Acidity of Regret Ch 72
- Jan 25
- 7 min read
Vanessa found herself unable to tear her eyes away from him. Usually, she would have looked away long ago, but a palpable change seemed to have taken hold of him, causing her fingertips to curl instinctively.
She wondered if this change would work in her favor or against her. Given a man like him—unpredictable and prone to sudden, explosive actions—the latter was far more likely.
The tension coiled within her, growing tighter with every passing second as she wondered what absurd stunt he might pull next to humiliate her.
[Vanessa] “…”
[Declan] “…”
The sounds of the crowd seemed to recede into the distance, leaving her with the unsettling illusion that they were the only two people left in the arena.
Declan stared at her with an obsessive intensity, only breaking his gaze when the signal to begin the match finally blared.
Her heart hammered so violently that she found it impossible to focus on the duel. Cold sweat beaded on her skin, and her entire body went rigid, as if a snake’s venomous fangs had just sunk into her neck. It was a chill that defied explanation.
The crowd erupted in a roar.
While she fought off her internal shivers, the match ended as predictably and hollowly as always.
His opponent had been hurled out of the ring, collapsing in the dirt. Despite having just wielded his sword, not a single thread of his uniform was out of place. It was a display of overwhelming, one-sided power.
After the victory was announced, a maid approached him carrying a basket brimming with roses. He lowered his sword and peered into the basket.
It’s over.
Vanessa, who had been frozen throughout the entire bout, finally felt the invisible shackles loosen as his sword returned to its scabbard.
She slowly rubbed the back of her neck, finding it damp with sweat as she had feared. It seemed her body had reached its limit, and she could no longer convince herself that she was fine.
She was just about to tell Dina that she couldn’t bear another moment and needed to leave when a sound stopped her.
[Dina] “Oh...?”
A strange, startled gasp escaped Dina’s lips as she held the parasol.
Vanessa’s gaze naturally drifted back toward the arena. The Imperial maid holding the flower basket wore an expression of total bewilderment, mirroring Dina’s own shocked face.
The reason was simple: instead of taking the single rose permitted to every victor, he had snatched up a massive handful, clutching them like a jagged bouquet.
[Vanessa] “…”
She watched blankly as the man in the charcoal-black uniform began to stride toward her.
His strides were long, and the distance between them vanished in an instant.
Her instincts screamed at her to flee before something happened, but the scene unfolding before her felt so detached from reality that her mind went momentarily numb.
Perhaps that strange, swelling pulse she had felt earlier wasn't a sign of physical exhaustion, but a premonition of this very moment.
As Declan approached, a startled Dina stepped back, accidentally tilting the parasol. The midday sun slanted down, causing a sudden, brilliant scattering of light to dance before her eyes.
Before she could gather her scattered wits, it happened.
Thwack, rustle—
Something poured over her lap like a summer drizzle, or perhaps like a flurry of winter sleet.
As if someone were winding a clock’s gears in slow motion, the scene covered her retinas and burned itself into her memory like a painting.
A color brighter than the scorching sun stained her vision a deep, bloody red. A faint floral scent wafted up, invading her lungs without permission.
[Vanessa] “…”
The roses were too numerous for her lap to hold; they overflowed, spilling onto the floor until they surrounded her feet. It wasn't just a single flower; it was a deluge of blossoms that seemed determined to suffocate her.
Just as Declan intended, she could neither breathe in nor out. She could only stare vacantly ahead. Through the crimson petals fluttering in the air like falling leaves, only his face remained sharp and clear.
She was used to the weight of public scrutiny. In high society, a single gesture or a stray glance often birthed a mountain of rumors. Yet, she had never felt as humiliated and cornered as she did in this moment, wanting nothing more than to bolt from her seat.
The gazes of the onlookers felt like needles pricking every inch of her skin. Even without looking, she could feel everyone around her frantically speculating on the nature of her relationship with the Grand Duke.
She took a long, thin breath, trying to steady the turmoil rising from deep within her chest.
In the tradition of presenting roses, there were two strict protocols. First, a victor was only permitted a single rose. Second, there was an unwritten rule that one should never present a rose to a woman who was already spoken for.
