Chapter 115: The Man with Black Eyes
Who could possibly be behind this latest scheme?
Aracila tapped her fingers on the desk, lost in thought. Her first suspicion naturally fell on the Vandermir ducal family. She couldn’t shake the nagging doubt that they might have bribed Claire to pin a sordid scandal on Damian. If their failed ambush in the west had left them seething, it wasn’t hard to imagine them resorting to such tactics. It was entirely plausible.
But.Would they really choose a method that drags their own dirty laundry into the open?
The unexpected scandal involving Damian’s alleged illegitimate child had dredged up the Vandermir family’s own sordid past, making it the talk of the town. The fact that the Duke had fathered his eldest son, Oscar, with another woman while still married to his first duchess was a fatal chink in their armor. Bluntly put, Oscar’s birth, though buried now, had begun as an illegitimate one—a detail certain to raise eyebrows among those who cared to judge. No matter how desperately they might want to drive a wedge between Damian and Aracila, surely they wouldn’t use a tactic that would remind everyone of their own blemishes.
If not the Vandermir family, then who? And for what purpose would someone impersonate Damian?
Was this a calculated plot from the start, designed to tarnish his reputation? Could it be connected to the masterminds behind the earlier ambush? Or perhaps the perpetrator hadn’t intended for things to spiral this far—maybe it had simply snowballed out of control. If it was a personal scheme, it was possible someone resembling Damian had pretended to be him for personal gain, only for it to erupt into this catastrophe.
But could there really be someone who looks like Damian? It’s hard to imagine anyone mistaking him for someone else.
The man was practically a walking beacon of beauty. Even across the entire continent, he was among the most striking men, and Aracila herself had never encountered anyone quite so breathtaking. His shimmering silver hair and golden eyes were distinctive features, rare and unforgettable. To mistake him for someone else, even in a half-dreaming haze, would require at least some shared traits—perhaps a tall frame, silver hair, or those golden eyes.
“Milady, a letter has arrived.”
Audrey’s voice snapped Aracila out of her deepening thoughts. She took the letter from her maid. It was from Roberto. The note relayed news from the owner of the Flair Theater: Mia, Claire’s close friend and an actress, had returned.
Aracila sprang to her feet, determined to meet Mia immediately. Though the sun had already set, waiting until tomorrow was out of the question.
“Milady, are you going out now? It’s late evening—perhaps tomorrow would be—”
“It’s fine, Audrey. I’m the most powerful mage in the realm, capable of slaying even the mightiest magical beasts.”
Despite Audrey’s protests, Aracila threw on a cloak and slipped out of the house alone. With the scandal now public knowledge, there was no need to hide her identity, but she had no desire to draw unnecessary attention. Quietly, she made her way to Mia’s home and knocked on the door.
A woman with catlike, sharp eyes and a rather pretty face appeared.
“Who are you?” she asked, clearly puzzled.
Aracila pulled back her hood, revealing her face with a gentle smile. “Hello, Mia. I’m Aracila Vandermir.”
Mia’s eyes widened in shock. Even if she didn’t recognize Aracila’s face, the name clearly rang a bell. As Mia instinctively moved to shut the door, Aracila caught it with a firm hand and spoke in a warm, disarming tone.
“Could we have a quick chat?”
Mia, her face pale with fear, reluctantly let Aracila inside. Though it was her friend who bore the guilt, Mia’s hands trembled as she set out tea. Aracila didn’t touch the cup, her gaze fixed steadily on Mia, who finally broke under the weight of the silence.
“Are you here because of Claire?” Mia asked, her voice small.
“Yes.”
Mia’s face drained of color, turning ashen. She spoke quickly, almost frantically. “Claire really didn’t know it was Lord Vandermir! Please, Lady Aracila, forgive her just this once! She even started to doubt whether he was the real Lord Vandermir. Of course, it turned out to be him, but…”
Mia’s obvious fear for her friend confirmed their close bond, but it was her final comment that caught Aracila’s attention. Her eyes narrowed.
