Chapter 88 : The First Duchess
“The nightmares caused by the Marcas herb… they were about your mother, weren’t they?”
Damian flinched—but didn’t deny it.
Aracila turned her head, gazing toward the shadowy forest beyond them, her voice continuing low and steady.
“And the person who gave me the dress—Viscountess Panning—she was a close friend of the former Duchess.”
“When you think about all that…”
“…”
“It’s clear the current Duchess did this deliberately. She knows your greatest weakness is your mother. It was all intentional. And cowardly.”
How could someone be so cruel to a child who lost his mother at just seven years old?
Aracila’s chest seethed with fury.
To exploit the grief of a child as a means to manipulate and wound—that intent alone was despicable.
She felt so outraged she nearly wanted to challenge the Duchess to a duel herself.
Damian, watching her soft profile twisted with anger on his behalf, suddenly blurted out—
“Do you know how my mother died?”
“…What?”
Caught off guard, Aracila faltered, unable to say the first thing that came to mind:
Because your father was a bastard who had a child with another woman?
Sensing her hesitation, Damian gave a short, bitter laugh.
“Do you know why every memory of her is so unbearable for me?”
“…Am I allowed to ask that?”
Aracila’s voice wavered. She had never been the kind of person to pry into someone else’s pain for the sake of idle curiosity.
She wasn’t afraid to live as she pleased, but she drew a clear line when it came to others’ wounds.
Especially after hearing the dark circumstances surrounding Damian’s aversion to physical touch—she couldn’t bring herself to dig deeper without permission.
Damian studied her with a faint smile.
“If you want to know, you can ask.”
He wasn’t afraid anymore.
Not of showing his most vulnerable self—not to her.
Given how he’d spent his entire life terrified of giving anyone the power to hurt him, it was an extraordinary thing.
Aracila blinked slowly.
Her deep blue eyes shimmered, like stars reflected on the surface of still water.
They met his gaze directly, openly.
“Then I’ll ask. Please… tell me.”
Because I want to understand you more.
Her quiet addendum drifted to him like a breeze—light, but impossible to ignore.
And because she wasn’t asking out of morbid fascination, but from a place of sincere empathy, Damian found himself unable to hold anything back.
***
Monica Vandemir.
She was the first wife of Alex Vandemir, Damian’s birth mother, and the very first Duchess of the House of Vandemir.
She was also the only daughter of the prestigious Count of Lond—descended from royal blood.
Raised by loving parents and three older brothers, Monica grew up surrounded by affection. She was radiant and pure, the kind of woman who didn’t know how to doubt, who couldn’t read someone’s deeper nature, and who rarely recognized concealed malice.
At a grand ball, she happened to cross paths with Alex Vandemir—a man with a dazzling exterior and impeccable manners.
To Monica, it felt like fate. She fell in love at first sight.
In less than half a year, she declared to her family that she intended to marry him.
But the House of Lond vehemently opposed it.
Even though the Vandemir Duchy was a desirable alliance, the reasons for their disapproval were obvious:
“It’s common knowledge in the social circles that the Dowager Duchess is obsessively attached to her son. If you marry him, she’ll treat you like nothing and torment you.”
“The Duke has far too many women around him. Remember, he was once addicted to gambling. A man that impulsive will drag his wife into misery.”
“Are you sure he truly loves you? Sure, he’s kind now—you’ve only just met. But men… you have to watch them over time. You never know what comes next.”
“Monica, my dear. Becoming a duchess brings honor, yes—but it also means sacrificing a great deal. Your father and I don’t want you to live a life full of hardship.”
Though the House of Vandemir was a noble house any young woman would envy, it was obvious to anyone that it was also a place where a woman would suffer.
The Count and Countess of Lond had no interest in marrying off their daughter to simply raise their own status.
They tried everything to dissuade her.
But Monica, blinded by love, ignored her family’s pleas and followed Alex to the Vandemir Duchy, where she was wed.
And the one person who had stood beside her, when everyone else opposed the marriage, had been her childhood friend—Sophie Meyer.
Sophie was the only one who had taken Monica’s side, the one who had offered her emotional refuge in the storm of opposition.
