Chapter 80: Oscar’s Visit
After Nora’s self-destruction, Aracila’s reputation had been completely restored.
People came to understand that Nora had been spreading malicious rumors about Aracila in an attempt to steal Damian away, and they now expressed sympathy toward Aracila.
Some even went out of their way to praise her in public—as if to make up for having once been swayed by Nora’s words.
It was part guilt, and part a strategic shift—an effort to endear themselves to the newly rising star of high society.
Everyone believed that Aracila, who had taken control of the Duchess of Keyston’s prestigious art circle, was destined to become the next queen of the social scene.
Ironically, Aracila herself, having finally rid herself of Nora, was considering stepping back from society altogether.
She declined every invitation that arrived—except one: the duchess’s circle.
In the wake of the Nora incident, she judged that maintaining at least one social affiliation was a wise move, so she continued attending that particular gathering.
After one such meeting, Aracila had a private audience with the Duchess of Keyston. The duchess embraced her lightly, then stepped back.
“Thank you, madam. Thanks to you, my son has finally been named official heir.”
The day after the party, Aracila had arranged a contract for an airship project in the duchy under the son’s name—using Damian’s support.
With public outrage at adulterous noblemen rising in the aftermath of the scandal, the duke, desperate to quell his own controversies, finally declared their son the legitimate successor—something he had previously resisted.
“My husband’s a coward. He can’t endure being criticized for long. Naming our son as heir was also a way to divert attention from the latest scandal.”
A bitter smile touched the duchess’s lips.
Aracila gazed at her quietly for a moment, then asked:
“Have you ever thought of divorce?”
“Absolutely not. Not until Andy inherits the dukedom. I’ll die before that happens.”
The duchess shook her head firmly.
Even if her husband dragged his reputation through the mud, as long as their son had not secured his future, she had to remain in place—as the legal wife. As his mother, she had no choice.
“Then… once your son becomes the Grand Duke, will you divorce him?”
The duchess hesitated. And again, she shook her head.
“Divorce isn’t that simple. Once a marriage bond is tied, you don’t just cut it off because you feel like it. My image, my dignity… they’d all be damaged.”
Even for a woman of royal blood, divorce was no light matter. Her father and elder brother, who had both cherished her deeply, might have tolerated a formal separation—but not a divorce.
The duchess gently patted Aracila’s shoulder and added with quiet kindness:
“You too—don’t rush to think of divorce just because things get hard with your husband. Of course, from what I see, you two seem to get along well and truly care for each other. So maybe there’s no need for such advice.”
“Ah… thank you.”
Aracila nodded awkwardly, unable to confess that she and Damian would, in fact, be divorcing in a few years.
She had no idea what part of their act had convinced the duchess that they were a loving, compatible couple.
Slightly confused but unable to challenge the duchess’s fond expression, Aracila simply offered a vague, polite smile.
After parting ways with the Duchess, Aracila returned home—only to arch a brow the moment she stepped through the door. There was something off in the air. A peculiar atmosphere lingered in the entrance hall.
Just then, the butler approached her with an uncharacteristically flustered expression.
“My lady, Young Master Oscar has come to visit. He’s currently waiting in the drawing room.”
“…Lord Vandemir?”
Aracila frowned. She hadn’t received any word about a visit from him. An unannounced guest was unwelcome enough—but it being Oscar made it worse.
Like grandmother, like grandson, huh?
She had drained all her energy socializing at the duchess’s gathering and had come home with every intention of resting.
Sighing at the delay to her much-needed rest, she headed to the drawing room.
“It’s been a while, Madam.”
Oscar greeted her, lounging confidently on the sofa, his tone casual, posture relaxed.
He didn’t even bother with a polite bow—just a lazy flick of the hand. Aracila, displeased, responded by omitting a greeting entirely.
“What brings you here?”
“Still cold as ever. You know, aloof women aren’t so popular these days.”
Oscar shook his head dramatically and stood, trying to provoke a reaction.
Aracila didn’t overtly express her distaste, but her expression was cold enough to make it plain.
Seeing that, Oscar gave a dry laugh, half in disbelief.
“I must’ve been blind back then, thinking you were appealing. But not anymore. Men these days prefer women more like your sister. I suppose that’s why they say the younger sister is never quite the match of the older.”
At the mention of Iris, Aracila’s mood darkened instantly.
It’s because of you I’m even in this position.
That filthy man had driven her sister to death, and now Aracila was pouring everything she had into preventing that fate—going so far as to enter a contract marriage to stop it.
And now he had the audacity to utter Iris’s name?
It infuriated her.
“You shouldn’t be so smug, considering you’re no match for your brother.”
“W-what did you say?!”
Oscar snapped, but at the glint in Aracila’s sharp gaze, he immediately backed down.
She was the woman who had bested grown men at the Hunting Festival. Instinctively, he realized this wasn’t someone to provoke lightly.
“Let’s skip the chit-chat. Tell me the real reason you came—uninvited.”
