ILTDAMH |CHAPTER 52

Chapter 52

Ruan, Truly, You Were Here.

It took three days by carriage to travel from the capital to the village of Phenomenon.

Lucianne, who had never been much of a traveler, grew irritable the further she went. 

The roads became rough, the lodging uncomfortable, and her nerves frayed to the breaking point.

“Why would Ruan come all the way to some backwater village when there are plenty of lovely places near the capital?”

She climbed out of the carriage, stopping at an inn to rest for the night.

“Is it true? He’s that handsome?”

“I’m telling you, he is! Jet-black hair, features as if carved from marble, tall and imposing. And when you order a sandwich and tea, he comes over and pours with those long, graceful fingers—he’s breathtaking!”

Lucianne, stepping into the inn, caught snippets of conversation between two women.

“Then why don’t you try to seduce him?”

“Impossible. He seems to like that shopkeeper—Rosalin, I think? He practically moves like her shadow. I heard some woman tried to flirt with him the other day, and Rosalin got offended and told her to leave. The man’s words were so terrifying that she fell ill and couldn’t even get out of bed for days. Honestly, he’s nice to look at, but I don’t want to die.”

The woman shook her head with a shiver.

A black-haired man with sculpted looks? That has to be Ruan.

But… Rosaline? What’s this about?

Could it be that he’s allowed himself to fall for some country girl?

No. 

Impossible. 

When he sees me—who so closely resembles Mer—he’ll choose me without question.

I don’t have time to waste.

Wait for me, Ruan. I’m coming.

Driven by the women’s words, Lucianne abandoned the idea of staying the night at the inn and pressed on toward the village, sleeping rough along the road. 

At last, after two and a half more days, she arrived in Phenomenon.

“Haa… Ruan, no matter how much you want to forget Mer, why would you come to such a remote hole, and even run a shop so far out here? And that wretched peasant dares set her eyes on you? Infuriating. Don’t worry, Ruan—I’ll save you from that sly little country girl soon enough.”

She wandered through the unfamiliar village, searching for the shop where Ruan supposedly worked. 

The longer it took, the more irritated she became—especially when some rustic woman mistook her for someone else.

Being mistaken for another was an insult enough, but to be treated so rudely on top of it? 

If this were the capital, she’d have called the guards instantly. 

But in this countryside? Not a soldier in sight.

“Ugh. I need to find Ruan, and fast…”

After much searching, her eyes finally fell on a sandwich shop.

Found it.

Lucianne scowled at her reflection in the window—her hair disheveled, shoes dirty, her dress sullied from travel. 

Hastily, she tidied her hair, then opened the shop door and stepped inside.

“Welcome.”

Ruan turned to her with a smile. 

At the sight of him, she rushed forward, flinging herself into his arms.

“Ruan, truly—you were here all along.”

.

.

.

Ten minutes earlier, inside the sandwich shop.

“That smile of his… it’s as irresistible as ever,” Zelda remarked.

At her words, Merican lifted her gaze and saw Ruan moving about the shop, cleaning during a lull after the morning rush. 

Even gaunt and hollow-cheeked, he had been handsome; now that his appearance had returned to its former glory, there was no question.

“But Rosaline,” Zelda continued, “don’t you think the shop’s been… different lately?”

“The shop?” Merican looked around. The place was spotless, as always.

“Not cleanliness. I mean—haven’t you noticed? The women who used to sit here all day, staring at him, aren’t around anymore.”

Now that she mentioned it… Those women who crowded in from the moment the doors opened, gazing at Ruan as though he were a statue—they were gone.

“You’re right. Sales are about the same, but those lingering customers have vanished.”

“Not just vanished. Driven off. I heard something yesterday, in the next village.”

“A rumor?”

“Yes. About him. This might shake your resolve about not forgiving him…”

“What do you mean?”

“They say he was the one who threw that woman out—the one who asked if he was free after work when you stepped away. He told her to get lost.”

“He said that?”

“Apparently. He didn’t mind being stared at all day, but when it hurt your feelings, he wouldn’t stand for it. He was so harsh she fell ill and lay bedridden for days.”

“…That can’t be. I wasn’t even bothered. He acted on his own, unnecessarily.”

“Maybe so. But I’ll admit, I thought it was kind of admirable. He works hard from dawn—cleaning, kneading dough, preparing ingredients—yet he still noticed your mood and defended it. Most men wouldn’t bother. And when women throw themselves at them, they don’t cut ties so cleanly—they sneak around instead. Honestly, Rosaline, you’ve caught a good one.”

“Zelda, I haven’t caught him,” Merican protested, shaking her head.

