Acidity of Regret Ch 71
- Jan 24
- 7 min read
He shifted his gaze from his dark contemplations to Julian. A question Julian had asked him in a long-forgotten memory suddenly resurfaced in his mind.
[Julian] “Do you love Vanessa Rohawk?”
When the news of the marriage first broke, he had asked that question with a look of sheer disbelief. Declan remembered his answer perfectly.
[Declan] "No."
[Julian] "..."
[Declan] "I do not love her."
He had been able to answer without a moment’s hesitation because, at the time, he had been utterly, profoundly ignorant.
He lowered his eyes, moving them away from Julian.
[Duchess] “Declan, love is a truly wretched emotion. It feels as if you are standing on the edge of a cliff every single day.
When that person smiles at you, your body leans toward safety, but when they oppress you, it feels as if thorns are sprouting beneath your toes.
You struggle against that pain until you slip, and in an instant, you tumble into the abyss. Every moment spent trying to hold on is filled with nothing but anxiety.”
This was the drunken rambling his mother used to repeat endlessly.
[Duchess] “So, I hope... I hope you never have to experience this.”
Strangely, when his mother was soaked in alcohol, she seemed to possess more reason than usual.
It is so wretched; it is nothing but a daily hell...
At the time, he had felt nothing but disgust at her daily outbursts. He had silently seethed, thinking that if she called her feelings wretched, she herself was a far more wretched existence to him.
He had never experienced the emotion himself back then—or rather, because of his loathsome mother, he had developed such a deep-seated revulsion toward love that he never even attempted to contemplate her words. He had carved the vow into his heart that he would never become a person like her.
But now, he understood the meaning of those words.
Even if he wanted to remain ignorant, he had no choice but to know.
His mother had described it as a cliff, but to him, it was something else.
Over the past few days, he had been swaying between heaven and hell based on a single word or action from Vanessa. When she looked at him with even a hint of concern, he grew so tense that every fine hair on his body seemed to stand on end. Yet, the moment he saw her gaze wander back to Hayden, a violent, searing rage erupted within him.
He wanted her gaze, her voice, and her touch. He wanted everything she was capable of doing to be directed solely at him.
This was nothing more than a foul jealousy, no different from the one his mother had displayed toward the Empress. He had loathed his mother for being consumed by her emotions, yet in reality, he was doing the exact same thing.
[Declan] "...Ha."
If this behavior—so unlike his usual self—did not belong to a man drowning in love, then what was it?
Self-mockery welled up inside him like water springing from a bottomless well.
[Julian] "Declan?"
Julian looked at him with confusion as he clutched his forehead and let out a string of hollow, dry laughs.
[Vanessa] “You don’t even love me.”
Her voice had been flat and monotonous. Yet, within that tone, dozens of thorns had been embedded to strike him. Those thorns had transferred directly into his chest, where they remained vivid and sharp, occasionally piercing his very heart.
[Declan] "I love her."
Julian, who was in the middle of closing the first-aid kit, froze.
[Julian] "What?"
He kept his eyes fixed on the floor. Although his voice was directed at Julian, the meaning was not intended for him.
His eyes remained dark and sunken, yet they were firm, possessed by the clarity of a man who had finally realized the truth. It was proof that not a single doubt remained regarding the words he was currently speaking.
[Declan] "I love her."
As the words left his mouth, a sudden thought occurred to him.
Had his mother felt this way?
Had his father felt this way?
Was this how their hearts felt as they ruminated on their different versions of love?
[Declan] "Vanessa Rohawk."
All sorts of lingering regrets and the last remnant of denial were washed away like a receding tide, leaving nothing behind but a state of emotional subjugation.
It felt hollow, yet simultaneously full.
It was bitter, yet his heart hammered with a contradictory violence.
[Declan] "I am saying that I love her."
In the end, he had been completely consumed by this irresistible force—the unavoidable necessity of admitting it was love.
[Dina] "My Lady, are you feeling ill? Your complexion is quite pale."
Early that morning, Dina approached the bed and asked the question softly. Vanessa offered the widest smile she could muster and shook her head.
The food prepared for the meal was excellent, but she had no appetite; she merely toyed with it, moving the morsels back and forth.
Her mind was in turmoil because of the memories of the previous day that kept resurfacing whenever she tried to forget them.
Declan’s sudden intrusion, the truth she had barely managed to uncover, their relationship—which was already unsightly but had now shattered completely—and Hayden, who insisted he could not give up on the marriage.
