Chapter 7.2

“Are you insane? How could you say that there?” 

Valeria’s scream, laced with frustration, echoed through the room. The Duchess of Wiblow sank onto the sofa, pressing her fingers against her temple. 

Smack! 

With all her strength, Valeria slapped Frances across the face, knocking the mask from her cheek. Frances stood there silently, offering no resistance. She neither avoided Valeria’s anger nor made any excuses. 

As Valeria fumed, Frances’s gaze shifted to the Duchess. 

“Do you share my sister’s opinion, Mother?” 

At the word “Mother,” the Duchess’s eyebrows shot up sharply. Every time she heard Frances call her “Mother,” she felt as though filth had been thrown on her. 

“Is it because Courtney’s cane wasn’t enough? Or is it because you were rotten from birth? Just a few days apart, and your manners have already deteriorated.”  

Clicking her tongue, the Duchess of Wiblow rose from her seat, a glass of wine in hand. A maid quickly stepped forward to tidy up the surroundings. 

The red wine sparkled as it met the still-setting sun. 

“To think I was so preoccupied with ensuring no mistakes were made before esteemed company that I failed to properly attend to your mood, Duchess.” 

The Duchess of Wiblow raised her chin as she watched Frances bow her head immediately in apology. 

‘It was the right choice.’ 

Feeling the alcohol slide down her throat, the Duchess of Wiblow sank into her thoughts. 

She had always been suspicious since the moment she considered the possibility that, just as Valeria had said, her husband might have secretly cared for an illegitimate girl for years behind her back. 

But after witnessing Frances stand unwaveringly before Otis, who had practically demanded an oath earlier today, her suspicions turned into certainty. 

“You must have been the one who recommended stocks to Valeria.” 

Valeria, who had been venting her frustration over Frances’s behavior, suddenly froze and her eyes sparkled. She had intended to take credit for it herself, but it seemed the Duchess had uncovered the truth. 

“Mother, that’s not—!” 

Valeria, unable to stop herself, cried out. 

Otis’s standards were excessively high, likely due to his wealthy maternal grandfather. To meet those standards, money was essential. 

“I only mentioned it because it seemed my sister was growing restless waiting in Dupleuri.” 

“Is that so?” 

The Duchess of Wiblow tilted her head slightly, scrutinizing Frances. His face, still wrapped in bandages, bore traces of unhealed wounds. 

At first, she hadn’t paid it much attention, but now that she thought about it, the scar—one that would never fade—pleased her greatly. 

“Yes. Father also showed interest in the Age of Exploration and made investments, so I was simply observing the trends.” 

Tap, tap, tap. 

As the story flowed naturally from Frances’s lips, the Duchess of Wiblow’s sharp fingernails tapped against the armrest of her chair. 

These were not words one would expect from the mouth of a wretch who had once survived day-to-day in the back alleys of Dupleuri. A starving belly does not aspire to reach higher ground. 

Though she had grown up as the cherished daughter of a count, the Duchess of Wiblow had experienced poverty so deeply that it scarred her. 

She wanted nothing more than to kill the wretched woman who had monopolized her husband’s love. But the fact that she couldn’t act on this desire filled her with rage. 

And, naturally, that rage was directed toward Frances. 

Not only had she, an illegitimate child, brazenly claimed her son’s rightful position, but she had also stolen her husband’s affection. 

“…It seems my husband left you with quite a lot.” 

Frances lowered his head. The Duchess’s suspicions, twisted by jealousy, would only fuel her growing greed. 

And that greed would inevitably lead to Wiblow’s downfall. 

“…” 

“You’ve taken something precious—something even my son could not have.” 

“Mother.” 

Valeria stepped in, stopping the Duchess of Wiblow’s hand. When the Duchess looked at her, Valeria shook her head as though she had been waiting for this moment. 

“Perhaps Father foresaw this situation and prepared for it in advance.” 

“What are you saying, Valeria?” 

“Mother. Let’s be honest now. You’ve also heard the rumors that Frances wouldn’t live long out in the estate.” 

“Valeria!” 

The Duchess’s anguished cry echoed through the room. 

“Wasn’t the real reason Frances came to the capital not to enter the academy but because of your desire to extend his treatment?” 