“What do you mean, she doubted it was Damian?”
“Well…” Mia hesitated. “When Claire found out she was pregnant, she tried to approach Lord Vandermir a few times. But she couldn’t get close. She’d watch him from a distance and come back confused, saying strange things to me. She wasn’t sure if the man she’d been with was really Lord Vandermir.”
When Mia pressed her for details, Claire had been evasive, never bringing it up again.
“Maybe she was so overwhelmed by the idea of carrying a noble’s illegitimate child that she wanted to deny it. Or maybe seeing him in broad daylight for the first time felt unfamiliar, and it threw her off. She seemed… uncertain.”
“And how did Claire become convinced it was Damian again?” Aracila asked.
“I’m not sure,” Mia admitted. “But I’ve seen Lord Vandermir myself. I didn’t get a good look at his face, but I clearly saw his beautiful silver hair with my own two eyes.”
Mia’s earnest defense only deepened the enigma in Aracila’s expression. The silver hair shared by the Duke and his two sons was indeed a rare trait, not easily replicated.
But hair can be dyed.
There was something else, something harder to fake. Aracila leaned forward. “His eyes?”
“Pardon?”
“Did you see his eyes? What color were they?”
Mia faltered, caught off guard by the sharp question. She racked her brain, recalling the moment she’d glimpsed Damian leaving an inn with Claire. Their eyes had met briefly, but his eyes… she couldn’t quite remember. Unlike his striking silver hair, which seemed to glow even in the dark, his eyes had felt unremarkable.
“It was too dark to see clearly,” she admitted.
“Try to remember,” Aracila pressed, her voice calm but firm. “You need to be precise. It’ll help me decide whether to forgive Claire or not.”
Mia’s hands clenched tightly at the implication that her friend’s future hinged on her words. In noble circles, Damian’s name was nearly synonymous with recognition, but for commoners like her, it was different. They had no connection to someone like him, no chance encounters, and the black-and-white portraits occasionally printed in newspapers revealed little of his true appearance. So, Mia didn’t even consider lying—she could only recount exactly what she had seen.
“They were… dark, I think. Almost black,” she said after a long pause.
Aracila’s eyebrow twitched faintly, but her face betrayed no other reaction. “Did Claire ever say anything else about Damian?”
Mia’s expression clouded with unease. “If I tell you everything, my lady… you won’t harm Claire, will you?”
Aracila nodded firmly. “I don’t hurt the vulnerable. Never.”
Not even if Claire was truly carrying Damian’s child. Betrayed or not, Aracila had no intention of harming her. “If I’m going to take it out on anyone, it’ll be Damian,” she said bluntly. “Why would I stoop to targeting a pregnant woman? If it comes to it, a divorce would suffice. Why resort to something so vile?”
Mia exhaled in relief, sensing the sincerity in Aracila’s words. “He never took Claire seriously from the start,” she said, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. “Nobles like him… they’re all the same when it comes to commoner actresses like us. They’re just looking for a night’s amusement, someone to toy with. There’s no sincerity, no respect in it.”
Claire had been the fool, giving her heart to him. All they’d shared was a single night, and the only thing she’d described in detail about Damian was how he was in bed. “She said he was… less impressive than she’d expected,” Mia added hastily, catching herself. “I mean, everyone feels things differently, don’t they?”
Aracila, who had never spent a night with Damian, had no way of knowing if Claire’s assessment was accurate. She cleared her throat awkwardly and tilted her head, urging Mia to continue.
Mia’s eyes darted nervously before she spoke again, as if recalling something. “Oh, she also said his taste in women leaned toward those with sweet, puppy-like faces but voluptuous figures.”
“Really?” Aracila asked.
“Yeah. Claire said she was lucky to catch his eye first. Otherwise, someone else who looked similar might’ve beaten her to it.”