So when Monica left the capital for the duchy, she had begged Sophie to come with her.
Sophie was the daughter of the Mayer Viscountcy, a vassal house under the Count of Lond.
Coming from a family full of daughters, her position among her older and younger sisters had always been ambiguous—caught in between, neither the pride of the household nor the burden.
So when Monica asked her to accompany her to the duchy, Sophie agreed without hesitation.
Monica, deeply grateful, promised she’d find Sophie a good match.
Her dream was to connect Sophie with someone from one of the highest-ranking noble houses under the duchy’s rule—someone who would build a future with her.
They would live together as sisters, side by side, in the same land, under the same roof.
But reality was nothing like the picture Monica had painted in her head.
Everything her parents and brothers had warned her about came to pass—down to the very last word.
The dowager duchess tormented her relentlessly, isolating her in the duchy.
And Alex, who had once showered her with warmth, quickly grew cold and spent his days elsewhere.
Monica’s happiness unraveled in an instant.
Not even a month into her marriage, she found herself crying through every night.
She missed her family.
She longed for the capital.
She yearned to see her friends again.
But the dowager tightly controlled even her contact with her natal home.
“A married woman belongs to her husband’s household. Don’t you know even that?
Instead of whining, fulfill your duties as a wife!
Tch—how is it that you still haven’t conceived?”
It was always the last line, tacked on like a habit, that crushed Monica the most.
Though she had married barely a year after reaching adulthood, she couldn’t seem to bear a child.
Her body was naturally frail; even when she did become pregnant, she miscarried repeatedly.
The duke never offered comfort—instead, he placed the blame squarely on her.
“If you had taken better care of yourself, perhaps you wouldn’t have lost this one.
When, exactly, will I finally be able to proudly present my mother with a grandson?”
Among noble houses, a lady who failed to produce an heir was seen as a liability.
But Monica—who had grown up surrounded by nothing but unconditional love—couldn’t withstand such cruel scrutiny.
She thought, many times, about writing home.
About confessing how deeply she regretted her decision.
But shame held her back.
Who would welcome her with open arms, if she returned now after defying them all?
It was Sophie, and Sophie alone, who helped Monica endure life in the duchy.
To Monica, she wasn’t just a friend.
She was a sister.
Her only family in that foreign place.
And then one day… Sophie became pregnant.
An unmarried noblewoman with no suitors, no fiancé—suddenly with child.
When asked about the father, Sophie was tight-lipped.
Monica feared for her friend’s reputation and protected her fiercely, shielding her from gossip and condemnation.
Then, midway through Sophie’s pregnancy, Monica also conceived.
This time, she swore, I’ll keep this baby.
To shield her child, Monica avoided stressful encounters with the dowager.
Instead, she focused on her duties as duchess—building relationships with the wives of the duchy’s vassals, earning trust and favor.
Her efforts bore fruit.
With growing support, she created a network of allies within the duchy.
When the now-familiar signs of a miscarriage appeared again, Monica was able to weather the storm safely.
And at last, she gave birth to a healthy child.
That child was Damian.
She had given the duchy its long-awaited heir.
She had finally fulfilled the dowager’s demand.
Surely, she thought, her life’s trials had come to an end.
Until Sophie’s confession shattered everything.
“I’m sorry, Monica… The father of my baby—Oscar—is… the Duke.”
Monica was stunned.
It turned out Alex and Sophie had been having an affair for quite some time.
“Sophie… How could you? We were friends. How could you do this to me?”
“You’re the one who said we were like family, Monica.
Now, finally, we are family. So what’s the problem?”
The woman who stood before her looked nothing like the Sophie Monica had once known.
It was as if the true face behind the mask had finally emerged.
Betrayed by the one person she had trusted most, Monica collapsed on the spot.
After that day, her health began to steadily decline.
And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Sophie moved into the lord’s manor.
She took over Monica’s role—serving Alex, caring for the dowager, acting the part of the duchess.
A few ladies in the duchy voiced their disapproval at first, but over the years, Sophie’s shamelessness only grew.
The more Sophie stepped into the spotlight, the more Monica faded into the background.
Those who had once supported Monica began to abandon her, one by one, pledging loyalty to Sophie instead.
