Acidity of Regret Ch 26
- Dec 23, 2025
- 7 min read
Declan knew exactly how to starve her of affection, only to feed her just enough to keep her longing.
He seemed to have an uncanny sense for the exact moment her loneliness peaked, reappearing just in time to offer the very comfort she found impossible to refuse.
That night, after she had finally drifted into a fitful sleep fueled by isolation, Declan returned late.
Vanessa stirred as warmth seeped into her side.
Her heart, which had initially frozen in a startle, thawed into a weary relief the moment she recognized the familiar scent of her husband. He smelled of fresh soap and the crisp night air.
[Declan] "Did I wake you? I’m sorry."
[Vanessa] "No... you're just getting back?"
[Declan] "I am. Did the gala go well?"
Vanessa hesitated. The memory of the biting whispers and Helia’s sabotage burned in her throat, but she forced a quick nod to avoid his suspicion. He was already drowning in state affairs; she refused to tether her own burdens to his.
She was exhausted from the social battlefield, but she kept her silence, fearing that the truth would only weigh him down.
She didn't realize that this selflessness was the fuel for her growing isolation—a tragic irony that any observer would call "devotion."
Hiding her weariness behind a mask of stoicism, she spoke softly.
[Vanessa] "Will you... always be this busy?"
[Declan] "Most likely."
When her face fell, Declan pressed a fleeting, apologetic kiss to her lips.
[Declan] "An unidentified gorge has appeared in the canyon. Judging by the mana hemorrhaging from it, something is wrong. I need to investigate. It could be a 'hole'—a rift that spawns monsters."
The Duchy’s prosperity was a fragile illusion. In reality, it sat precariously beside a nest of monsters, a peace maintained solely by the iron-fisted protection of the Grand Ducal house.
Any anomaly regarding the beasts required an immediate, decisive response. It was a matter of national survival.
[Vanessa] "...I see. That is important."
Living in the Duchy now, Vanessa understood the stakes. She knew a monster raid was a death sentence for the unprepared, yet the logic didn't stop her heart from aching.
She studied his face in the dim light, a question slipping past her lips before she could check it.
[Vanessa] "Declan? Do you remember... the favor I asked before we married?"
[Declan] "A favor?"
[Vanessa] "I asked you to investigate the informant—the person who betrayed my family."
He blinked slowly, his response coming a heartbeat late.
[Declan] "I remember."
[Vanessa] "Have you... found anything?"
[Declan] "I’ve looked into it, but the trail went cold. It’s as if they vanished off the face of the earth after the betrayal."
He spoke with a frustrated edge, as if the lack of progress genuinely grated on him.
Vanessa toyed with his large hand, falling into a pensive silence.
Declan watched her with sharp, predatory eyes that showed no trace of sleepiness, carefully reading every flicker of emotion on her face.
Finally, she broke the silence.
[Vanessa] "You can stop the investigation."
[Declan] "Why?"
His voice was laced with confusion.
Vanessa’s mind drifted back to the gala.
Helia had approached her with a false, saccharine warmth. Vanessa had been foolish enough to engage, only for Helia to pivot from small talk to the "treason" of the Rohawk family, feigning innocent curiosity.
Being questioned by someone who clearly knew her history felt like being flayed alive for the crowd's amusement.
[Vanessa] "I don't care to know anymore."
Helia’s malice had taught her one thing: the truth about the Rohawk family didn't matter to anyone else. To the nobility, her family’s ruin was just another piece of social currency—delicious gossip to be chewed on and spat out.
The truth was only for her. Even if her father were proven innocent, the world would only offer a half-hearted shrug before moving on to the next scandal. There would be no apologies. No restitution.
She didn't want to exhaust her spirit for a hollow victory. The truth wouldn't bring her father back from the grave.
Now, she only had Declan. She wanted to live not as the last ghost of the Rohawk bloodline, but as the wife of the Grand Duke.
She couldn't tell if this was growth or mere resignation.
[Vanessa] "I want to bury the Rohawk name and simply live as your wife. In peace."
It was time to inter the past and its suffocating questions. She wanted to stop running from the pain and find sanctuary at his side.
The image of her father’s miserable end flickered in her mind. Vanessa squeezed her eyes shut, trying to distance herself from the guilt.
Declan stroked her hair with a gentle, comforting touch.
Because she had closed her eyes, she didn't see it.
In the shadows, he was smiling.
Helia Quasar gnawed on her thumbnail, her face a mask of agitation.