At Valeria’s outburst, the Duchess of Wiblow covered her mouth. 

It wasn’t just the family doctor. Even the most renowned physicians had all shaken their heads, saying there was no way to save Frances from death. 

“Face reality. Without that girl Father prepared in advance, can you truly claim you would have been able to protect Wiblow on your own?” 

The Duchess of Wiblow glared at her daughter, her eyes bloodshot. But Valeria neither blinked nor avoided her mother’s gaze. Instead, Valeria raised her chin arrogantly and met the Duchess’s eyes head-on. 

“…” 

“Mother. Now is not the time to mourn a dead Frances. This is the time to make Wiblow entirely yours.” 

Valeria spoke as if comforting the Duchess, clasping her hand tightly. 

“…Yes. Wiblow still belongs to me.” 

As if regaining her composure, the Duchess shuddered and exhaled deeply. Valeria took the trembling wine glass from her mother’s hand and set it down on the table. 

Frances observed every detail of the scene without missing a single moment. 

“We need that girl, Mother.”  

Valeria sweetly whispered into the Duchess of Wiblow’s ear as she gently brushed her hair. Perhaps due to the wine she had consumed in the middle of the day, the Duchess’s eyes fluttered closed, softened by the effects. 

“…Though she pretends to be fine on the outside, as you can see, she seems to be struggling quite a bit mentally.” 

“…” 

Valeria glanced up at Frances, who stood silently in place. Their eyes met in the air. 

“It seems I’m the only ally you have in Wiblow.” 

“You’re also someone who could turn your back on me at any moment.” 

At Frances’s remark, Valeria’s lips curled into a smile. 

“Unnecessarily clever. I like that about you. Then you must also know whose favor you need to win now.” 

Frances bowed her head without a word. Everyone seemed desperate to place a leash around her neck, even though she herself had no interest in life. 

“…I’ll take my leave.” 

Frances opened the door and left. She walked down the hotel corridor, which was painfully familiar to her. 

“I thought there would be some grand celebration, but it seems your reunion with the Duchess, who cherishes her son, you, so deeply, has already come to an end?” 

Otis’s sudden appearance made Frances stop in her tracks. Having left the Duchess’s room in a hurry, she was holding her mask in her hand. 

“…” 

“I only heard about the severity of the accident, but seeing it in person, it must have been quite serious. Well, it was an accident severe enough to take a duke’s life, after all.” 

Otis’s gaze swept over Frances’s face before landing on the mask she held in her hand. 

“…I apologize for showing such an unsightly appearance.” 

Frances hastily placed the mask over her face. Since the gauze used for treatment had come loose, the mask scraped against the wound. 

She could feel the thick, sticky blood trickling beneath the mask, but the thought of exposing her disfigured face in front of Otis was far worse. 

Suddenly, a hand appeared in front of her, causing Frances to flinch. Otis clicked his tongue as he covered Frances’s masked face with his palm. 

“Such a shame. To think that a beautiful face is now only half intact.” 

Otis’s gaze, directed at the unharmed side of Frances’s face, gleamed with greed. Frances instinctively stepped back to avoid the approaching hand. 

Otis’s eyes followed her immediately. 

“…Shall we take a walk?” 

At Otis’s suggestion, Frances widened her eyes. No one could refuse the request of the prince most likely to succeed the throne. 

Moreover, Wiblow was Otis’s closest ally. 

It was clear from the beginning that Otis had never considered the possibility of Frances declining. Without hesitation, Otis began walking, and Frances followed behind him. 

A cool breeze blew, but her heart felt suffocated, as though trapped in a prison. 

“I didn’t expect to see Wiblow’s next heir here of all places.” 

“…” 

“As you know, Wiblow has already decided to stand by my side, hasn’t it?” 

The hotel garden they entered was completely empty. Considering the hotel was fully booked for the entrance ceremony, this was an unusual sight. 

Frances silently scanned the knights guarding the garden entrance, who were clearly Otis’s men. 

Clank, clank. 

The sound of iron echoed in her mind, reminding her of the iron-masked knights who had stormed into the bride’s waiting room and turned it into chaos in an instant. 

Standing with her back to the piercing sunlight, Frances took a deep breath.  

<END VOL 1>