Declan had just shattered both taboos. He had showered her with enough roses to form a massive bouquet, and the woman forced to receive them was the official fiancée of the Crown Prince.
It was an act guaranteed to cause a scandalous uproar. It was the perfect feast for the aristocratic hyenas who lived to tear apart tales of illicit passion.
Having committed this outrageous act so boldly, he stood tall with his usual stoic expression, his eyes fixed solely on her.
Amidst the sea of onlookers, a deathly silence hung between the two of them.
[Dina] “M-My Lady!”
Coming to her senses, Dina hurriedly knelt to gather the roses scattered across the floor.
Vanessa swallowed hard and lowered her eyes. Her head spun as if the vivid red color were paralyzing her senses. Suddenly, a memory surfaced—the single rose she had once carefully plucked in her previous life, intending to give it to him. It was the evidence of the love she had once held.
And the roses he gave her now... the meaning behind a tournament victor’s gift...
It was a confession—as red, passionate, and searing as the scene before her.
As she ruminated on the implication, her breath hitched as if something were caught in her throat. It felt as though the fluttering petals had settled not on her lap, but inside her very lungs.
She clenched her fists, fighting the urge to flee. A few stray petals crushed weakly inside her palms.
She had no idea how she managed to endure until Hayden’s match was over. She stayed out of the desperate belief that leaving early would be like pouring oil onto the fire Declan had started.
He had stood there like a statue, staring at her until the palace guards informed him it was time to exit. Had they not intervened, he looked as though he would have stood there watching her for days.
She had ignored him, staring straight ahead, but his intense gaze felt like a thorn lodged in her throat.
Hayden, whose turn came shortly after, claimed his victory as expected and presented her with a single rose. Usually, she would have accepted it with a soft, graceful smile. Today, however, the knowledge that even this simple gesture would be linked to Declan’s scandal made it impossible to smile. She couldn't even remember what face she had made when she took Hayden's flower.
[Vanessa] “…Dina.”
Returning to her bedroom after the day’s events, she stared at the table for a long time before speaking. Her voice carried a distinct chill. At the end of her sharp gaze sat a vase overflowing with roses—the ones Dina had frantically gathered from the arena floor.
[Dina] “Yes, My Lady.”
Dina, who had been hovering anxiously in the corner watching her mistress glare at the vase, hurried over. Vanessa slowly crossed her arms.
[Vanessa] “Could you call for an Imperial servant?”
[Dina] “Pardon? Why do you need an Imperial servant, My Lady?”
[Vanessa] “I am going to return these flowers.”
Dina sucked in a sharp breath.
[Dina] “If that is the case, I will take them!”
[Vanessa] “No. There is no point in your going.”
[Dina] “My Lady...?”
She tilted her head in confusion but soon understood exactly what Vanessa meant. She hesitated, looking as though she blamed herself for picking the flowers up in the first place, but eventually called for an Imperial servant.
Soon, a servant—one clearly trained in strict palace etiquette—arrived at Vanessa’s room and bowed deeply.
[Servant] “Do you have a task for me, My Lady?”
Vanessa, who had been sitting motionless and staring at the vase, stood up. She gathered the messy bundle of stems and thrust them toward the servant.
Since the roses for the tournament were prepared for the nobility, the thorns had been removed by the staff long ago. Yet, she felt an unpleasant sensation, as if thorns were digging into her palms.
[Vanessa] “These. I would like you to return them to the Grand Duke.”
The servant’s eyes, which had been calm since entering the room, filled with sudden alarm.
It was the reaction Vanessa expected.
Several hours had passed since the end of the matches. The murmurs that had persisted throughout the day would have surely spread by now in the form of ugly, distorted gossip.
The servant clearly knew the story: that Declan had dared to break two taboos to shower the Crown Prince’s fiancée with roses.
[Servant] “A-Are you referring to me, My Lady?”
[Vanessa] “I have my own maids, but I believe you understand why I am tasking you with this instead.”
The servant clutched the bundle of flowers, his lips pressed thin. He understood.
She was making a clear, public statement:
Vanessa Rohawk, the fiancée of the Crown Prince, has rejected the Grand Duke’s roses.
By using an Imperial servant, she was ensuring that this rejection would be broadcast as widely as the original scandal.
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