It was a habit she had spent years trying to break—a crude, unladylike gesture—but it resurfaced whenever anxiety gained the upper hand.
Infuriating.
Helia’s gaze was fixed on a woman standing beneath the crystalline glow of the chandeliers.
Vanessa Rohawk. A high traitor of the Ingzella Empire. A woman who had somehow managed to trade her wretched fate for the title of Grand Duchess, all by charming the right man. It was a sickeningly cinematic rise to power.
At first, Helia hadn't believed it.
The news of Declan’s sudden marriage had been a bolt from the blue for a woman who had harbored a crush on him since his days as a young lordling.
That she was the one to take that seat was intolerable.
She’s pretty. That makes it even worse.
Even the way the Grand Duchess gave orders to the servants was like a scene from a masterpiece—graceful, effortless, and elegant.
The hall was full of pathetic men staring at the Grand Duchess, mesmerized. Some looked like they were seconds away from drooling. Among them were several young lords who had once confessed their undying love to Helia, only to be rejected.
Helia had been raised as the "Flower of the Duchy." Beauty was her currency; everywhere she went, she was showered with adoration. Life and relationships had always been easy for her.
She had heard of "Vanessa Rohawk" before. The "Angel of Ingzella." It was a trite title, supposedly derived from the fourteenth angel of scripture known for her divine beauty.
Until she met Vanessa in the flesh, Helia had assumed it was all hyperbole. She had arrogantly thought that perhaps the Empire lacked true beauties, leading them to worship a mediocre girl. It was the kind of pride that only grew from ignorance.
But more importantly, she never expected this celebrity to snatch the groom she had already claimed in her heart.
The moment the "Angel" set foot in the Duchy and took her man, Helia’s heart curdled into something venomous.
The memory of the wedding reception was still vivid.
The Grand Duke, a man who had never shown her a shred of interest, had been utterly devoted to Vanessa. Seeing those matching rings had made Helia’s blood boil.
I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.
So, she had decided to make Vanessa’s life a living hell. She used her connections to demand galas, then orchestrated small disasters and subtle slights to fray the new Duchess’s nerves.
But the Grand Duchess was more resilient than expected.
Helia had assumed Vanessa was just another pampered girl who would fold under pressure and tuck her tail between her legs the moment things got difficult. Yet, here they were, at the eighth gala.
Helia tilted her glass, surveying the room.
[Cotton] "So, Helia. What’s the plan for tonight?"
Lady Cotton, a "friend" who had been an enthusiastic accomplice in the sabotage, whispered the question with a conspiratorial grin.
Helia stared at the head table. Vanessa sat there in a pristine white gown, smiling as she conversed with the guests.
That’s my seat. I should be the one sitting there!
Helia ground her teeth.
[Cotton] "She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. She hasn't lost that smile once."
[Noblewoman] "Is that how the capital's nobility are? We’ve never left the Duchy, after all."
The surrounding ladies chimed in, their eyes following Helia’s gaze toward Vanessa.
[Noblewoman] "More importantly... the Grand Duke isn't here again today, is he?"
Helia’s hand froze mid-swirl.
[Noblewoman] "Now that you mention it, he’s nowhere to be found."
[Cotton] "I haven't seen them together once since the wedding reception."
The questions began to pile up, fueling a growing fire of speculation.
[Cotton] "I heard he’s away on 'personal business.' Helia, didn't Count Quasar say something about that?"
Lady Cotton spoke with an air of self-importance.
But Helia didn't answer; she was lost in thought.
The ladies were right. Declan hadn't been seen with Vanessa a single time since they were married.
This was the eighth gala, and even for a man as busy as the Duke, a total absence was suspicious.
She had asked her brother, Julian, about it. As Lady Cotton said, Julian had told her it was monster-related business.
But...
Is that really the truth?
Because the Duke had rushed the marriage, everyone had assumed he was head-over-heels for his bride. But his behavior since then suggested otherwise. There was no sign of a doting husband.
If Declan truly loved her, he would be by her side, shielding her and elevating her in front of the court—especially since he, of all people, knew she was a "traitor." Leaving her like this only damaged her reputation.
Could it be? Is he already bored with her?
Helia’s eyes sparkled with a new light.
Yes, perhaps.
He had been dazzled by a pretty face and rushed into a marriage only to find the reality disappointing. Perhaps he was using his "duties" as an excuse to avoid his wife.
The sudden spark of hope made Helia’s heart race with anticipation.
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