So I Was the Persecuted Grand Duchess Destined to Die? Chapter 72

Chapter 72

“The Grand Duchess doesn’t seem to be on good terms with her birth family?”

Callian asked, crossing his legs as if genuinely intrigued.

“You already know the rumors,”
Xavier replied dryly.

The little brother—who had somehow turned into an old man before his time—always did this:
he knew everything, yet still pretended innocence to pry into others’ affairs.

Maybe it was necessary to survive in the imperial palace, but Xavier didn’t find the habit pleasant.

“Rumors are only rumors. But judging by your face, I’d say they’re true.”

“My face? What about it?”

“You look like you want to crush House Blanche under your heel.”

“Hmph.”

Xavier scoffed and shrugged.

Well. Unless Renée would be unhappy about it…

The instant that thought crossed his mind, Xavier realized his mistake and cleared his throat for no reason.

Having witnessed the shift in his expression yet again, the corner of Callian’s mouth twitched.

Xavier Celeste, in first love.
And unrequited, at that?

He insisted it wasn’t, of course—but intense denial was often the clearest confirmation.

Just what kind of person is she?

His birthday banquet—something that had felt like nothing but a burden—suddenly became oddly exciting.

Just then, while reviewing a document, Xavier’s expression hardened.

“What is it?”

Callian glanced over.
It was the list of dishes to be served throughout the banquet.

“It’s nothing.”

Callian leaned back, watching him more carefully.

No matter how he looked at it, the man sitting across from him today felt unfamiliar.

“…There’s ice cream for dessert.”

“Yes. Gelato’s been trendy in the capital lately. Even among nobles, it’s commonly served.”

“Remove it.”

“What? Why?”

“Just… remove it.”

That stiff, rigid expression.

Yep. There’s definitely something there.

To think the Grand Duchess had changed a man this much in just a few months last winter.

Callian nodded for now.

But inwardly, he snickered—already planning to dedicate an entire section of the dessert table to nothing but ice cream.

* * *

Late Night — The Townhouse

I rolled restlessly across the enormous bed, trying to coax sleep that stubbornly refused to come.

Of course, the Grand Duke wasn’t here.

He’d slipped out early during dinner and still hadn’t returned.

Moonlight poured brightly through the window.
Maybe it was because I wasn’t used to this bed.

It should’ve been the same moon I saw in the North—
and yet somehow, it felt unfamiliar.

In melodramas, this is when the husband sneaks out to cheat…

Was it because I’d once drowned myself in trashy novels?
Or because the quietly glowing moonlight had bewitched me?

Either way, my thoughts suddenly veered somewhere very strange.

“Don’t tell me?!”

I shot upright as if bouncing off the mattress.

No one saw it—but I felt embarrassed anyway.

No. Ternox went with him.

I shook my head hard, flustered by my own imagination.

That old-fashioned dragon wouldn’t sit back and allow something like that.
Right. Right.

“……”

No—wait.

Why am I even thinking this?
Whether he cheats or not, what does that have to do with me?

“Ugh, seriously. You’re useless. Why is he making such a fuss, staying out this late?”

I grew oddly irritated and started jabbing the air.

I imagined Xavier’s face—but the only one getting tired was me.

After just a few half-hearted punches, I was already sweating.

This pathetic stamina… no matter how hard I try, it never improves.

In the end, I collapsed back onto the bed, spread-eagle.
The empty space beside me felt strangely hollow.

Which made sense.

For the past few months, we’d always slept together.

The Grand Duke had kept his word—there hadn’t been even a hint of skinship—but still…

Had I gotten used to it without realizing?

Every night, using his “madness” as an excuse, we’d fallen asleep in the same bed.
It must’ve turned into a habit.

Maybe the human sleeping pill wasn’t me—
maybe it was him.

“Ugh… ugh…”

I sighed heavily and turned onto my side as random thoughts overflowed.

My conversation with Lady Diana.
The Grand Duke sulking because he got caught liking ice cream and salt bread—

No. Skip that.

I said I don’t want to think about Xavier!

Anyway—what happened before that?

After looking at clothes…

“Ah!”

‘You go to the North and start acting like a Grand Duchess?
Do you think you can erase your lowly bloodline?’

The day had felt so long I’d almost forgotten.

That girl who spat venom with the prettiest face.

Bianca, was it?

In the original story, it had all been brushed aside in a single line—
she was oppressed by her family.

But having it crash into me as reality left a bitter taste.

More than anything—

‘Just like your lowly maid of a mother seduced our father with her body,
did you seduce the Grand Duke the same way?’

“So I’m… the child of a maid…”

I’d only learned that today.

Damn it—this useless original story, never helping when it mattered!

Unknown settings kept popping up one after another, and it was exhausting.

“I have to remember… even I can tell that ‘I lost my memory’ sounds ridiculous. No one would believe it…”

And since House Blanche was in the capital, it was obvious they’d attend the imperial banquet in a few days.

“Hah… what do I do?”

After pushing my brain too hard, sleepiness finally crept in.

In the end, I came up with only one solution.

It’s a masquerade ball anyway.
I’ll avoid her as much as possible.
And if she acts like she knows me, I’ll deny it outright…

With that as my final thought, I drifted into sleep.

* * *

I dreamed.

And I knew it was a dream because—

“Hng… h-hic… Mom…”

I was standing there, clutching a half-melted necklace, sobbing.

A locket—burned and stuck shut.
Inside was my mother’s portrait.

I traced it with trembling fingers, choking back tears.

My “room” was a storage space beneath the stairs.

A thin, crudely patched board served as a wall, offering no soundproofing at all.
If any noise leaked out—

I’d be beaten for “a rat squealing loudly.”

Ah… right.

This was me again—
but it wasn’t me.

These were Renée Blanche’s memories.

Judging by the scene, it was her childhood at House Blanche.

And the word that defined this era was—

oppression.

Painfully, heartbreakingly accurate.

In the dream, I feared Bianca most—
Bianca, who smiled brightly like a doll.

Whenever those blue eyes flashed, something terrible followed.

I fell down the stairs.
My mother’s keepsakes were thrown into the fire.

Once, I woke to a crawling, sickening sensation—
and found a sewer rat gnawing at my fingernails.

I screamed.

They punished me for “not befriending the little rat,”
and threw me out into the freezing winter night.

No one cared.

The man called my father—crushed beneath his lawful wife—let Bianca do as she pleased.

If this was how it would be, why did you even have me?

You should’ve let me die with Mom.

The Marchioness of Blanche was worse than Bianca.

She understood that prolonged loneliness hurt more than death—
and she kept me alive precisely for that reason.

Even if I tried to die, the servants stationed everywhere made it impossible.

It hurts.

Every night, beyond the thin board, I listened to footsteps on the stairs.

Stepped on.
Stepped on.
Stepped on.

Living in a place where being trampled was normal—

I held my breath.

And every night, I prayed.

Anyone. I don’t care who.

Please… get me out of here.
Please… save me…

And then—

A single beam of light slipped into my world of endless darkness.

That light was—

“Renée!”

Gasp—

Strong arms pulled me into a tight embrace, and my eyes flew open.

The room was still dark.

Had I been sweating too much?
Moisture clung to my lashes, blurring my vision.

No—my body felt feverish.
Hot and cold at once.

My mind swam, tangled between sleep and heat.

But this, I saw clearly.

“Renée… are you alright?”

Violet-blue eyes shimmering in the moonlight.
A careful touch, like he was holding something precious.
And an anguished expression—

As if he were the one suffering more.