My Ex-Husband Came Back Crazy - Chapter 85

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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 85
Chapter 9. Remnants (5)
Now that the Foundation Festival had ended, Celia found herself with absolutely nothing to do.
“…….”
A yawn escaped her.
She stretched languorously, like a lazy cat waking at an ungodly hour.
‘How peaceful.’
Her father had grown distant lately, too preoccupied with Evandor’s wedding arrangements to write. And Lucius remained buried in the construction of the Albion Bridge, making him difficult to see.
“I suppose I could visit the Estate again.”
The Evidence of Treason was hidden there.
Since Lucius didn’t know of its existence, she need only go and retrieve it. Simple, really. Even a child could manage such a task.
“Mm.”
But what would happen once she handed it over to her father?
If Evandor was right, once she’d achieved her purpose, would he have her divorced?
“Why hasn’t Father told me anything about such a plan?”
When she thought about it, it was entirely predictable. Edmund would never accept his own blood bearing the Windmere name and living beneath it.
“I haven’t even told Lucius that we were originally meant to divorce.”
Whether she kept missing the right moment or he was simply too busy, Celia hadn’t found an opportunity to unburden herself of the secret she kept from him.
“Once my thoughts are a little clearer, I’ll decide.”
She rose from her seat and approached the window.
Opening it wide, the familiar landscape imprinted itself upon her eyes—one she’d grown accustomed to. It was not an unpleasant place. Close enough to nature, yet civilized enough to enjoy its comforts. In the quiet, tranquil scenery, she closed her eyes gently.
Yet despite the outward peace, an inner war still raged within her.
***
Evandor was enjoying an afternoon befitting his station.
That is to say, the sort of time useless noblemen spent together drinking exorbitantly expensive spirits, wagering trivial sums, and flipping cards with grave expressions.
The club, as always, reeked of thick cigar smoke and pungent men’s cologne.
“Your turn, Evandor.”
He set down a brandy glass with half-melted ice on a silver tray and crossed his long legs.
Queen of hearts.
Damned card.
He scowled at the sight of it.
“Looks like your hand’s rough.”
The man across from him tapped his cards and laughed. Evandor chewed the end of a cigar he had no intention of smoking and replied.
“It’s godsforsaken terrible.”
“Like your betrothed.”
“Ha.”
He tossed his cards down.
Everyone who paid attention during Evandor’s betrothed’s time in society knew she was a fanatic devoted to Lucius Windmere.
“How does one marry a woman infatuated with one’s own brother-in-law?”
“Broth—Hell, that’s what all political marriages are like.”
“That’s a tedious answer.”
“Marriage isn’t meant to be entertainment.”
Low laughter rippled through the gathering at his words.
“True enough. Marriage is marriage. If one wants love, one takes a mistress.”
Someone raised his glass in agreement, another made a crude joke about how many he’d want. Only Evandor remained unmoved.
“What?”
Contrary to those who paraded their vulgarity freely, Evandor despised that sort of behavior.
Why else would he have delayed marriage all these years without a single betrothal?
Because once married, he would have to commit himself to that woman.
It was a conviction born from his hatred of bastards—or rather, the shame they brought. Had he no sister, perhaps he might have thought differently. But with a sister, how could he countenance bringing a mistress into his wife’s home? The very thought made him sick.
“You’d be content if your own sister were abandoned by her husband after marriage?”
The laughter died awkwardly.
Those who had been fidgeting with their cards added uncomfortable remarks.
“Now, that’s uncalled for.”
“Well, of course not, but… what does it matter as long as no one finds out?”
Evandor turned to face him.
The man who’d spoken quickly averted his gaze. Amused by how absurd he looked, Evandor laughed openly.
But thinking of Celia brought another unpleasant matter to mind. He sat chewing cheese as though it were leather, chin propped on his hand.
‘That mad woman from Larendel. She couldn’t have meant what she said then.’
He recalled what had happened at the Foundation Festival not long ago.
“I’ll make it so Celia Brickwell can be divorced.”
The one who’d said this was his beloved betrothed—his accursed betrothed.
“After the divorce, if she returns, she won’t have the same influence as before. You’ll be able to control her easily.”
It was his mistake to have listened. Her words clung to his ears like the stench of rotting meat.
At that moment, Evandor had asked with trembling lips.
“How?”
“There are many ways. Reputation is more fragile than you think—people only see the cracks once they appear.”
She’d said it with an innocent face.
“Alone, it would be difficult, but with your help, it would be simple. Or… an accident would do.”
“……What?”
“A fright is enough. A loose carriage wheel on a dark road, or a maid delivering the wrong medicine by mistake.”
At that moment, Evandor had nearly laid hands on her.
If he’d torn that seductive mouth of hers open, perhaps it would finally be quiet.
But regrettably, Evandor was a dutiful son who obeyed his father well. Edmund had pushed the betrothal forward and issued him a command: keep Chloe in good spirits for now, as there was something to be gained from the Marquis Larendel House.
Warehousing rights at the Eastern Harbor and a portion of import privileges the Marquis controlled were the price.
Never having defied his father once in his life, Evandor couldn’t even conceive of disobeying him now. And so he’d been unable to respond even after hearing what she’d said about his sister.
“Let’s get fresh cards.”
“What should we wager this time?”
The men laughed.
Evandor found his smile again, drew new cards, and suggested wagering an artwork from a famous master.
Yet Chloe’s voice wouldn’t leave his ears.
“An accident would do.”
Evandor pressed his tongue against his molars.
She’d only been speaking rashly.
A thoughtless remark made in jealous blindness—the kind of thing to dismiss and move past.
“…….”
But soon after, Evandor crumpled the cards in his hand.
Those around him asked why so suddenly, but Evandor had already risen from his seat. His servant followed, concerned, but his master ignored every word in his irritation.
Wretched.
He couldn’t solve this alone.
He couldn’t directly control Chloe, nor could he sabotage his father’s dealings. And telling Celia would only lead to unnecessary contact with that woman. That left only one person.
Lucius Windmere.
Evandor’s lips twisted slowly.
Did he really have to ask that bastard for help?
“No, not help.”
Information. A warning.
Unpleasant and distasteful as it was, it was necessary. If she noticed how he acted around Celia after losing his memory, then at least he might swat away the insects circling her.
The potent alcohol he’d drunk earlier scratched down his throat.
“Bring me paper and a pen.”
He gestured to the servant standing at a distance.
“Now, sir?”
“Or should I have you fetch them at my funeral?”
The servant hurried off and returned with paper and pen.
Evandor drafted several sentences in his mind before picking up the pen. The dim light from above cast shadows across his eyes.
***
Around that same time.
“Cough—hack.”
“Hello there.”
“Ah, hello.”
A man stood there, beads of sweat on his forehead, quickly covering his mouth with a handkerchief.
“We meet again?”
The woman who’d left on a walk to clear her mind while Lucius was away had just caught an unexpected quarry.
“Let me see what you’re holding there.”
Rowald, who had followed Lucius’s orders to investigate the unknown aspects of the Marquis Larendel’s daughter in the Southern Region and who had brought a report on the Estate he’d agreed to purchase, found himself weeping inwardly.

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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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