The isolation broke her spirit.
Eventually, Monica fell into a deep depression.
She withdrew to a secluded room on the third floor and cut herself off from the outside world.
She even left her son, Damian, outside that closed door.
Growing up in such a household, Damian had no choice but to mature early.
Even though no one ever gave him real affection, he never strayed or misbehaved.
It might sound strange to describe a child of just four or five this way—but Damian was earnest and diligent from the very start.
At the time, he was still the only recognized heir of House Vandemir.
Oscar, born out of wedlock, could not be acknowledged as such.
Despite being neglected by both his parents, Damian endured his grueling heir training without complaint, and he showed exceptional talent in swordsmanship.
He never once threw a tantrum, nor did he ever slack off.
His only joy, as a child, was receiving a high score from his tutor and bringing it to show his mother.
“Well done, Damian. My son. How are you so clever? You’re doing wonderfully.”
Monica no longer left her room, but she never turned Damian away when he came to visit.
Every time she—usually so lifeless—smiled at the sight of him, he felt an uncontainable pride.
And when she suddenly began to weep, he would pat her back, with all the composure of an adult.
“I’m sorry, Damian. I wasn’t strong enough to protect you…
But you must grow up strong.
Strong enough that you’ll never have to rely on anyone.
Strong enough to believe only in yourself.”
She would often hold him and cry as she said those words.
Be strong.
So Damian’s childhood dream was to become someone strong.
He wanted to rescue his mother from the darkness she had locked herself in.
He dreamed of one day taking her hand and leaving this place behind, together, to find happiness.
Because it seemed that there was no one else in the household who would protect her, he felt a strange, heavy sense of responsibility.
He believed that once he had grown into a capable adult, she too would finally be able to find joy.
But when Damian turned seven, Monica took her own life, unable to overcome her long battle with depression.
That morning, he went to greet her—just like always—and found her cold body collapsed on the floor.
He screamed.
“Mother, no! Mother!”
****
House Vandemir conducted her funeral hastily, as if to dispose of a burden, and erased all traces of her.
After all, it was no secret: from the very beginning of their marriage, the Duke and his mistress Sophie had carried on their affair shamelessly.
It was practically murder in everything but name.
So they scrambled to bury the scandal as quickly as possible.
But as public opinion began to rise in outrage, the Vandemir household chose to push through with brazenness.
Not even a few months after Monica’s death, the Duke remarried—to Sophie.
Oscar was formally entered into the family registry and introduced as his legitimate firstborn son.
From then on, they did their utmost to present the image of a harmonious, perfect family.
Because, eventually, people forget the dead.
And most focus only on what’s right in front of them.
With that, Damian—the only living trace of Monica—naturally became a thorn in their side.
So long as he remained visible, people would continue to remember her.
The family began to erase Damian through increasingly cruel abuse.
They even used former servants who had once been loyal to Monica—but now had defected—to do their dirty work.
It hadn’t even been long since he’d lost his mother.
And now, the very people he had trusted betrayed him.
There were still a few who stayed loyal to the end, but none of them lasted long.
One by one, they were dismissed and cast out of the duchy.
Only the former Duke—the old patriarch—protected Damian.
Though he had already abdicated due to illness and could not fully stop his son and daughter-in-law’s cruelty,
he ensured no one could expel Damian from the house or attempt to kill him.
But when the old Duke passed away from illness, the current Duke and Duchess moved without hesitation.
They sent an assassin to eliminate Damian.
The first time they came for him, Damian happened to be in light sleep.
Sensing a dark presence approaching, he awoke in time to avoid the blade that flew for his throat.
He was stabbed in the abdomen—but gritting his teeth, he fought and drove off the attackers.
As he surveyed his room, now turned into a war zone, he realized something.
This… would be his life from now on.
If he wanted to live, he would have to fight for it—alone.
From that day on, Damian slept with a sword tucked beneath his pillow.
He had shown natural talent with a blade since he was young, and no matter how many assassins were sent after him,
he survived. Time and time again, he clawed his way back from death.
Eventually, the Vandemir family grew tired of him.
They made the decision to send him to a foreign country—hoping that, with time, news of his death would quietly reach them.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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