Acidity of Regret Ch 22
- Dec 21, 2025
- 8 min read
Vanessa stood between his knees, her fingers gently combing through his tousled obsidian hair.
As she brushed back the slightly stray locks, his forehead was revealed—a feature so flawless it seemed almost unfair.
Below it, the deep-set eyes and the sharp, elegant bridge of his nose unfolded like a masterwork painting following the path of her fingertips.
[Declan] "How many days are left?"
[Vanessa] "Pardon?"
[Declan] "Until our wedding."
Declan, who had been accepting her touch as if it were a goddess’s blessing, spoke abruptly. Her fingertips happened to be brushing against his lips at that exact moment.
The sensation of his lips—soft and radiating a heat more intense than mere body temperature—surprised her, and she quickly withdrew her hand.
She shifted her gaze, mentally counting the days to answer him.
[Vanessa] "Three weeks. Give or take."
The realization that so much time had already passed struck her as she spoke the words. Though she had done nothing of note, the days had slipped away with a strange, fleeting quality.
In the past, such quiet days would have felt like pure peace, but now… she wasn't so sure. There was a certain weight to the passing seconds, a pressure she couldn't quite articulate.
Perhaps it was the lingering shadow of her family’s unresolved treason, or perhaps it was a quiet, desperate impatience to be wed as soon as possible.
[Declan] "I wish those three weeks would hurry up and vanish."
Vanessa lowered her eyes slowly at his confession, which came wrapped in the faint scent of liquor.
Declan leaned his face against her waist, his slightly bloodshot eyes staring off into the room. She followed his gaze. At the end of it stood the wedding dress, resplendent and shimmering.
After much deliberation, they had agreed on a private, scaled-back ceremony. It was Declan’s suggestion, and Vanessa had accepted.
She had no one left to invite as a guest, and on the day she finally tied her life to his, she had no desire to endure the stinging glares of strangers.
Had the previous Grand Duke and his wife been alive, they would never have allowed such a modest affair. However, like her parents, they had passed away long ago; there was no one left to object to their decisions.
Technically, a wedding dress wasn't even necessary for such a small ceremony, yet Declan had insisted on summoning a master tailor to craft it.
‘Just because it’s a simple ceremony doesn't mean I intend to treat it lightly.’
Her heart had hammered against her ribs when he said that.
It was no exaggeration to say that a wedding was the bride’s day—the one day she was meant to be the center of the world.
Even without a crowd of guests, his sincerity in wanting her to feel that magic was palpable.
[Vanessa] "Declan, it’s late. You should get to bed, or you’ll be exhausted tomorrow."
Realizing they couldn't stay like this forever, she spoke softly while stroking his hair.
She had nothing but time, but Declan did not. As the Grand Duke, he spent his days buried under the crushing weight of state affairs.
While she cherished the time he sought her out, she worried that his devotion would cost him his health.
[Declan] "Vanessa."
[Vanessa] "Yes?"
[Declan] "Tell me."
He caught the palm that had been petting his hair and pressed his lips to it.
The gesture—something a holy knight might do when swearing a blood oath of fealty—looked profoundly sacred. It felt like a physical manifestation of his feelings for her, making her heart tingle.
She understood immediately what he was asking for. With cheeks flushed like ripe apples, she whispered.
[Vanessa] "I love you."
[Declan] "Again."
[Vanessa] "I love you, Declan."
[Declan] "Once more."
Like a man dying of thirst stumbling upon an oasis in a scorching desert, he craved her words. He devoured her confession over and over, as if that single sentence was the only rain that could soothe his parched soul.
Vanessa found a strange beauty in the way he pulled the love from her. She owed him so much; if these words could lighten his burden even a fraction, she was willing to say them a thousand times over.
[Vanessa] "How long are you going to make me say it?"
Despite her willingness, the embarrassment was real.
Vanessa gave his shoulder a shy, playful shove. She didn't pull her hand away, however, continuing to stroke his coat.
Declan let out a low chuckle and looked up at her.
[Declan] "Don't ever say those words to another man."
[Vanessa] "..."
[Declan] "Only to me."
[Vanessa] "There is no one else to say them to but you."
The man who rarely smiled was now grinning constantly, softened by the alcohol. It was a look so tender it erased the icy, forbidding impression his usual stoicism left behind.
Seeing him act so pliable despite his massive frame, she felt as if she were tending to a large, tamed beast.
As he basked in her touch, his brow suddenly furrowed. As if the liquor had temporarily masked a problem that was now resurfacing, his expression turned troubled.
[Declan] "That reminds me... Carter mentioned something today. He said that even if we keep the ceremony private, skipping the reception entirely might be impossible."
[Vanessa] "Ah..."
The thought had crossed her mind as well.
In high society, a wedding was more than a union; it was a grand political maneuver. It served as a stage for strengthening alliances and cementing the hierarchy between houses.
