The Fake Wife of the Strongest Husband Wants to Survive - Chapter 78

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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 78
With the sound of the hourglass flipping over, the painters gripped their brushes with the solemn faces of soldiers marching into battle.
Io placed a hand over her heart to calm her trembling nerves.
“What’s all this fuss over some petty competition?”
Beside her, Fabiano—the uncultured, simpleminded representative of the family—sipped idly at her wineglass with nothing else to do.
Though the incompetent alcoholic was the one whose name appeared as the family representative, setting that aside, every other plan was flawless.
Io had poured an enormous sum of money into this competition and had to leverage every connection she possessed to hire the finest painter.
She’d bent her pride to recruit a man who had graduated top of his class from the Academy—the Empire’s most promising young artist.
His delicate and brilliant brushwork would surely capture the eye of the Emperor and the Imperial Princess.
Victory was all but assured.
Fabiano, who had already emptied a second glass, glanced sideways at Io and spoke.
“Regardless of how trivial this competition may be, since the family honor is at stake, I won’t tolerate sloppiness. If things go wrong, it will all be your responsibility.”
She leaned lightly against the railing of the Velvet-Covered Box Seats and let out a snort of laughter.
“You don’t need to threaten me—I already know.”
Despite Fabiano’s intimidation, Io smiled with supreme confidence and raised her Champagne Glass.
“I’ll win anyway.”
It seemed premature, but she felt it was already time to toast.
Yet in that moment, something caught Io’s eye.
A couple seated in Box Seats directly across from her, at the same height.
Owen—broad-shouldered and sculptured of face—still radiated brilliance, but the woman beside him was small and delicate beyond measure.
“Pesha Raidel….”
Her grip tightened on the Champagne Glass.
She nearly shattered the delicate flute.
She’d heard long ago that the House of Namoi had submitted an entry application for this competition, largely due to Owen’s prominence.
Everyone knew that Owen was treated with contempt by the Emperor; people assumed that at last even that man would swallow his pride and bow before imperial authority.
But that was a misunderstanding.
Owen remained nothing more than an inflexible soldier with no sophistication, and it was surely Pesha who orchestrated this.
Io’s cold gaze fixed on Pesha’s face, which bore a faint smile.
‘Yes. You’ve always been like this.’
Childhood memories spread through her mind like ink.
‘You don’t know the effort I poured into everything—the desperate struggle not to shame the name of the Marquis Family’s eldest daughter, to leave not a single blemish, to earn Father’s recognition.’
Even when she stayed up all night studying the classics and art history, mastering culture and propriety, it was always Pesha whom the tutors loved and whom the servants cherished.
‘That common girl who ran about heedlessly and dozed off shamelessly whenever she grew tired.’
Every break, she wandered the grass, dirt-stained hands busy catching insects, and Io had watched her prowl through the garden with that base curiosity, unable to hide her contempt.
‘And yet you…’
While pretending indifference, pretending not to try, you’d display every casual confidence, yet somehow achieve perfect scores and monopolize everyone’s affection—a lie made manifest.
Io hated Pesha for rendering her own blood-soaked efforts meaningless.
She’d hated her so much she’d forced her into marriage with a commoner and tried to crush her with the Purification Ability she’d been born with.
But that girl was doing what she’d always done—feigning indifference to power, pretending innocence—all while attempting to steal Io’s position.
Solely to drag Io down.
To take my place!
This time, she was using her husband to court the Emperor’s favor, that much was certain.
‘So you’ve picked Matthew as your painter and decided to needle me with it—but sorry, that plan is doomed before it even starts.’
Io’s eyes rolled to fix on a single man standing on the Contest floor.
Fabiano, too, was looking at Matthew, and she clicked her tongue in apparent displeasure.
Of all the competitors, Matthew was the smallest and most diminished, looking as though they’d seated a child before a Canvas.
The proof lay in the blank Canvas before him, which he simply gazed at listlessly, having yet to draw anything.
Fabiano spoke with irritation.
“Why on earth would the House of Namoi bring Matthew? What are they thinking?”
The second son of the Clark Marquis Family, cast out from his house.
The shame of the Clarks—once called the tragic prodigy—was Io’s brother.
But that hardly mattered now.
Io forced her twisted expression into a smile.
“No, actually—it’s perfect.”
According to her intelligence, Matthew had lost his wife after being cast out and lived pickled in drink.
He’d wandered the slums without a proper brush in hand.
Which meant his fingers had long since gone stiff, untouched by Paint.
They’d brought a relic barely worthy of the name painter.
What the result would look like needed no confirmation—it was obvious.
One corner of Io’s mouth curved upward in an ugly smile.
No matter how talented I am, how am I supposed to defeat someone who graduated top of the Academy class? Someone with such a firm hand.
Besides, I used to pass through Matthew’s room as a child and glimpse his paintings, but I never once saw him draw a person.
A man who painted only landscapes and still lifes had no chance of rendering a person beautifully—let alone the Imperial Princess.
“There’s no way someone as mediocre as Matthew could win this competition, is there? It seems they brought our family’s disgraced member deliberately to shake my composure, but how childish and foolish a tactic.”
Io drained her Champagne Glass in one gulp.
The sharp carbonation slid down her throat, cooling the roiling anger that had been building inside her.
“Oh, you seem confident,” Fabiano remarked.
She posed the observation with a sneer.
Having brought the finest painter, victory in this competition and the spotlight would belong to none other than herself.
The Emperor’s favor and the position of the Imperial Princess’s personal attendant were now assured.
“Of course.”
Io set down her glass with a bright smile.
* * *
The Hourglass ran empty, and the bell rang out to signal the contest’s end.
The painters set down their brushes one by one.
Some, their tension released, sank to the ground where they stood; others stared at their Canvases with vacant, bewildered expressions.
Matthew stood motionless, brush still in hand, his face blank.
The Imperial Princess rose with elegant indifference, as though she had finished a tedious chore, and vanished behind the podium.
The moment the Princess disappeared, Imperial Court attendants materialized in unison and swiftly collected the paintings.
Each work was gathered away still draped in thick cloth, ensuring that neither the painters’ names nor their family affiliations would be revealed.
Now the paintings would be laid before the Imperial Court’s judges identified only by number.
Their keen assessments would be added, and ultimately the Emperor would select a single work.
A perfect Blind Test.
At least, that was how it appeared on the surface.

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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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