Chapter 70: The Persistent Nora
Damian spoke first, cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. His unexpected statement drew every eye to him. With a calm, composed expression, he continued, “The magical airship venture was spearheaded by my wife from the very beginning. I was merely fortunate enough, as her husband, to be offered the first chance to collaborate. I simply seized a good opportunity.”
“Oh… I see,” someone mumbled, the crowd caught off guard.
“Indeed,” Damian said, his tone steady. “So, I hope you’ll all avoid any misunderstandings. I’ll admit it’s a bit humbling to be carried by my wife’s success, but I must say, I’m a touch disappointed that no one seems to acknowledge my efforts in supporting her.”
The combination of his dignified, stoic voice and his self-deprecating words created an odd dissonance. The guests faltered, unsure how to respond. Praising humility works when someone modestly downplays their role, but Damian’s earnest correction of their misconceptions left them flustered, awkward laughter rippling through the room.
As a low hum of murmurs spread, Damian pressed on. “Furthermore, I’m not the one with expertise on the magical airship—that’s my wife. If you have questions about the airship itself, direct them to her. As for me, feel free to ask about external matters.”
It was a clean, decisive conclusion. Aracila looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise. She hadn’t expected him to step in and elevate her like this. All her life, she’d had to fight tooth and nail to claim her due credit, only for others to grudgingly acknowledge it. To have Damian, unprompted, give her the spotlight felt… strange.
Is he a much better man than I gave him credit for? she wondered.
She hesitated, wondering if she should thank him, when suddenly a wave of guests surged toward her. Those intrigued by the airship itself, eager with curiosity, had shifted their attention to her. Caught off guard and missing her chance to speak with Damian, Aracila turned to address the crowd now clamoring for her attention.
“Lady Vandemir, how did you come up with the idea for the magical airship?”
“What’s the principle behind its operation? Did you use only the levitation stones you’ve been researching?”
“Why did you design it to resemble a bird? Is there a special reason?”
The barrage of questions hit her like a tidal wave. Aracila paused for a moment before responding, “The magical airship wasn’t something I created alone. I had the help of two brilliant apprentices, whom I’m incredibly proud of. As it happens, they’re here tonight, so why don’t we include them in the conversation?”
She beckoned to Sally and Rudy, who had been lingering in a corner of the party, overwhelmed by the sea of nobles. At first, they hesitated, visibly uncomfortable and unsure of themselves. But as the questions continued and they began to answer, their confidence grew, their voices steadying.
While tending to her apprentices, Aracila stole occasional glances at Damian. He was deep in conversation with those eager to collaborate on the airship business. Thanks to him, no one was sidelined, and she didn’t have to fight to claim her place. The thought solidified in her mind: she needed to thank him properly.
***
After the party ended and the last of the guests had been seen off, Damian was heading toward the study when a hand grabbed his sleeve. He turned slowly to find Aracila standing there, her hair now loose, the black ribbon adorned with pearls nowhere to be seen.
“Thank you for today,” she said softly. “Because you spoke up, I was able to shine a light on my apprentices too.”
“It was nothing,” Damian replied, his voice plain and without pretense. “I only corrected their misconceptions.”
His straightforward response caught her off guard. Aracila was used to men who, at the slightest hint of gratitude, would puff up with arrogance or expect something in return. Damian’s sincerity felt refreshingly novel.
A sudden impulse to express her appreciation more openly stirred within her, and after a moment’s thought, she said, “Why don’t you sleep in the bedroom tonight?”
“Are you saying you’ll give up the bedroom and sleep in the study?” Damian asked, now familiar enough with her way of speaking to catch the subtext and gently deflect. “No need. I wouldn’t take the bedroom from you over something like this.”
“I didn’t say I was giving it up,” she countered.
“What?”
“I meant we could sleep there together.”
“…What?”
So startled that he bit his tongue, Damian quickly covered his mouth. Ignoring the sharp sting and the metallic taste of blood, he forced himself to speak clearly. “What are you saying?”
“What’s what?” Aracila replied, feigning innocence.
“I’m asking what you mean by that,” he said, his eyes wide with flustered confusion.
Aracila shrugged, her tone deliberately casual. “I just thought it must be uncomfortable sleeping on the study sofa every night. Tonight, I’m offering to let you sleep in the bed for a change.”
When she hadn’t known better, she hadn’t cared how Damian managed in the study. But sharing the space had made her realize it was far from ideal for restful sleep. Unlike the days when their relationship was strained, now that they’d grown closer, the thought nagged at her.
“Didn’t you just say we’d sleep together?” Damian asked hes goesitantly.
Aracila nodded. “Yes, together in the bedroom. You on the bed, me on the sofa.”
She had no desire to sleep on the study’s stiff sofa. The bedroom sofa was far softer and more comfortable—if she had to sleep on a sofa, that was the one she’d choose. Noticing Damian’s ears turning as red as a ripened apple, Aracila narrowed her eyes playfully.
“Damian, are you seriously thinking…”
“Don’t say it!” he interrupted, thrusting a hand forward as if to physically stop her words, his voice rising in a flustered shout.
Aracila’s lips twitched into a mischievous smirk. “What do you think I was going to say?”
