The Fake Wife of the Strongest Husband Wants to Survive - Chapter 53

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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 53
Like a stone cast into still water, the nobles’ gazes and whispers rippled outward from that single point.
Pesha naturally turned her head toward the entrance to look.
A woman stood there wearing a soft pearl-gray dress.
From the circumstances, she appeared to be the Grand Duchess Liviana.
As she entered the Banquet Hall, she slowly surveyed her surroundings.
Her gentle movements and graceful gait were striking.
But what truly seized everyone’s attention was the jewel resting at her neck.
The Abyss Emerald.
Caught in the light of candles and chandeliers, the rare stone blazed with an otherworldly green, adorning the Grand Duchess’s neckline perfectly.
Every eye held it—a collective, breathless wonder.
“Look at that necklace. It’s breathtaking.”
“Truly, the Grand Duchess’s taste is beyond compare.”
While all around her gasped and marveled, there was one person in particular who must have been shocked—Io Clark.
Only minutes before, she had loudly mocked the Birthstone Necklace as childish and gauche.
As the Grand Duchess surveyed the hall, a graceful smile crossed her face.
When her gaze met Io’s, the girl’s face drained of all color.
Unable to hide her dismay, Io clenched her fists so hard her hands trembled.
She felt the sharp, cutting stares of the surrounding nobles far too keenly.
Meanwhile, the Grand Duchess moved slowly toward Owen and Pesha.
As she advanced, the crowd naturally parted before her, and the Banquet Hall grew quieter still.
The Grand Duchess turned first to Owen, gracing him with an elegant smile as she spoke.
“You must be the Count of House Namoi? I’ve heard tales of your heroism on the Battlefield. How delightful to meet you in person.”
Owen bowed respectfully, showing his courtesy.
“A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness. I am Owen Namoi.”
The Grand Duchess seemed satisfied by his polite manner and smiled knowingly.
Then her attention turned toward Pesha.
In her elegantly curved eyes lay genuine warmth.
“Then you must be the Countess. How wonderful to meet you. I’m Liviana.”
Pesha answered with a bright smile.
“Thank you so much for inviting me to your party, Your Highness.”
The Grand Duchess gave a light nod in acknowledgment.
“You’re wearing the necklace I sent you.”
At that, she touched the necklace and offered a gentle laugh.
“I couldn’t very well leave such a precious gift unworn, could I? I’d only heard the Abyss Emerald by name before—never seen it with my own eyes. Thanks to the Countess’s exquisite taste, today marks my first time wearing it.”
At that, Pesha smiled brightly and replied.
“I’m so glad you like it. Since emerald happens to be the birthstone for your birth month, I thought it fitting—and seeing how perfectly it suits you makes me truly delighted.”
“Really? How wonderful. It’s gratifying to know my gift was so well-chosen.”
In that moment, several of the nobles nearby found their eyes drifting toward Io.
With each exchange between Pesha and the Grand Duchess, Io’s expression grew more rigid.
And as the stares at her pale face grew sharper still, the Grand Duchess skillfully steered the conversation onward.
“Now that I think of it, High Society has been all abuzz with talk of birthstones lately. They say it all started with your collections, Countess? How impressive.”
“You’re too kind.”
“But anything imbued with meaning and symbolism—even beyond one’s birth month—becomes something special, doesn’t it?”
The Grand Duchess paused.
A brief silence hung over the Banquet Hall.
Io flinched, her shoulders tensing.
“Of course, some might call such things childish marketing tactics…….”
The corners of the Grand Duchess’s eyes curved slightly, and a subtle smile bloomed.
Everyone in the hall caught the barely concealed edge to her mood.
Io was no exception; she lowered her head and bit her lip, a picture of visible mortification.
“But I find it rather enchanting. You can feel High Society coming alive with this trend. Isn’t it joy enough that vitality has returned to us all?”
Io’s shoulders quivered.
The fashion Pesha had created was being praised in this very room by the most authoritative woman present—repackaged in elegance and romance, celebrated by all around.
In her entire life, she had never experienced such a thing.
Pesha Raydel, forever inferior, forever behind.
That girl’s role had always been to accentuate her own grace and refinement. Yet that Pesha Raydel now stood at the center of everyone’s attention—and was making her look foolish.
While Io trembled, Pesha smiled warmly and offered her thanks to the Grand Duchess for her praise.
“Your words give me great encouragement, Your Highness. Going forward, I hope to help many more discover jewels that hold special meaning for them.”
As the conversation with the Grand Duchess drew to a close, those who had been watching began approaching Pesha one by one.
There was no reason to offend the Grand Duchess by attending her party, and so the space around Io, ordinarily crowded with admirers, remained conspicuously empty.
Without a single conversation to sustain her, she had no choice but to endure the humiliation and shame, gradually lowering her head in a corner of the Banquet Hall.
As the hours wore on, it became increasingly difficult to maintain her composure.
The Grand Duchess had actually worn Pesha’s gift.
Looking at her now—that girl wore such an innocent face, yet backstage she employed the most cowardly tactics.
‘Pesha has completely stolen the spotlight of the entire party. It’s unbearable. As if someone like her—that grubby little thing who’s been scratching weeds out of the dirt since childhood—deserves this.’
Pesha had been reckless and headstrong from her earliest years, constantly embroiling herself in scandals.
For that reason, most dismissed her as a troublemaker long before acknowledging her as a promising noblewoman.
Her only remarkable feature was her face; as for the refinement expected of a lady, there was none to be found.
Her mother had died young, and there was scarcely anyone to look after her—a child left to fend for herself, essentially abandoned.
Io stared at Pesha with all the intensity she could muster.
The envy was nearly driving her mad.
‘After I was her attendant, no less!’
She drew a deep breath and forced the anger back down once more.
But then, a figure arrested her gaze.
Owen was walking toward her.
He stood out unmistakably even amid the throng of nobility.
No matter how much they whispered about his common birth or lowborn origins, those who had seen him in person found themselves unable to dismiss him—barely capable of stringing together a coherent sentence in his presence.
Whenever he passed, people naturally parted before him, each one exhaling a small sigh of admiration.
Io, too, could not tear her eyes away from the sight.
Owen drew near enough that she could see the impenetrable black of his eyes cast downward as he regarded her, and he offered a brief apology.
“Excuse me.”
With that, he reached past her, and Io instinctively flinched, stepping back a pace.
His hand was directed toward the Champagne on the table where she had been standing.
His jaw moved visibly as he raised the glass to his lips and drank, the motion distinctly masculine.
Io’s eyes remained fixed upon his face.
It was not merely handsome; there was a weight to it, a gravity that commanded attention.
Hair neatly arranged, jaw and nose carved with sharp angles.
And his lips, pressed together in a thin line that seemed almost twisted, were cold yet undeniably magnetic—they exuded an intensity that was both intimidating and alluring.
Especially those eyes. That piercing gaze of a predator stalking its prey made even meeting his stare nearly unbearable.
‘A war hero with such a glorious reputation, a flawless appearance, manners that are nothing like the crude gossip suggested… It makes no sense that someone like Pesha would suit him. Something is wrong here.’
She could no longer tolerate this situation—being ignored while Pesha basked in attention.
She stole another glance at Owen.
He tilted his glass idly, his gaze distant as he watched Pesha laughing and conversing with others across the room.
In that moment, Io felt a sudden impulse seize her.
‘What if I were to take that man from her? What if Pesha’s husband chose me instead? What expression would appear on her face then?’

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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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