My Husband Lives in a Painting - Chapter 25

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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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My Husband Lives in a Painting 025
“Choosing your master, are you? How precious.”
A sting of disappointment twisted her lips, but the flowers held their silence.
Kamyu returned to the Cottage with a petulant expression, settled onto the bench outside, and crossed her legs while gazing toward distant mountains.
“……How tedious.”
The tail that had sprouted for the first time that day drummed against the bench—tap, tap—as if giving voice to her restless thoughts.
There was no clock inside the Painting, so she had no choice but to endure another stretch of waiting without knowing when she would return.
‘I’m nothing but a dog waiting for its master.’
She was in no position to mock the Flower Field. Without Orbe, she could do nothing at all.
“Now that I think about it—why am I trapped in this place?”
It was no lie that she had no memories of when she was first trapped inside the Painting.
She understood instinctively that she was a Demon and that she needed Orbe’s soul to escape, but beyond that she was no different from a newborn child.
“……Well, once I regain all my power, I suppose I’ll naturally come to understand.”
Under the absolute power of the Contract, time would eventually become her ally.
“That said, my dear wife really ought to hurry and bring me the next toy to play with.”
Once again, she was grateful that this work suited her so well.
* * *
Claude, drafted as a temporary replacement to fill Ortega’s absence, had managed to reclaim a modest semblance of his daily life in this austere Mansion.
Rising before dawn to climb the hill behind the property, then washing and brewing strong fresh coffee afterward—
it was a routine he had always kept while governing the Western Territory.
“Lord Claude, may I come in? Have you finished washing?”
“Yes, come in.”
“My, such diligence as always. Since arriving here, I find myself rising later each day. Must be the lack of farmwork.”
“Hophe. You’re just lazy.”
“Striking where it hurts! How cruel you are.”
The two men, who had met at a similar age and grown up together, fit as seamlessly as an old married couple.
Though the Duke’s servants sometimes called Hophe disrespectful, neither of them minded.
“Lazy as I may be, I haven’t forgotten the master’s requests. Here, today’s Newspaper.”
“I should reassign you from adviser to newspaper delivery boy.”
“Not a bad idea, so long as the pay stays the same.”
Claude let out a soft laugh at the jest and turned his attention to the Newspaper in hand.
Shortly after, as he rustled through the pages, a small article caught his eye.
[Eldest Son of Pistachio Company Missing: Bounty Reaching 10,000 Gold]
—Investigation Bureau Launches Inquiry; Recent Suspicions of Embezzlement of Supplied Goods Draw Attention
Gail Pistachio, the eldest son and de facto operator of the Pistachio Company, has suddenly vanished without a trace. According to those involved, he disappeared sometime after the night of the Oth, and no meaningful leads have been discovered to date. Some speculate that his disappearance may be connected to the recent allegations of Embezzlement of Supplied Goods filed against him …(continued)….
A missing persons article occupying a small corner of the Newspaper—yet the familiar name made Claude’s eyes narrow.
‘Pistachio……where have I heard that before?’
Hophe, who had been standing with his hands clasped behind his back on the opposite side of the desk, tilted his head forward slightly and let out a gasp.
“Isn’t that the person? The one from whom Orbe sent a gift some time ago…….”
“What did you say?”
Claude’s brow furrowed without thought, and his gaze returned to the article.
The man to whom Orbe had gifted the Painting a week ago.
He had vanished?
“Surely it’s just……coincidence?”
“…….”
There was no connection between the Painting and his disappearance. Yet Claude could not shake a vague unease.
“Is that woman in the Art Studio today?”
Claude descended to the first floor to meet with Orbe, then stopped short.
‘Who’s here?’
The door to the Art Studio, which was always closed, stood open. Through the gap came the sound of cheerful chatter.
“Sister, won’t you draw me too?”
“Hmm, I’m not sure you’d like my drawings.”
“Or I could draw for you! I’m really good at it. My sister always praised me.”
“Is that so?”
The warm sound of their conversation drew nearer to the doorway, and Orbe emerged from the Art Studio, holding the hand of a small boy.
“Claude?”
Her eyes widened with surprise as they met his.
But Claude was equally astonished. A child?
“…….”
“Sister, who is that man?”
A pure soul had the effect of softening the atmosphere merely by being present.
The moment the awkward silence broke, Claude turned away without a word.
There was nothing left to say, and no reason to stay any longer.
“What’s that? Not even a greeting? Is he always like that?”
“Johen, hush. Don’t do that in front of people.”
“Then it’s okay to curse him behind his back?”
“Johen!”
…….
It had been ages since he’d faced such blatant criticism. His footsteps faltered.
Claude turned absently, only to meet a gaze as clear and unblemished as crystal. For a moment, his strength drained away, leaving him hollowed out.
Perhaps that was why he’d said it.
“…… Madam Ortega.”
“Yes?”
Toward her, who blinked in confusion, Claude dredged up a tone of formality he’d never used before in his life.
“Would you care to have… a cup of tea with me?”
* * *
After leaving Johen with Romaine for a while, Claude and I took tea in my room.
Though it was Claude himself who’d proposed the time, this unscheduled meeting seemed to weigh on him, and he appeared ill at ease with the situation itself.
…….
Clink, clink.
His impassive face, one cheek propped against his hand as he clinked the teaspoon, was clearly at odds with high society.
‘Well, I’m the elder here, so I should take the lead.’
I wasn’t particularly adept at socializing either, but I’d manage better than this man.
“…… Come to think of it, you called me Madam Orbe Ortega.”
The golden eyes that had been quietly fixed on the surface of the tea slowly lifted toward mine.
“But wouldn’t that title be a bit much? We’re family, after all.”
“Then what should I call you?”
It was a trifling matter, but it succeeded in drawing out a response. That much was a relief.
“There’s a perfectly good word: sister-in-law.”
“Sister-in-law?”
Claude narrowed his brows, making clear he found my suggestion thoroughly disagreeable.
It seemed the very term had fallen out of use in this world.
“I dislike it.”
But there was no other alternative to suggest.
I couldn’t say I was comfortable with this distance between us either.
“…… Then what should I call you?”
“Can’t you simply call me by my name?”
“I’d prefer not to.”
Given how imposing Claude’s frame was, one might easily be confused—but I was three years his senior.
Moreover, by the reckoning of this world, he was still a minor who hadn’t yet undergone his coming-of-age ceremony.
‘The boy barely knows what real life is, and he’s already—’
“How about ‘elder sister’?”
Yet this man, utterly devoid of any semblance of grace, brushed aside my words with casual disdain.
“No blood relation, and you want me to call you elder sister? That’s absurd.”
Well, I’d lost this round.
“Do as you please, then.”
“Very well. I’ll make it a point to call you by your name.”
We’d barely been talking for a few minutes, and I already wanted it to end.

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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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