Aracila nodded, though she knew little about Damian’s preferences in women. What was there to argue or agree with when she was so out of the loop? Was this the limitation of their contract marriage?
After that, Mia had little else of value to offer. Aracila said her goodbyes and left, her mind heavy with thought as she walked the quiet streets. Hair could be dyed, she reasoned, but if Mia had seen dark eyes in the shadows, that ruled out Damian. His eyes, like molten gold, shone vividly even in the darkest night—she’d seen it herself countless times.
Who, then, was this dark-eyed man impersonating Damian? The problem was that dark eyes were far too common to narrow down suspects. Lost in thought, Aracila found herself at the town square and sank onto the edge of a fountain. The late hour meant the streets were nearly deserted.
She pulled off her hood, propped her chin in her hand, and stared blankly ahead. That’s when a familiar voice broke through.
“Senior? What are you doing here?”
Turning, she saw Rudy standing there, dressed casually in plain clothes. “Rudy? Why are you out here?”
“My place is nearby,” he said. “Ran out of bread for tomorrow morning, so I came to grab some. What brings you to this neighborhood, Senior?”
“Just… some business,” she replied vaguely.
“Oh, got it. But it’s dangerous to be out here at night. This area gets pretty dark after sunset—accidents happen a lot.”
Rudy’s face creased with concern. The square was surrounded by tall buildings, casting deep shadows over the alleys. Tonight, a full moon cast a faint glow, but on cloudier nights, it was nearly impossible to see a step ahead. “Just recently, someone got attacked by a thug in that alley over there,” he said, pointing. “They were robbed blind and hurt so badly they still can’t walk.”
“Really? Did they catch the culprit?” Aracila asked.
“No. It was an especially cloudy night, no moonlight at all. The victim couldn’t get a good look at the attacker’s face, so they haven’t identified any suspects.”
Rudy sighed, shaking his head. Of course, he knew the senior mage before him had little to fear, but he felt compelled to warn her anyway. Then, recalling the victims’ accounts, he added, “It’s hard to make out appearances in the dark, you know? Things get distorted.”
“Yeah…” Aracila murmured, her gaze suddenly fixing on Rudy’s face, half-shrouded in the evening’s shadows. His light brown hair, tinged with gold, and his brown eyes were familiar enough. But in the dim light, those eyes looked… almost black.
A bolt of realization struck her—not so much a revelation as a confirmation. She was certain now who the culprit was among her suspects. Only one person in Damian’s circle had silver hair, brown eyes, a tall frame, and a handsome enough face to be mistaken for him, even fleetingly: Oscar Vandermir.
The man had been bold enough to flirt with her on her wedding day, and Damian had warned him more than once about his womanizing ways. Everything pointed to Oscar as the one impersonating Damian in Claire’s story. The question now was how to prove it.
As Aracila’s expression grew serious, Rudy tilted his head. “Senior, you okay? You look…”
“I’m fine, Rudy. Thanks for the help,” she said quickly.
“Help? What did I do?” Rudy blinked, confused. All he’d done was strike up a conversation with his senior, who’d been sitting by the fountain like a statue.
Aracila smiled, giving his shoulder a reassuring pat. Her expression seemed lighter now, and Rudy, sensing no need to press further, let it go.
After parting ways with him, Aracila returned home and launched two investigations to uncover the truth about the child’s father. First, she traced how long someone had been using Damian’s name to pursue women. To her surprise, she discovered that his name had been whispered in the streets of the Fourth District and among theater actresses for far longer than she’d thought. But since Damian was a promising knight from the prestigious Vandermir family, the women involved had been cautious about spreading his name too freely.
Next, she cross-referenced the times these women claimed to have met “Damian” with Oscar’s whereabouts. What she found was astonishing. Oscar, who typically stayed in the ducal estate, had been in the capital at the exact times these encounters occurred. Even more telling—he was in the capital right now.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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