“Ah, you’re right. He’s willingly caught himself for you. But really, you’re a good match. You’re sweet, lovable, and—oh! That reminds me. On my way here, I saw a young lady who looked a little like you… well, not really. At first I thought so, but thinking back, it was only a vague resemblance. Still, she was odd. Expensive dress, arrogant manner, definitely noble. And I think she was looking for him.”

“Someone who looked like me? From the capital?”

Lucianne? No—that was absurd. There was no way Luci would come all the way here, searching for Ruan.

“…What would a noble young lady be doing in this village, anyway?”

Even as Merican dismissed the thought, the door opened. 

A woman rushed in, throwing herself at Ruan—only to be coldly cast aside, tumbling to the floor.

“Wh-what the—? Rosaline, that’s the woman I saw! She’s bold, I’ll give her that. Imagine thinking he’d embrace her so easily. Hah! As if he’d hold just anyone. Right, Rosaline?”

N-not that I’d know. 

I’ve never been in his arms myself. 

And this is hardly the time to think about that!

Merican turned to look. 

The woman on the floor, staring up at Ruan in shock, was none other than Lucianne—her hair arranged in her usual style, a bit of clumsy makeup, wearing the very dress Merican had once given her.

Lucianne? Truly, Lucianne?

But why here?

While Merican stared in bewilderment, Ruan’s eyes blazed with killing intent as he fixed them on the fallen woman.

“Who are you? I don’t recall knowing anyone bold enough to lay hands on me.”

“W-wait! Ruan—no, Your Grace! Don’t you recognize me?”

Ruan? She just called him Ruan?

Merican blinked in confusion as Lucianne addressed him with such familiarity.

Ruan’s gaze remained glacial. “Your Grace? So, you claim to know me?”

“R-Ruan—no, Your Grace. It’s me. The one you longed to see… Mer—”

But faced with his deadly expression, fear overtook her, and she faltered.

“Mer?”

“I mean… Mer’s elder sister, Lucianne Beanomane. We met at the wedding, and again at the Crown Prince’s coronation. Have you truly forgotten?”

At her words, Ruan turned toward Merican as though to confirm.

Why is she bringing me into this?

“You claim to be Mer’s sister?” he asked, frowning.

“Yes,” Lucianne said, her voice trembling with tears. “Mer has always been my precious, beloved sister. When word spread that Your Grace had died, my mother and I worried she might be cast out of the ducal house. But when we went to look for her, she was gone. Even though we quarreled once and nearly severed ties, she is still my one and only sister. We waited for her to return home, but she never came.”

They went to the duchy? To find me?

Merican’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Lucianne, oblivious, pressed on with a pitiful look toward Ruan.

“It feels as if Mer abandoned us as well as Your Grace. She always said she longed to live alone somewhere far away, but I never dreamed she would disappear without a word. Ohhh…”

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

That look. 

That act of pitiful self-victimhood.

Merican recognized it instantly. 

Lucianne had worn the same expression whenever she wanted something from their mother.

But what does she want from Ruan?

And what was that nonsense about a “beloved sister”? Did Lucianne mean Merican—or was she claiming there was another Mer?

Merican stared, dumbfounded, as Lucianne wove her pitiful lies. 

Zelda leaned in close to whisper.

“Rosaline —that woman… it can’t be?”

“Yes. She was once my sister.”

“You’re serious? The one who tormented you? I knew it—she looked hateful the moment I saw her. And pretty? Hah! You’re far lovelier.”

“That’s just your eyes, Zelda. But… that gaudy makeup, that rustic styling… Wait. It’s familiar.”

Then it struck her. 

The hair, the paint, even the dress—Lucianne had styled herself to mimic the way Merican once looked at the viscount’s house.

No. She wouldn’t… She wouldn’t actually try to pass herself off as me, would she?

Merican gaped at her sister, stunned.

Impossible. Surely even she wouldn’t…

Ruan cut through the tension, his voice like steel.

“And what brings you here? Are you looking for Mer?”

Lucianne’s face grew more woeful.

“No. I searched everywhere for her, but in vain. Heartbroken, I went with my mother to the coronation banquet. There, I saw you—whom I thought long dead. Seeing Your Grace made me think of Mer again. My mother was too weak, so I took it upon myself to look for her. Along the way, I learned you were here. I only wished to stop by, to reminisce about her with you.”

Stopping by? Reminisce?

Ruan frowned.

Since when were Rosaline and her sister ever close? 

And why does Rosaline stand there in silence, making no move to greet her own kin?

Wait. If she’s Mer’s sister…

Could it be… then?