“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t,” Damian pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation.
“Why not? Why do you keep cutting me off like you’ve got something to hide? Are you imagining something scandalous?” Aracila teased, her eyes glinting with mischief.
“I’m not!” Damian snapped, turning sharply and striding away at a brisk pace. “I’ll sleep in the study tonight, as always. You take the bedroom.”
Aracila hurried after him, undeterred, her voice playful as she called out, “Oh, come on! I’m dragging you to the bedroom, and we’re sleeping there together.”
“Please, stop saying it like that,” he groaned, exasperation creeping into his tone.
“Why? I’m just stating facts. Why are you acting so horrified?”
“Just… stop talking to me altogether!” Damian’s face twisted with irritation.
Aracila giggled, trailing him relentlessly, delighting in his discomfort. But when it became clear he was actually heading for the study, she threw up her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, stop for a second, Damian. I’m done teasing, I swear.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said flatly.
“Really, I mean it! No more teasing. So come with me to the bedroom and sleep comfortably in the bed for once.”
“I still don’t believe you.”
“Seriously? You really don’t trust me?”
The faint amusement in Aracila’s voice vanished, replaced by a sudden, piercing sincerity. Damian paused mid-step and turned to face her. Her clear, lake-like eyes met his, unwavering and earnest.
Realizing that distrust, especially now that they were partners in business as well as marriage, would do them no good, he let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. I’ll trust you—just this once. But you take the bed. I’ll sleep on the bedroom sofa.”
Aracila’s face lit up with a bright smile, and she nodded eagerly.
Damian knew there was little point in following her if he was just going to sleep on a sofa anyway, yet he couldn’t stop his feet from moving. In the end, for the first time since their wedding night, they shared the bedroom.
Though they still slept apart—she on the bed, he on the sofa—the simple act of sharing a space again, after the study, felt significant.
***
“Argh!”
Nora’s scream echoed as she pounded a frilly cushion with her fists. The maids had long since fled the room, unnerved by her frenzied outburst, leaving her alone on the bed, seething with rage.
The source of her hysteria was, as always, one person: Aracila Hugo.
That woman, who had cunningly married the man Nora secretly loved, now bore the name Aracila Vandemir. From their academy days, Aracila had always been a thorn in Nora’s side, a constant obstacle that left her heart swollen with unbearable stress.
“That leech of a woman! That weed! So infuriating, so detestable, so utterly unbearable!”
No matter how loudly she cursed Aracila, the knot in her chest refused to loosen. Nora had painstakingly spread rumors to drive a wedge between the couple, only for Aracila to attend the imperial ball arm-in-arm with Damian, as if mocking her efforts. Worse still, their joint business venture had skyrocketed, earning them the envy of their peers as the ideal young couple. It was maddening, enough to make her feel like she might die of spite.
“She barely ever shows up to imperial balls,” Nora muttered, her voice dripping with venom. “But the moment it suits her, she swoops in, all sly and calculating.”
In truth, anyone facing such rumors in high society would make a public appearance to quell them, but to Nora, who found fault in Aracila’s every breath, it felt like a deliberately cunning move.
“I loved Sir Vandemir first…” she hissed, her eyes blazing with twisted resentment. “You stole him from me, and you think I’ll let you live happily?”
The fire of vengeance burned fiercely in her gaze. She was convinced that only by sabotaging Aracila and Damian’s blissful marriage could she rid herself of the heavy emotions crushing her heart.
Fueled by spite, Nora soon organized a gathering, inviting as many people as possible. Her goal was singular: to utterly ruin Aracila’s reputation in high society.
“Isn’t it true that Lady Vandemir stole her husband’s credit?” she declared, her voice sharp with malice. “Of course, she used magic, so she deserves some recognition, but it was Sir Vandemir’s investment that made it all possible, wasn’t it?”
Her restraint shattered, Nora openly attacked Aracila, her hostility so blatant that even her closest ally, Lady Cooper, seemed taken aback. “Who would’ve thought her greatest talent was seducing men and bending them to her will? What’s so special about her, anyway?”
Caught up in her tirade, Nora paused to sip her tea, her words still simmering with contempt. In that moment, a new guest, unaware of the gathering’s undercurrents, spoke up innocently. “Well, Lady Vandemir is stunningly beautiful, isn’t she?”
“That’s true,” Nora replied thoughtlessly, her mind still consumed with tearing Aracila apart.
Her face froze a split second later, hardening into a terrifying mask. The other ladies, quick to sense her mood, rushed to smooth things over.
“Beauty doesn’t excuse everything, does it?” one said hurriedly.
“Exactly! Using your looks as a weapon is just distasteful in everyone’s eyes,” another added.
“A true lady’s virtue lies in grace and propriety, not just appearance.”
Thanks to their efforts, Nora refrained from lashing out at the oblivious newcomer. Undeterred, she continued hosting gatherings, tirelessly working to poison public opinion against Aracila. Her obsession stemmed from a burning desire to outshine her rival, at least in the social sphere.
Her relentless efforts soon bore fruit. Negative whispers about Aracila began to circulate once more, and before long, they reached the ears of Iris.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
buy me a coffee here to support the translation 🤗🤗🤗
