Chapter 78: Self-Destruction
Nora flinched and slowly turned around. There stood Aracila—perfectly intact. Not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle on her dress.
Seeing Nora’s expression falter, Aracila let out a quiet chuckle.
“Were you expecting to see me in a compromising scene with Lord Smith?”
“…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Nora feigned ignorance, though the way her eyes darted and her thoughts churned was painfully obvious. Aracila’s lips curled into a crooked smirk.
“Then why did you come out here?”
“…”
Nora hesitated, her lips parting with nothing to say. It took her several seconds to force out a feeble excuse.
“I just… stepped out for some air. Thought it might help clear my head.”
“Oh, I see. You didn’t happen to receive a note from Lord Smith, did you?”
“…”
“There was probably a secret message in there begging for help, wasn’t there? Something about how I’d uncovered the whole scheme and he was ruined.”
Nora bit down hard on her lower lip.
So that’s why the note had been so vague. That idiot must have spilled everything to Aracila.
She deeply regretted not ignoring the message—but still, she fought to maintain her composure.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t receive any note. Well then, I should get going—”
“What do you gain from all this?”
Aracila’s voice dropped, low and serious, freezing Nora mid-step.
The smile vanished from her face. She looked at Nora with a quiet, piercing intensity.
This had gone far beyond what could be excused as mere jealousy. Hiring a stranger to stage a scandal was something else entirely.
“What exactly do you stand to gain by dragging my name through the mud with some sordid affair?”
“…”
“You think something like that would destroy me? Damian loves me far too much to divorce me over baseless rumors.”
Strictly speaking, it was the binding contract between them that made divorce impossible—but Nora didn’t know that.
The slight twitch in her brow and the way her flushed face twisted in agitation told Aracila all she needed.
As I thought… mentioning Damian always hits the mark.
That’s why she’d stood at the entrance arm-in-arm with him, why she’d openly displayed affection in front of Nora from the start.
Nora’s lips trembled. Aracila, seeing her agitation, raised the ante, deliberately gesturing as she spoke with feigned nonchalance.
“Honestly, Damian’s been chasing after me since our courtship days. I wasn’t all that interested, but he kept insisting. It was kind of overwhelming.”
“…”
“Well, in the end, I figured there’s nothing wrong with a man who only has eyes for me, so I married him. He loves me so much it’s almost frightening at times.”
“…”
“I sometimes feel sorry for all the other women who liked him. No matter how long they pine, Damian only sees me.”
That was when Nora realized—truly realized—what it felt like to have her mind go completely blank from rage.
All rational thought evaporated. Her body flooded with raw emotion.
With bloodshot eyes, she glared at Aracila and muttered through clenched teeth:
“You’re lying.”
“Pardon? What was that?”
“Don’t lie. Lord Vandemir never chased after you.”
“And how would you know that? Did you crack open his skull and read his thoughts?”
The open mockery in Aracila’s tone made Nora snap.
“I loved him for four years! How could I not know!”
Her voice rose into a shriek, echoing across the otherwise quiet garden.
“Lord Vandemir was never interested in a witch like you! You seduced him! You knew I loved him and you tempted him anyway—just to spite me!”
“My, you’re really deep in victimhood, aren’t you? I told you—Damian loves me. Gasp! Lady White—don’t tell me you still have feelings for a man who’s married to me?”
Aracila lifted her hands to her mouth in mock surprise, then dropped them to form a smug, mocking grin.
It worked.
Nora was past boiling. She stormed forward, seized Aracila’s collar, and shouted:
“Yes! I still love him! Just watch—I’ll save Lord Vandemir from a conniving snake like you! Just watch me!”
“I am watching.”
“Argh! You—!”
The moment Nora reached out, hand raised to grab Aracila by the hair, a strong hand clamped down on her wrist.
“Do not lay a hand on my wife.”
“L-Lord Vandemir…?”
Nora’s eyes widened in shock at his sudden appearance.
Damian briskly brushed her hand away, then gently pulled Aracila behind him.
Then, paying no attention to Nora whatsoever, he calmly began straightening the collar of Aracila’s slightly disheveled dress. Nora stood there, stunned, watching him.
She had done all of this for him. Because she thought he’d been deceived by Aracila, unaware of what kind of woman she really was.
Because she wanted to show him that she was the one who truly loved him.
Then why… why are you looking at her like that?
Nora’s heart dropped as she saw Damian gazing at Aracila, brow faintly furrowed in concern.
More than any physical touch, that single look cut deeper than anything else.
As her thoughts spun and her senses began to blur, whispers from the crowd reached Nora’s ears.
“Did you hear what she said? Lady White confessed she’s in love with Lord Vandemir. Even if she’s liked him for years, he’s a married man now. Isn’t that off-limits?”
“Of course it is! Unless she wants to destroy someone’s marriage, she’s completely lost her mind.”
“She’s terrifying. To insult a man’s wife like that because she’s jealous? It reminds me of that opera we just saw…”
“My goodness. What were the White Marquess and Marchioness thinking, raising a daughter like that? It’s disgraceful—both for the family and for women in general.”
Only then did Nora look around, alarmed.
She hadn’t noticed in the dim light, but the garden where she’d confronted Aracila was connected to the hall’s balcony. Guests had drawn back the curtains and stepped outside, now watching her as though she were part of the evening’s entertainment.
