The Fake Wife of the Strongest Husband Wants to Survive - Chapter 40

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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 40
It was over an hour before the carriage could depart again, held back by the press of villagers crowding the road.
When the carriage arrived at the front of the hastily constructed Workshop building, the wooden door swung open with a soft creak.
Inside the Workshop, the cheerful sound of metal and stone striking against each other echoed from every corner.
Beneath the artisans’ fingertips, each jewel came to life.
“Welcome, madam. Please, sit here.”
Philia, the head of the servants, guided Pesha to a reception area set up in one corner of the Workshop.
Originally tasked with educating and training the maids of Count’s Castle as head of the household, Philia had been assigned to manage the Workshop grounds a month ago.
She had been hastily transferred as a talented administrator with a gift for figures, during a time when business expansion had left them desperately short-handed.
Once seated, Philia promptly brought tea.
On a silver tray lay black tea and buttered biscuits.
“Thank you, Philia.”
“Goodness, madam, what are you saying? This is my job, after all.”
“You should have more rest, but you’ve been so busy……”
“Not at all. I’m the one who should apologize for keeping you from the Castle, making you travel all the way out here.”
They exchanged apologies that had become routine by now, and Pesha raised the teacup to take a sip.
The warm Assam aroma enveloping her palate was most pleasant.
In the meantime, Philia returned with a thick folder, carefully organized.
“This week’s revenue report, madam.”
“Ah, you had it prepared already.”
“Of course. This week, we finalized direct deals with merchants from three different cities, and the Birthstone Campaign has apparently spread as far as the Northern Region.”
“The Northern Region?”
Pesha set down her cup, asking with visible interest.
Philia nodded and turned to a page in the documents.
“After Miss Rosa Hardi wore the newly designed Morganite Earrings at the last performance, over thirty percent of the noble families in the Capital have inquired about the same design. We’ve already created six variations on the theme and put them into production, and both designs have sold out within just two days of pre-orders.”
Pesha slowly leafed through the design samples Philia presented.
There were necklaces with gently rounded, smooth curves; rings with exquisite flower-petal engravings; and earrings with delicate silver-thin chains strung with Beryl in various hues.
Every piece bore the mark of having summoned specialists from each field—the effort had clearly paid off.
“Right now, the miniature Pendant Necklaces matched to birth months are selling the fastest. It’s become fashionable among the noblewomen these days—they show off their necklaces saying, ‘This is my birthstone.'”
Philia’s own enthusiasm grew as she continued her report.
“And yesterday, a new proposal came in.”
Philia retrieved a new document and handed the folder to Pesha.
“The Royal Grand Theater’s production team for the new play opening next month—’If You Cannot Remember Me’—has sent a sponsorship proposal. They want the leading lady to wear Beryl as an accessory. Since she’ll be wearing primarily white dresses, I was thinking of proposing Heliodore with its golden gleam, setting her birthday for May.”
“They’re hoping to become the second ‘Poliana.’ If this works out well, the concept of birthstones will spread even further.”
“Now more people are wondering ‘What symbolizes me?’ than actually buying gemstones. People who don’t know their birthstone are practically left out of conversations.”
The other report Philia handed over contained production schedules, revenue figures, and popular items neatly catalogued by Workshop.
Rings for children, brooches for gentlemen, popular designs by age group, and even exclusive premium custom sets for the upper nobility.
Everything was expanding so rapidly that keeping pace with it all felt overwhelming.
“At this rate, orders will only increase through next year—I don’t foresee any decline.”
Pesha exhaled with satisfaction and leaned back against the sofa.
“Good. Then we’ll need to prepare larger workshop spaces.”
As she spoke softly, Philia laughed quietly alongside her.
“The Workshop artisans might cry tears of joy hearing that.”
“They won’t have time to cry. We’re going to have mountains of work.”
The sound of hammers ringing outside the reception room, the chatter of workers, and occasional bursts of laughter all eased the tension in Pesha’s shoulders.
The Workshop district was always loud, but she didn’t mind the noise.