The more she thought about it, the more dazed she felt, as if both her feet were sinking into a muddy, suffocating swamp.
A sharp, throbbing pain suddenly shot through her abdomen, causing her to clutch her stomach.
[Vanessa] "Dina, please bring me some medicine for indigestion."
Dina, who had been standing by as if she had expected this, quickly approached with medicine and a glass of water. Her youthful face was clouded with deep concern.
[Dina] "Is your digestion troubling you?"
[Vanessa] "Yes."
Considering she hadn't actually eaten anything, the stinging pain in her stomach was clearly not caused by a physical ailment. It was a psychological discomfort.
The twisted relationships that entwined them all like thorny vines were making her weak. It felt as if their collective, rotting emotions were gathering inside her, festering into a dark, painful wound.
[Dina] "If it is too difficult, why don’t you rest for the day? The Crown Prince is not the type of person to be angry if you miss a single day..."
[Vanessa] "It isn't that bad."
She spoke sincerely, but with a face as white as a sheet; it was a hollow excuse. However, that was the limit of how much Dina could interfere as a servant. She quietly bowed her head and waited for her mistress to finish the meal.
Most of the food remained, but Vanessa didn't have the slightest desire to pick up her fork again. She soothed her aching stomach with a cup of fragrant tea and sat down at her vanity.
It was only when she faced the mirror properly that she realized why Dina had been so worried. The reflection in the polished glass revealed a woman who looked worn down to the bone.
Would it even be possible to pretend to be fine with a face like this? To receive flowers with an indifferent expression...
[Vanessa] "Helia."
She wondered if Helia would sit beside her again today.
Helia had also been standing at the door yesterday. Vanessa had told her that she and Declan were nothing to each other; what must Helia have thought when she saw Vanessa facing him with a face drenched in tears?
She reached that thought and immediately brushed it away. It didn't matter what Helia thought. This was the Empire, and she no longer had any reason to tolerate her. Her mind was already chaotic enough with Hayden and Declan; she didn't want to add any more worries to the pile.
Once she finished her preparations, she headed toward the arena.
In contrast to her poor condition, the weather today was exceptionally bright. She looked up at the sky from beneath the parasol Dina held for her, then casually turned her head.
By some strange timing, she came face-to-face with Helia, who was walking briskly as if she had just entered the stadium. She paused for a moment, an unreadable expression on her face, before moving on. However, instead of taking her usual seat next to Vanessa, she sat some distance away.
As she had expected.
Judging by that attitude, it was clear Helia had sensed the subtle tension from the day before.
Vanessa’s cold heart felt cluttered. It felt as if threads stretching from every person involved were tangling into a messy knot inside her.
While she was lost in her own thoughts, the loud blast of a trumpet echoed across the arena. It was the signal for the participants to enter. As she raised her eyes, Declan appeared from the waiting area at that exact moment.
She watched him, suppressing a sigh that threatened to rise to her throat as a reflex.
His obsidian-dark hair swayed in the gentle breeze. It was when he brushed back his fluttering hair that she noticed the bandages wrapped around his hand. The white bandages stood out in stark contrast to his black hair.
Drawn by the clear difference in tone, her gaze naturally fell upon the injury.
Whenever she came to watch Hayden’s matches, Declan’s matches were strangely always sandwiched in between, as if the schedule had been designed as a single unit. Consequently, she was forced to see him even when she didn't want to.
Declan had not lost a single time throughout the tournament. Like a vanguard and commander leading the Duchy’s forces with a silver sword, he was writing a history of undefeated victories.
And yet, his hand was wrapped in bandages. Since he hadn't been injured during a match, the wound must have been caused by something personal.
She pushed the mounting questions away. She didn't want to care about him anymore. It didn't matter to her whether that man was hurt or not. It was utterly useless.
That man was the very person who had unhesitatingly destroyed her and her family just to exact his revenge on Hayden.
Her heart grew calm as she reminded herself of this truth, as if pouring cold water over a flame.
As if determined to cause a ripple in her composure, Declan suddenly turned his head toward her.
Their eyes met in midair.
His expression was similar to the one he had worn when he asked, "Should I get on my knees and beg?"—the face of a beast trembling with sorrow, not knowing what to do.
Yet, it was different. Back then, he had seemed lost, like someone wandering in the dark; today, he looked strangely firm and resolved, as if he had found his place.
Perhaps it was because the eyes that had been shaking aimlessly the last time she saw them were now fixed, without a single tremor.
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