The Fake Wife of the Strongest Husband Wants to Survive - Chapter 54

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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 54
Pesha had grown up under a strict, patriarchal father after her mother’s death, spending her whole life dreaming of a happy home.
What expression would a girl like that wear when abandoned by the husband she’d trusted and relied upon?
The thought alone sent a thrilling rush of pleasure coursing through her body.
Io managed her expression carefully and took a measured step toward Owen.
“Good evening, Count Namoi.”
Her voice was softer and more affectionate than usual.
But Owen merely looked down at her with indifference.
“Yes.”
His response was somehow cold, and Io faltered for a moment before smiling again and pressing on.
“I believe we’ve spoken before, haven’t we? Do you remember?”
Owen nodded absently, as though barely interested.
“I understood you were a friend of my wife’s.”
At those words, Io smiled slightly.
Yes, this much was enough.
It was a start worth pursuing.
She regained her confidence and smiled more broadly, continuing.
“That’s right. Pesha and I have been close since childhood. We spent a great deal of time together. I’m afraid I showed you a rather unflattering side of things last time.”
Owen studied her silently for a moment, then turned his head away.
His face still betrayed no particular emotion.
Io, growing anxious, dangled her bait.
“We had a small disagreement that day, but we’ve always been close. Inseparable best friends, really.”
……
“There are so many stories. When we were twelve, at a court ball, she watched me dancing and seemed envious, so she decided to dance as well. But it seems dancing didn’t suit her very well. She tripped over her own feet and fell, becoming quite the laughingstock.”
Io wove the falsehood in smoothly.
She needed to hold his attention by any means.
“I was so upset for her. I rushed over to help her up, but she was too embarrassed—she pushed me away and ran off. It broke my heart.”
Io, having elaborated at length, added one final comment while gauging Owen’s reaction.
“Not that I’m speaking ill of Pesha, of course. I simply mean that she found it difficult to take on roles where she needed to behave like a proper lady.”
Owen still showed no reaction, but if he had ears, he must be listening, and Io drew courage from the thought that continued effort might yet spark his interest.
“Count, doesn’t it bother you to be surrounded by so many people like this? I sometimes find gatherings like these rather tiresome.”
“No. Not particularly.”
It was a brief, cold response.
Under normal circumstances, she would have flared up, accusing him of dismissing her, but not today.
She had no intention of backing down easily.
‘Just wait. I’ll take everything from you.’
She continued chattering with an affectionate smile.
Inwardly, she savored the image of Pesha’s face twisted in despair.
“You seem more sociable than I expected. Personally, I only dislike it sometimes—fundamentally, I adore meeting new people. Count Namoi, it seems you have no aversion to getting to know new acquaintances. Or perhaps our conversation simply flows well together. Oh, am I talking too much?”
As Io continued with a bright smile, determined to keep the conversation alive, Owen—who had been listening halfheartedly all along—finally opened his mouth.
“Yes. You do talk quite a bit.”
“……I beg your pardon?”
Caught off guard by his remark, she looked up at him blankly.
His gaze remained fixed on Pesha, standing in the center of the banquet hall in the distance.
Owen took a sip of Champagne, his expression bored.
Then he turned his head slowly and looked down at her.
His eyes were utterly devoid of warmth or regard.
Io’s body flinched involuntarily.
“Miss Clark.”
At his frigid tone, a chill ran down her spine.
“I understand that childhood memories can differ between people, but if my wife doesn’t recall these moments you speak of, I see no reason to listen to them either.”
It was as though he had seen through the very falsehood of her embellished tales.
Io held on to a forced smile, tense with alarm.
“Ah…… I suppose Pesha must have said something different about me? But it is true that she enjoyed imitating me, and her lacking refinement as a noblewoman……”
“It seems you don’t listen well.”
Io fell silent, her mouth closing.
She felt heat rising in her cheeks.
Shame and discomfort mingled on her face.
But Owen simply turned his gaze away from Io again with indifference, adding:
“I should return to my wife. The conversation was… enjoyable.”
And with that, he turned away as though nothing had happened.
She’d thought he was absorbed in listening to Pesha’s childhood stories, but he’d understood her intentions all along—his silence had been deliberate.
Left alone after Owen’s departure, Io hung her head.
The whispered murmurs around her felt like fingers pointing, and she couldn’t bear it.
Even knowing that few could see her from this secluded corner, she heard only the mocking laughter of those who stole glances at her.
Io remained frozen for a long moment before slipping out of the Banquet Hall faster than anyone else.
* * *
On the day of the Military Parade, the Capital thrummed with anticipation and nervous energy from dawn.
Flags of every hue fluttered along the broad avenue that stretched outward from the Central Square, and the rhythmic thunder of military boots echoed in perfect unison.
Guided to the first-floor Viewing Stand where the soldiers were most visible, Pesha settled into her seat and surveyed her surroundings with taut attention.
An ornate throne dominated the very center of the stand where countless nobles and members of the royal family sat.
The Emperor occupied that throne, his face stripped of its usual warmth into something rigid and cold as he gazed down at the marching regiments in the distance.
Pesha’s hands trembled faintly.
She knew that something terrible would unfold during the Military Parade that was about to begin.
In the Original Work, Owen faced grave peril on this very day—betrayed by a corrupted soldier among his own ranks.
Naturally, it had all been orchestrated by the Emperor himself.
A staged crisis would erupt, with someone posing as an assassin attempting to strike at the Emperor, and the full weight of blame would fall squarely on Owen’s shoulders.
Pesha exhaled slowly and turned her thoughts inward.
‘Stay sharp. You prepared for this.’
Rooting out a nameless foot soldier who barely merited a mention in the Original Work would have been impossible.
So instead, Pesha had moved first—she’d sent agents to approach the Swap Knights directly.
She’d bribed them for information about the Knights’ movements, then carefully observed which of them took the bait.
Having traveled so far from their home in Swap, their sense of loyalty was thin, and the promise of steady coin made the proposal all the more tempting.
It wasn’t classified information—just trivial details about duty rosters and quarters—but two Knights, wracked with guilt despite the petty nature of the breach, had swallowed the hook.
They’d believed it was harmless pocket money, begging that they’d never do it again, but Pesha had been unforgiving.
In the end, both would be barred from the Military Parade and sent back to Swap to face severe punishment.
‘At least the bait worked.’
She was slightly startled to have caught two rather than one, but having successfully identified the traitors, she should have felt relieved—yet the tension never left her.
A distant drumbeat rang out, signaling the start of the Military Parade.
The mounted vanguard emerged into view.
Well-trained cavalry surged forward, kicking up clouds of dust beneath their hooves.
Armor specially forged for the procession caught the sunlight and gleamed with blinding brilliance.
As the military band’s martial hymn swelled through the air, Owen finally appeared, leading the troops.
In that instant, the stands erupted in deafening cheers and applause.
People rose to their feet, their voices thundering toward Owen.
“Long live the House of Namoi!”
“The Empire’s hero!”
Watching him stand out so strikingly among the countless soldiers, Pesha found herself holding her breath without thinking.
Owen wore a perfectly pressed Black Dress Uniform, his chest so densely covered with medals and gleaming decorations that they seemed to spill across the fabric.
Beneath hair of honey-blond swept back with meticulous care, his black eyes shone with the cold, piercing brilliance of ice.
With a presence already weighty and commanding, the sharp intensity in his gaze now felt far more formidable than usual, and she felt the strength drain from her legs.
‘Everything feels overshadowed by Owen alone.’

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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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