The Fake Wife of the Strongest Husband Wants to Survive - Chapter 76

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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 76
Owen couldn’t help but think poorly of her.
The moment the realization struck her, she hurried to add something more.
“I should have asked for permission beforehand. I apologize for deciding on my own. Since I said I wouldn’t stay long, I’ll send her back within a few days.”
Owen listened quietly to her stammered excuses, and his brow gradually darkened.
“Permission?”
As Owen’s mood seemed to sour, Pesha found herself unconsciously fidgeting with her fingers, contrite.
“I should have told you and asked first. My thinking was short-sighted.”
Owen clicked his tongue sharply.
Pesha was taken aback—she had never seen him this displeased.
But what came from Owen’s mouth was unexpected.
“Why would you need permission?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Is my guest any concern of mine? Why would you need permission to invite someone to your own home?”
He was saying there should be no need for permission between husband and wife.
But we are…….
Suddenly it struck her that only she was the one considering divorce.
‘Come to think of it, I’ve never once asked him about this.’
It was too delicate a subject to broach.
Though she no longer believed Owen would kill her, that hardly meant she should continue the marriage.
‘After all, I’m only maintaining this marriage because of imperial decree.’
That was how she had to think of it.
A marriage that was doomed from the very first knot.
‘……Does Owen perhaps harbor thoughts of divorce from me as well?’
In the early days of their marriage, she had assumed that much was natural—that he would surely think the same. But now, entertaining that assumption, something strange twisted in her chest.
Was this what disappointment felt like?
It was odd that such feelings could exist between them, and yet—having lived together this long, surely she was entitled to at least this small measure of hurt.
Pesha shook her head and waved her hand dismissively.
“That’s not what I mean. Even between spouses, one should ask for that much consideration.”
“You needn’t ask me.”
Ah, yes…… I see.
She could not fathom what lay beneath his blunt statement.
Though he seemed to suggest she needn’t worry about his approval in his own home, his expression as he said it was utterly impassive.
“Invite whoever you wish. You need only tell me if you’re leaving the estate.”
She wondered how bringing someone home was fundamentally different from leaving the estate, but nodded readily enough.
“Yes…… I understand.”
As Pesha answered without hesitation, the furrow in Owen’s brow eased considerably.
He exhaled quietly, relieved, then continued.
“I have no other plans to go out, except for the trip to the Capital in four days.”
“You mean the Portrait Competition. You said you’d brought a painter. I should have two carriages prepared.”
Pesha’s head tilted.
“Two? Why?”
“Three of us could fit in one, I suppose, but it would be cramped.”
Three? What was this man talking about?
Pesha stared at him in confusion, and Owen spoke matter-of-factly.
“Even if it doesn’t trouble you, it troubles me.”
“Troubles you? How?”
“Yes. I prefer not to be seen.”
……
He preferred not to be seen?
More than that, he had spoken as if it were obvious that he would be going as well.
Pesha, who had never intended to include Owen in the Capital trip, found herself unable to ask, “You’re going too?” aloud.
She had meant to attend the competition with only Matthew, her maidservants, and a handful of knights—now she would have to revise her plans entirely.
“Yes…… I’ll have two carriages prepared.”
She swallowed the question of why he would bother going if he had nothing to do there.
“Then I’ll take my leave…….”
As she was about to turn and retreat into her chamber, something caught her eye.
A bandage, visible through the gap in Owen’s partially open collar.
Now that she thought of it, she hadn’t examined his wounds in some time.
They were injuries born from her own doing, yet she had neglected them, hiding behind excuses of busyness—and guilt weighed on her.
Owen noticed that Pesha’s gaze had settled on the bandage at his shoulder, and he quickly adjusted his clothing.
“Your wound hasn’t healed yet.”
“It’s nothing serious.”
“Are you receiving proper treatment?”
“Yes. The physician examined it and said it’s mending well.”
But a man whose complexion remained identical whether things were well or poorly gave cause for doubt.
“You’re not lying, are you?”
“I’m… not lying.”
Pesha studied his slightly troubled face intently.
Though something seemed amiss, she decided to let the matter rest for now.