“N-no… please, it’s not what you think…”
Nora rushed toward the balcony, hands outstretched in desperation, trying to explain.
But the faces staring back at her only darkened in expression.
The weight of dozens of contemptuous gazes bore down on her like a stone. Her heart dropped.
Of course, she had never intended to confess her feelings for Damian in public.
No matter how much she hated it, the truth was that Damian was now a married man. Not even in commoner society would a woman be brazen enough to confess to a married man.
And yet in noble society, thanks to her, there was now one who had.
This isn’t what I wanted…
It was Aracila who should’ve been the one receiving all this scorn, not her.
Nora began to tremble. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
She turned, trying to escape the stinging eyes on her, and saw Aracila watching her calmly from behind Damian.
Nora’s tearful eyes locked onto hers, blazing with blame and fury.
“Madam Vandemir… you lured me here on purpose, didn’t you?”
Aracila only shrugged in response.
Then she stepped out from behind Damian and approached the crowd on the balcony.
“Everyone, I’m very sorry—but may I kindly ask you to return inside? Please.”
At her polite request, the murmuring nobles slowly began to turn away, some even adding kind remarks about Aracila’s grace for considering Lady White’s dignity in such a moment.
She directed the maids inside the hall to draw the curtains and escort the guests back in, then quietly returned to Damian’s side.
Nora stood alone, eyes downcast, silent tears falling to the ground.
“Now that the audience is gone,” Aracila said softly, “why don’t we have a more honest conversation?”
“…What more do you want from me? Do you want me to get on my knees and beg?”
Nora’s voice was soaked with resentment, her pride cracked and splintering.
Aracila sighed.
“Lady White, you think I stole Damian from you, don’t you?”
“It’s not a thought. It’s a fact!”
At her sharp cry, Aracila lifted both hands and stepped back a little.
“Alright then. Since I’ve so graciously set the stage for you, why don’t you tell Damian how you feel?”
Nora’s eyes flew open in disbelief. Damian’s brows knit in confusion, as though asking what in the world are you doing?
“If Damian accepts your feelings right here, I’ll step aside. I’ll acknowledge the two of you and back away. I may not be able to divorce him immediately, but I’ll even sign a written vow promising I will. How about that?”
Nora swallowed dryly.
She was already standing on the edge of a cliff. There was nothing left but to gamble on the faintest thread of hope.
She had already confessed her feelings for Damian in front of an audience—if she could turn this into mutual affection, it would be far better than standing alone in her humiliation.
If Lord Vandemir doesn’t accept my feelings, then it’s truly over for me.
Her palms were damp with sweat as she nervously approached him.
After carefully sifting through the most beautiful words she could summon, ones that might fully express her heart, she finally opened her mouth.
“Lord Vandemir… I know I’ve said this before, but—”
“When did you ever confess?”
Damian’s indifferent voice cut her off coldly. And just like that, the balloon of hope swelling in Nora’s chest deflated in an instant.
For four years she had chased after him, almost pathetically. She had shown up wherever he went, leaving hints and outright declarations of her feelings.
She had sent him letters filled with longing, and she had spoken to him in person—boldly, passionately, repeatedly.
She had already been rejected more times than she could count.
And yet…
Looking at Damian’s impassive face now, she realized—he didn’t seem to remember any of it.
All the heartfelt confessions she had poured out, all the desperate attempts to be seen, had left not even a faint trace in his memory.
Unable to accept it, not right away, Nora clung to the hem of his jacket and pleaded.
“I-I sent you letters. I told you, so many times, how much I liked you…”
“…Maybe. I’m not sure. More importantly, please don’t touch me so casually, Lady White.”
With a motion of cold disdain, as if brushing away something filthy, Damian took out a handkerchief and peeled her hand off his clothes.
Of course, Damian had always known that Nora had feelings for him.
But how many times she had confessed, or exactly what she had said—he hadn’t bothered to remember.
It was unimportant. He had never considered it worth storing carefully in his mind.
“…Ha.”
So this was it. She had spent four years loving a man who didn’t even recall her existence properly. And now her life, her future, was in shambles.
A hollow laugh escaped her lips.
She had believed—at the very least—that he would remember her confessions.
He had rejected her so decisively, so coldly, that surely he would have remembered something.
Clinging to her last shred of dignity, she asked one final time:
“You really… truly don’t remember? I told you I liked you. I said it many times!”
“There were quite a few like you. I’m sure you were one of them.”
That indifferent reply broke her completely.
It was then that Nora understood, finally and irrevocably, that her feelings meant nothing to him.
They weren’t special. Not memorable. Just one among a crowd of meaningless declarations. So trivial, they hadn’t even warranted a second thought.
And it wasn’t as though she could accuse him of lying. Never once had she felt warmth from him. Not even a sliver of hope.
All the strength drained from her body. She stumbled, legs weak beneath her.
And even though he stood just steps away, Damian didn’t reach out to catch her.
Her vision blurred with tears, and as she swayed helplessly, a hand steadied her from behind.
Nora instinctively leaned into the support—only to go rigid as she realized who it was.
“Now that it’s over, shall we have a little talk, Lady White? There are a few things I’ve been wanting to ask you.”
Aracila smiled sweetly as she gently straightened Nora’s posture.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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