Moreover, the groom was none other than the Grand Duke of Vinkart, the master of these lands.
Every noble in the Duchy would be itching to offer their "congratulations"—less out of genuine joy and more for the desperate chance to curry favor. Unless there was a dire excuse, bypassing the reception was a social impossibility.
[Declan] "Word has already leaked to certain nobles that the wedding will be a small affair."
His brow creased with irritation. The warmth he had shown her vanished, replaced by his trademark ferocity.
[Declan] "It’s our marriage. Why the hell do we have to cater to their tastes?"
Vanessa shared his sentiment, yet she understood the nobles' perspective.
Before her fall from grace, flatterers had swarmed her just to stay in her good graces—and she wasn't even royalty.
If they were that sycophantic toward a girl with a pretty face, they would be absolutely desperate to reach a man of the Grand Duke’s bloodline.
[Declan] "What do you want to do?"
He asked, idly playing with a strand of her golden hair. From start to finish, he deferred to her, as if the only thing that mattered in this marriage was the bride’s will.
She blinked slowly.
Vanessa had been worried that this marriage was far too disadvantageous for Declan. While they were both consenting to it, there was no denying that on paper, he was the one suffering the loss.
By marrying her, he gained nothing and stood to lose a significant portion of his prestige. The guilt of it gnawed at her.
Since Declan had chosen a private ceremony solely for her comfort, Vanessa decided it was her turn to yield. As the future Grand Duchess, she considered what would best serve him, and the answer was clear.
[Vanessa] "Let’s hold the reception. We should greet the guests."
His hand stilled. He looked at her with eyes full of unspoken thoughts.
[Declan] "Will you be okay?"
[Vanessa] "Once the ceremony is over, we will be husband and wife legally. I think I’ll be fine then."
I can endure it. As long as you are by my side as my husband.
She hoped her resolve reached him.
Declan stared at her in silence for a long moment before finally standing up. His shadow loomed large over her for a second before he leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her cheek. Then, with a stride that was much steadier than before, he walked out.
Her cheek burned where his lips had touched, and she rubbed the spot repeatedly. Her heart raced at the casual affection.
Strangely, that small touch made the reality of the wedding—only three weeks away—feel more real than it ever had before.
The three weeks passed faster than expected, swallowed by the rhythm of their daily routine.
Vanessa’s days were as structured as a clock. She woke late and shared an early lunch with Declan.
While he attended to the affairs of the state, she spent her leisure time walking the gardens or reading.
When the weather was fair, she enjoyed tea alone on the terrace.
In the evening, she dined with Declan, and the rest of their hours were spent in the privacy of the bedroom.
It was a peaceful existence.
And yet, Vanessa was never truly at ease. Wherever she went, sharp, needle-like gazes pricked at her, and hushed whispers followed in her wake.
It was unavoidable. No matter how much she tried to feign indifference, she couldn't get used to being trapped in a cage of judgmental eyes.
The wedding preparations moved forward steadily.
Usually, a noble wedding required at least six months of preparation. But since their main ceremony was to be simple, they only had to worry about the reception.
And since a reception was little more than a standard gala, it wasn't particularly difficult to organize.
As a result, only three months had passed since his proposal by the lake. That was all the time it took for them to become husband and wife.
Vanessa thought she was prepared. But when the day before the wedding finally arrived, she couldn't shake the nerves.
Though Declan and Vanessa shared a bedroom (if not always a bed), they decided to sleep in separate rooms on the final night.
There was no grand reason for it. Vanessa simply suggested it, thinking that since they would share a room for the rest of their lives, this would be their last night of solitude.
Her mental state had stabilized significantly during her time with Declan; she no longer suffered from nightmares even when he wasn't there.
[Declan] "If you get scared, you’re welcome in my room anytime."
Declan had followed her to the room next door under the pretext of escorting her, whispering playfully at the threshold.
When Vanessa gave him a faint smile, he pinned her with a lingering, heavy gaze.
He often looked at her like that—as if trying to memorize her. Though his blunt stare always made her blush, she met his eyes bravely tonight; she had something she wanted to say.
[Vanessa] "Thank you, Declan."
Tomorrow, finally. She would marry this man.
As the reality washed over her, a flood of complex emotions became impossible to suppress.
The man who saved her when she was spiraling toward the abyss, who gave her the gift of faith in love, and who finally carved out a place for her here.
Every time she dwelled on it, the sheer scale of her gratitude overwhelmed her.
Declan reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He left a lingering kiss on her forehead before turning to leave. It was his usual ritual before sleep—a tactile "goodnight."
Vanessa closed the door, her heart thumping against her chest like a drum.
She looked up at the night sky; it was exceptionally clear.
She made a silent wish that tomorrow’s weather would be exactly like tonight’s.
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