“Well then, I should go rest. You get some proper sleep too. Rest is essential if that wound is to heal quickly.”
Owen hesitated as if about to speak, but ultimately held back what he’d meant to say and nodded slowly.
“Understood.”
* * *
The sky above the Capital hung unusually clear.
Unlike the Eastern Region, where bitter cold still raged, the Capital had seen the snow cease, making the chill considerably more bearable.
The carriage wheels rolled across partially thawed stone, sliding slightly as they went.
They had taken lodgings near the Square where the Court Art Hall stood, and since the preliminaries had already winnowed the candidates, the hotels around the hall were far less crowded than they had been during the Founding Day Festival.
As the carriage came to a stop, Pesha leaned toward the window, eager to see the world outside.
Then Owen suddenly extended his hand.
So absorbed in looking out that she hadn’t noticed his approach, Pesha flinched when she saw him pull the heavy robe’s hood down over her head.
“It’s cold.”
“Are you cold?”
“Not I—you, madam.”
Owen insisted that the Capital, with its milder climate compared to the Eastern Region, was cold, and not content with simply pulling the robe’s large hood snug over her head, he went so far as to fasten the front ties securely.
At this rate, anywhere she went, she’d be mistaken not for a noblewoman but for a fortune-teller, a fugitive, or something of the sort.
Before she could protest, Owen opened the carriage door.
A rush of cold air swept inside all at once.
Once outside the carriage, the air proved quite brisk indeed.
She was grateful for the robe’s hood and glanced up at Owen.
His breath dispersed into white clouds in the chill.
“The painter?”
“Arrived about an hour ago, I’m told. I’ll have him brought here.”
Fulton, who had come along as secretary for this trip to the Capital, relayed the servant’s message to Owen.
Hearing this, Pesha spoke up.
“No, don’t. Condition is everything right now—there’s no need to have him running back and forth.”
Fulton looked to Owen as if to ask his will, and when Owen nodded, Fulton bowed slightly and went about other matters.
Pesha scratched her cheek as she watched Fulton depart.
In truth, the talkative Jane had been meant to accompany them on this journey to the Capital.
But when the group was being finalized, Fulton suddenly appeared and pushed Jane aside, claiming the place for himself.
It seemed he wanted to witness Pesha’s gambling with his own eyes.
“Shall we go inside?”
Owen was just stepping into the hotel lobby.
Pesha spotted Matthew coming down the stairs.
“Oh? Matthew.”
“Pesha! You’ve arrived.”
Matthew had a slight build and a somewhat pale complexion, always giving the impression of frailty.
And the long journey seemed to have exhausted him more than usual.
“I only just got here myself. I was planning to unpack and then look around the area. It’s been ages since I’ve been to the Capital.”
Appearing embarrassed, he rubbed the tip of his nose, prompting Pesha to speak with concern.
“Your complexion is quite poor. Are you all right?”
“I just got a bit of motion sickness, that’s all.”
Matthew smiled faintly, and his manner of speech had grown noticeably more relaxed over the past several weeks.
At first, he’d used such an odd mixture of formal and casual speech with her that she’d asked him to speak naturally, as before.
But it seemed that felt even more uncomfortable, so he’d shut himself away in his room and barely emerged.
Then, as the competition drew near, he’d shaken off much of his nervousness and had begun speaking to her more readily.
“Anyway, I’ll just step out for a bit.”
“It’s colder out there than you might think—shouldn’t you dress warmer?”
“Hmm? No, I don’t mind the cold much.”
“Still… you could catch a chill….”
The cold and slippery ground meant accidents could happen at any moment, and with the important competition looming, Jane found herself anxious that Matthew might injure his fingers or catch the flu.
As if reading her mind, Matthew let out a bright laugh and tried to reassure her.
“Of course I’m taking care of myself. I’m always careful where I step. I won’t be any trouble. But is there a café somewhere nearby……?”
That was when it happened.
A low voice spoke coldly from behind Pesha, a warning.
“Just go inside.”
She turned to find Owen looking down at Matthew with a cool, piercing gaze.
“Don’t be a nuisance.”

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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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