Rather, because the atmosphere was no longer as bleak as before, she could feel the territory truly coming alive.
‘……At this point, things are going smoothly, aren’t they?’
Somehow she’d ended up marrying the male protagonist bent on punishing her, and had even gotten into a major confrontation with the female lead, but despite all that, the effort to change the twisted plot had borne real fruit.
The business was succeeding beyond her plans.
Trees were being planted throughout the territory, and soon seeds or saplings would be distributed across the entire region.
Wasn’t that enough to say she’d sidestepped the blade of fate?
‘I don’t know. You never truly understand people until you see how things end……’
Pesha let out a short sigh and rose from her seat.
She wouldn’t know the final outcome until a substantial portion of Swaf’s land had been transformed into greenery—enough to show with confidence.
Until then, all she could do was give her best to the work at hand.
* * *
That evening.
Pesha returned to Count’s Castle a bit later than scheduled, organizing her thoughts as she walked the corridor.
‘Starting tomorrow, I need to review the new Workshop contracts again, and examine the new design proposals……’
Lost in calculation, she noticed the footsteps approaching from the opposite direction only belatedly.
“Let me take a break for a moment.”
Pesha, tapping her shoulders as she turned the corner of the corridor, suddenly stopped short.
It was the sound of footsteps—heavy and measured.
Inside Count’s Castle, only one person walked with such perfectly calibrated strides.
Owen was approaching.
She felt a flutter of confusion.
‘Shouldn’t he be locked away in his office at this hour?’
Owen had developed a rigid daily routine after years of communal living, first through his time in the Mercenary Company and then ascending to the rank of count.
Apart from exceptional circumstances, he reviewed work documents after completing his daily duties, and having spent considerable time in Count’s Castle, Pesha had come to know this pattern well.
“My lady. Here you are.”
His tone suggested he’d been searching for her, and she asked with curiosity.
“Were you looking for me?”
“Yes.”
From the direction he’d come, it seemed he’d stopped by her room and the workshop before coming this way.
“Is something the matter?”
Owen then rummaged through his pocket and withdrew an envelope adorned with gleaming gold leaf.
“An invitation has arrived from His Imperial Majesty.”
“From His Imperial Majesty?”
Pesha took the letter he offered and read it through.
The preamble was lengthy, but the substance was this:
Count Owen shall attend the Founding Festival Military Parade and the Loyalty Oath Ceremony to demonstrate the military might of the Imperial Defense Force.
The moment she saw it, Pesha’s eyes widened in alarm.
‘What? Has the Founding Festival incident already come around?’
The Founding Festival Military Parade.
A grand military pageant where troops were assembled before the masses to showcase military power—an event that drew the attention of the entire continent.
On the surface, it seemed innocent enough, but in the original story, after receiving the invitation and traveling to the Capital to oversee the parade, Owen falls into a trap.
On the day of the Founding Festival, some of the guard soldiers he brought suddenly draw weapons and charge at the Emperor.
Though Owen manages to stop them, preventing the assassination attempt, suspicion of treason—or alternatively, suspicion of it being a staged incident—falls upon Owen because the offending soldiers belong to his Knights’ Order.
Either way, it is a grave matter that cannot be treated lightly, given that the soldiers endangered the Emperor’s life.
As a result, Owen—who saved the Emperor and should have been rewarded—is instead placed under arrest.
Moreover, the fallout spreads to Swaf, where, following the argument that they cannot allow Owen’s troops—now under suspicion of treason—to remain armed, all his main forces are disarmed, effectively throwing Swaf to the monsters as prey.
‘The monsters actually do attack later, and Swaf faces considerable peril.’
She had assumed it was still far off and forgotten about it, but now that part had arrived sooner than expected.
Pesha’s expression grew grave as she finished reading the letter.
Simply put, she could purge Owen’s compromised knights and be done with it, but there was a problem.
The original story never named those knights.
They were minor characters who exited early—far less significant than the “villainous Pesha” herself!

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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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