Surviving as a Terminally Ill Heiress - Chapter 49

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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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Chapter 49

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Clara Anne von Wagner.
She was the second daughter among the two sons and three daughters of the fifth prince in the current Wagner Royal Family’s line of eleven heirs—in short, just another princess of Wagner.
The Wagner royal house was harmonious.
All those family members lived in perfect accord, without a single quarrel.
It was fortunate, though not everyone saw it that way.
‘I need to stand out.’
Nine-year-old Clara resolved as much.
It was during a portrait session, gathered with so many family members that it bordered on grotesque.
Her legs ached from standing in the same position for hours.
But if she moved even slightly, the court painters standing before that vast canvas wouldn’t let her hear the end of it.
In what felt less like a palace and more like a raucous marketplace, little Clara let out a sigh.
Every new year, a fresh family portrait was commissioned.
It was a tradition of the harmonious Wagner household.
And with each new painting that hung, the number of people in it grew alarmingly.
‘No matter how I think about it, there’s no future for me here.’
Family members who were also troublesome rivals, stacked above and below.
Clara’s father was the fifth prince—not likely to become crown prince, and unlikely even to receive any lands.
Even if he miraculously secured a position, Clara already had outstanding brothers and sisters.
That meant the scraps left for her would be meager.
Rather than waste time hoping, she ought to marry young—yet that too seemed impossible.
All the respectable marriage prospects had already been taken by her elder sisters.
And worst of all….
“Ha ha, three of them are expecting already? Next year’s portrait will take even longer!”
Please, no more. No more portraits.
Nine-year-old Clara made another vow.
She really did need to stand out.
Her destination was easy to choose.
‘Let’s go to Atera. Where the Ambroses are.’
Clara gazed upon her grandmother, the center of gravity in this sprawling family.
Once a princess of House Ambrose, she had brought with her an enormous dowry upon marriage.
It had been enough to solve Wagner’s long-standing debts and the damages from a nationwide drought in one stroke.
House Ambrose had given it all ungrudgingly.
That showed how dearly and deeply he loved his younger sister.
Now he had lost his only son to disappearance, and his wife to grief itself.
Clara was not the sort to take joy in another’s misfortune, she would admit.
But if circumstances were already as they were, one might as well use them to their fullest.
In a word: a practical opportunist.
When such a girl arrived in Atera, her intentions were crystal clear.
‘I’ll become the House Ambrose patriarch’s only beloved granddaughter, take over Atera’s high society, and find myself the finest husband!’
That would suffice. Anything more would be greed.
Noble by birth and upbringing, she had her willful streak, but Clara did know how to compromise.
As the saying went, excessive greed only invites ruin.
Clever Clara was confident.
Confident she could keep her bounds while claiming her share.
And three years passed.
‘Yet I couldn’t even establish myself in the House Ambrose residence….’
She’d thought she could easily claim a guest room in the west wing if not the main hall—a grave miscalculation.
The House Ambrose patriarch showed her little interest.
Whether she flattered or misbehaved, he simply left her alone, the way he neglected that ruffian Howard.
Looking back now, she had never earned his approval.
‘The Ambrose blood runs merchant through and through.’
He was not uncaring of his kin, yet when it came to assigning value, he was always coldly calculated.
Damn it. Clara was frustrated. My rosy future!
And yet she had not left Atera all this while, because the environment here was far superior to Wagner.
The patriarch’s affection might be lost, but what of it?
She lacked neither fortune nor bloodline. All she needed was a chance to be noticed.
After all, she was the only one here who could call the House Ambrose patriarch grandfather.
That alone was enough to make her a coveted bride.
Good. She had thought to peacefully take control of high society in this way, but….
‘Out of nowhere, the patriarch’s own granddaughter appears!’
It was a bolt from the blue.
The rarity that had been her weapon and her worth—being an Ambrose—had suddenly faded.
Jealousy welled up inside her.
Bastard or lowborn or not, that title of direct Ambrose heir—that was what she coveted.
So she had indulged in some petty spite.
‘Why does it feel like my fighting spirit keeps getting worn down….’
Clara found herself glaring at Lavigne, encountered unexpectedly during a shopping outing.
Why? Perhaps because she looked so much like a baby rabbit?
But beneath that face, which seemed ready to cry at the slightest touch, lurked something predatory.
A beast worn and weathered by trials—yet with eyes that still gleamed fierce.
Clearly not the naive, easily-bullied girl she appeared.
Ah, so she was Gustaf Ambrose’s granddaughter after all.
“How rude! We’ve never met, yet you dare speak so to a lady of…!”
Clara’s followers stepped in.
Clara herself discreetly hid behind her fan.
House Ambrose and the world outside were altogether different places.
How would this one respond?
Surrounded by the pack of hyenas, Lavigne blinked her drooping large eyes slowly.
“Oh, so you’re saying you’re the second daughter of the fifth prince of Wagner, his 2 sons and 3 daughters….”
“Who doesn’t know that?!”
Clara flared up in anger.
Lavigne tilted her head, apparently in all innocence.
Her facial expressions shifted only subtly, making them hard to read, but shrewd Clara could discern it.
‘So what?’ was what her face said.
What kind of person was this?
Clara fanned her now-flushed neck.
“I might overlook other breaches of courtesy, but your manner of speech needs retraining.”
“That’s fine.”
“Because in high society, speaking that way—”
“I don’t care.”
What kind of person was this, really?
Clara found herself laughing despite herself.
If she had grown up outside, the way she acted was pure Ambrose—completely indifferent to others’ eyes.
“Really, how presumptuous…!”
As her followers moved to press further, Clara raised her fan to stop them.
She was merely curious about Lavigne’s reaction. She wanted no scene.
“Never mind. As the elder sister, I should understand my younger sister’s rough edges.”
Younger sister? Could she mean the rumored Ambrose lady?
The illegitimate daughter of that Ritzsien?
The young ladies stared with eyes that mixed curiosity and hostility.
Lavigne’s eyes happened to look so pitiful and reddened that onlookers would surely think this one was tormenting her into tears.
Yet the girl herself seemed to have no thoughts at all amid those sharp gazes.
Noting her complete lack of charm despite her appearance, Clara spoke bluntly.
“By the way, it’s now 3 sons and 4 daughters. Twin siblings were just born a few days ago.”
“Oh my, how wonderful.”
Lavigne clapped her hands with that innocent face.
So she did know how to offer hollow praise.
Clara’s eyes narrowed.
Yet somehow it felt exactly like watching ten long years of soulless social labor from an exhausted worker.
“If the baby takes after you, how adorable they’ll be.”
Lavigne added with a slight smile.
That remark somehow did not sound like mere flattery.
Ha, adorable. Who would say such a thing?
Her competitive spirit, already crumbling, now collapsed entirely into helplessness.
Then it happened.
“…Do you have a death wish?!”
A sharp, ringing shout erupted from somewhere.
It came from the direction that had been noisy for a while.
Lavigne and Clara both turned their heads.
A curtain rustled in the direction of the noise, followed by small cries.
“Alec.”
“Yes, I’ll go check it.”
At Lavigne’s summons, Alec moved discreetly in that direction.
Pepper pressed close to Lavigne’s side, alert.
Just in case—to be prepared for dangerous situations like terrorism.
Especially with recent suspicious movements being reported throughout Atera….
“Ah, forget it and take my order first!”
Fortunately, it was merely an ordinary difficult customer.

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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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