoned nobility pretended not to listen, even as they turned their ears toward the exchange.
“That’s why we need the toll tax. Even if the Empire covers the initial construction costs and we use existing capital, there will be ongoing maintenance expenses.”
“If there’s a toll tax, the merchants will raise their freight rates. This project is supposed to stabilize prices in the Northern Region, but if they jack up costs at the checkpoint first, we’ll have a different problem on our hands.”
It was a sight unseen in ages.
Everyone in the room thought so. And Celia felt the same. The ever-composed Lucius—his face still glazed like fired pottery—might not have known it, but right now her insides were churning, ground to bits.
‘Damn it. It’s exactly like before he lost his memory.’
Acting as if he’d hang on my every word, and now he won’t give an inch!
“There’s no need to overthink it. We simply set a ceiling on freight rates.”
“If you set a ceiling, the merchants will just tack money on under different names—winter surcharges, hazard fees, carriage repair costs. They’ll have no shortage of pretexts to extract payment.”
The young nobles who prided themselves on their education, the young ladies who boasted they were no less capable than the men—none of them dared interrupt their exchange.
Lucius had always been top of his class at the Academy, after all, and the only person who could match him was Celia.
“We specify the items in the contract. Any unauthorized freight rate increase means disqualification from the next auction.”
“Then they’ll just multiply the authorized items.”
Celia uncrossed her arms, which had been folded defensively, and stepped closer.
“Seven years ago, when Baron Callum took charge of grain transport in the Southern Region, the same thing happened. His ledgers said he wouldn’t raise freight rates. Instead, he charged fees for everything under the sun—even for the rope used to tie the horses, or so they say.”
Lucius didn’t back down. The way he looked down at her because of their height difference irritated her. It felt like ages since she’d felt such raw emotion from him.
So she lifted her chin stubbornly in return. And then Celia faltered. His eyes, meeting hers, were smiling.
“Then we’ll tie down the evidence instead of the items.”
Had he been watching her like that the whole time?
All the things that had been scraping the inside of her raw just moments ago peeled away like dead skin, losing their grip at the edges.
“Evidence?”
“Yes.”
Now that she thought about it, his tone didn’t seem quite so sharp either…
“If we try to block the pretexts, we’ll only end up with more of them—the packaging fees, storage fees, delay charges you mentioned. So whenever they collect money, they provide documentation.”
“…Then we also need to split the payment recipients. Have them receive funds from different sources, and rotate the inspectors seasonally.”
“One season is too short. Two seasons would be more appropriate.”
Something strange was flowing through their conversation.
She realized soon enough: this wasn’t a collision of opinions, but their first compromise. As if demonstrating that it could be solved this way, untangling a knotted thread, strand by strand.
Beneath the chandelier’s light, a smile bloomed—soft as spring sun.
Celia hesitated.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because it seems like there’s nothing you can’t do.”
The man who’d been rebutting her every word had no right to say that, Celia thought, surprising herself with an inward grumble.
“Should we present our proposal to His Majesty today?”
……
Lucius stepped closer and offered his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Celia placed her hand on his. As always, the people around them turned their heads away as if nothing had happened.
But there was one difference from back then.
“I’ve talked so much my throat’s parched. Want to share a drink?”
“…Sure.”
Not like the past, when victory and defeat had been clearly divided, and the loser had swallowed their displeasure before turning away.
***
A soft sniffle.
Chloe, sitting in a corner, buried her eyes in her handkerchief.
After Lucius and Celia’s clash had passed, the party returned to normal—but she could not.
‘I have to restore Lucius’s memory as quickly as possible.’
Because he’d lost it, he’d gotten tangled up with that witch of a woman and shown such an expression.
Chloe squeezed the damp handkerchief. Her pink nails pressed deeply into the cloth.
‘It’s all because he lost his memory.’
And that wasn’t all.
She regretted the unplanned provocation she’d directed at Celia earlier.
But she couldn’t help it.
Recently, for some strange reason, she couldn’t get information about Lucius anymore.
Lady Orlando, who used to pass along information, had suddenly vanished without a trace, and the information brokers she’d dealt with had started being selective about their clients.
Chloe felt like a vagabond cast adrift on a vast ocean.
And on top of everything, a marriage—and to the blood of House of Brickwell, no less, whom Lucius despised!
‘What if Lucius misunderstands?’
She hadn’t shown it to Celia, but truthfully, Chloe hated this marriage. The hastily arranged engagement had confused her most of all. Even her father, who used to grant her anything when she wept and pleaded, had been unyielding this time—more than ever before.
What on earth was happening?
In a situation where nothing flowed according to her will, she had become the protagonist of misfortune. As a rebound, she’d recently resumed a hobby she’d abandoned long ago.
‘Today I should bring in a blonde slave with green eyes.’
Smuggling slaves into the Empire, where slavery was forbidden, was Chloe’s longstanding hobby.
‘This is so frustrating. How can I resolve this situation?’
Then someone caught her eye.
Evandor Brickwell.
Unlike the dignified, composed Lucius, this one looked as though lust itself had been molded into human form. His eyes curved with a wolfish slant, his lips full and crimson, his gaze wet with desire.
Why did women fling themselves at men like this like moths to a flame?
‘Revolting.’
Lucius had no idea about such things, but Evandor was out meeting this woman and that woman.
‘Celia Brickwell is probably the same.’
Everyone whispered about it, but it was common knowledge that the Duke of Brickwell had over ten illegitimate children.
Chloe dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief and approached him. Evandor was leaning against the wall, swaying loosely. His face bore the flush of drink, but his eyes were oddly clear.
“Is your hand alright?”
He regarded Chloe as she drew near, his expression darkening.
“My hand?”
“Celia—your sister was rather rough with you earlier.”
This insane woman… Evandor’s eyes twitched.
But unable to defy his father’s orders, he bit his lip once, then released it—his only outlet for his irritation.
Meanwhile, behind her tear-dampened handkerchief, Chloe had finished her calculations.
‘That idiot Fahrenheit was useless, but… this man might be worth manipulating, don’t you think?’
Her eyes gleamed.
“Prince Evandor.”
……
“I think we’re already in the same boat, you and I.”
“What?”
All expression drained from Evandor’s face.
“I saw you arguing with Celia Brickwell earlier. The two of you were raising your voices, quarreling… and from that, I understood the nature of your relationship.”
The brightness in Evandor’s eyes—a man whose specialty was dismissing others’ words and mocking them—deepened.
“Why do you hate your sister so much? A matter of inheritance? Did the Duke of Brickwell decide to leave her more than you? Or perhaps Celia’s always been so domineering that she’s been a nuisance to you since childhood.”
Chloe pressed her hands together as if in prayer and smiled.
“Or maybe there’s something else entirely.”
Evandor, who had been silent for a moment, soon tilted his head.
A lazy, ugly smile—the kind he wore when seducing someone—played at his lips.
“Ah. Good. Very well.”
I understand what you’re saying, he added, and Chloe beamed brightly.
“So let’s work together to mess with my sister, shall we?”
Evandor leaned toward her.
“So tell me.”
His red lips opened slowly.
“What do you want to do?”

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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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