Muttering irritably to himself, Oscar dug into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a white envelope, holding it out to her.
“My mother’s birthday is coming up. We’re throwing a grand party, and of course, you and Damian are both expected to attend.”
Aracila took the invitation with a reluctant expression.
The letter said that since the duchess’s birthday was approaching, both husband and wife were to visit the duchy and stay for ten days.
Why should I go? It’s not even my mother’s birthday.
That was her first instinctive thought.
Frankly, even if it were her mother’s birthday, she wouldn’t agree to stay at the Hugo estate for ten full days.
But then came Oscar’s next words—forcing her to swallow her frustration.
“I hear you and Damian are the picture of wedded bliss. Surely you wouldn’t send your husband down alone while you sit out your mother-in-law’s birthday party?”
“…”
“The whole inseparable couple thing—‘like needle and thread’—that’s exactly why we thought we’d give you a break with an extended invitation. You should be thankful.”
Acting on his mother’s strict orders to ensure both husband and wife attended, Oscar said it all with the clear intention of pushing Aracila’s buttons.
Already irritated by his arrogance and lack of decorum, Aracila kept her expression neutral and refrained from responding.
But she knew.
No matter how fake her marriage was, if she skipped her in-laws’ birthday gathering while Damian attended alone, gossip would spread like wildfire.
After Oscar finally left, one thought ran through her head on a loop:
Sigh… what a pain.
Oscar did not return immediately to the duchy after leaving the Vandemir estate.
Instead, he strolled leisurely through the capital’s streets, basking in the freedom and vitality of the city. While the duchy was just as developed in many ways, the capital still held a certain grandeur and scope that couldn’t be matched.
As he took in the wider avenues and busier crowds of the capital’s bustling districts, he grumbled inwardly:
“Ah, I really wish I could live here.”
There were far more nobles his age to socialize with, and far more things to do and enjoy. His longing to stay in the capital was undeniable—but the duchess, his mother, staunchly opposed it.
“You need to solidify your position in the duchy, or Damian will steal your inheritance right out from under you!”
That was always her argument when she forced him to stay. The power of a duke came from the territory, and only by mastering that territory could he inherit the title smoothly.
Of course, Oscar had already caused plenty of trouble in the duchy, and public sentiment toward him was far from favorable—but maintaining presence there was, at least symbolically, important.
“If I could just stay in the capital a little longer… it’d be much easier to woo Lady Hugo.”
As he walked through a park, busy inventing excuses to remain in the capital, his steps suddenly halted.
He had spotted a familiar face among the strolling citizens—none other than Iris.
For a brief moment, he felt a jolt of delight at the unexpected encounter. But that joy vanished the instant he saw a man standing next to her.
“Who the hell is that? Is she meeting other men behind my back?”
Oscar, who had built up in his mind an image of Iris as a modest and pure woman who knew nothing of men, felt deeply betrayed.
Especially considering that in his own mind, he had already imagined marrying her and having children—his rage bubbled to the surface.
He stormed over and grabbed Iris roughly by the arm.
“Lady Hugo!”
“…Lord Vandemir?”
Iris turned with startled eyes. She hadn’t expected to see him—he was supposed to be in the duchy.
But Oscar didn’t care. Breathing heavily with indignation, he began to berate her:
“Who is this man? You’ve ignored all my letters, and now I find you out with someone else? Are you playing games with me?”
“W-what? No, I…”
Lately, Oscar had sent her several letters—none of which had received a reply. Iris, exhausted from his persistence and unwilling to encourage him further, had simply stopped responding.
Caught off guard and unsure how to react, she fell silent. Oscar, misinterpreting her hesitation, yanked on her arm more forcefully.
At that, the man who had been quietly standing beside her stepped forward.
“Lord Vandemir, please calm yourself. Let go of Lady Hugo’s arm—you’re hurting her.”
It was Eric, who had been on a walk with Iris. Gently, he pried Oscar’s hand away and attempted to mediate.
Oscar gave him a cutting glare, scanning him from head to toe. Tall, but slim, with a scholarly, unassuming air—he looked like the kind of man Oscar dismissed instantly.
With a sneer, Oscar tried to shake off Eric’s grip—only to find he couldn’t.
“What the—why is he so strong? He doesn’t look it at all!”
While Oscar struggled awkwardly, Iris finally regained her composure. With a tired sigh, she addressed him directly:
“Since we’ve run into each other like this, I’ll be honest. Please stop sending me letters or gifts, Lord Vandemir. I’m currently seeing Lord Roberts, at my mother’s introduction.”
“What…? What are you talking about? I contacted you first! How can you just move on to someone else?!”
Oscar surged forward in protest, only to be held back again by Eric.
“Please keep your distance, Lord Vandemir. And what does it matter who contacted whom first? What matters is who’s here now.”
“…!”
Oscar’s eyes went wide with fury at Eric’s gentle but pointed remark. But no retort came to mind. His fists clenched, his body trembled—he could only seethe.
Iris, now visibly weary, looked him in the eyes and spoke coldly.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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