Secret Love Affair between a Former Saint and a Dark Hero - Chapter 40
Iora attempted to erase the image of the man’s face from her mind. It wasn’t affectionate. It wasn’t warm. There was no reason for her heart to flutter.
‘I’m not falling for Ovid. So, please, heart, stay quiet.’
When this absurd novel comes to an end, Iora wished for nothing more than to be normal—to live the life of an ordinary noble daughter rather than a saint candidate. If her family disowned her, so be it. She wanted to quietly leave for the countryside.
Clutching her fists tightly against her chest, she took a slow, deep breath. Then, she lifted her head. The scene unfolding seemed straight out of a painting. The faint echoes of people’s admiration and applause resonated softly. A smiling woman walked hand in hand with a handsome man as they descended.
The man, still engaged to Iora, was not holding her hand but that of another woman as they gracefully descended. They seemed like protagonists from a novel, overcoming all adversity and hardship to seize happiness.
But.
‘…Why?’
Everything seemed perfect, but Iora’s eyes widened in horror as she watched.
‘That dress.’
She was keenly aware of the eyes of those who had been whispering admiration and praise glancing near the wall, turning to her. Because yes, it was the same.
The color and style of the beautiful dress worn by the angelic Arcanda, walking down with a radiant smile, seemed identical to her own dress. It was almost as if they had been meticulously prepared to match for the occasion.
‘But Arcanda distinctly promised to use an orange fabric for this.’
Arcanda’s figure, smiling brightly and holding out a finger, wavered like a shadow on the water. No, it couldn’t be. Iora shook her head. Could the kind and lovely protagonist commit such a malicious act—deliberately doing something that it invited comparison? There must be some reason behind it.
However, Iora’s heart pounded painfully, sensing danger like a young prey animal.
“Seems she’s not even ashamed. So eager to copy everything about Arcanda, even down to her debutante’s dress?”
“She doesn’t know her place. Didn’t realize that it only drags her position further down, did she?”
“The fact that it’s the same dress makes it more obvious how expensive that one is and how cheap the other is.”
No, it couldn’t be. Surely she wasn’t that foolish. To everyone else, Arcanda was a shining diamond, while Iora seemed like a deflated balloon!
Even more miserable was the moment when Arcanda, on the arm of Prince Ovid, wandered around looking for someone. Ignoring people’s pleasant greetings, she turned her head until her golden eyes found exactly where Iora stood.
Arcanda smiled broadly, as if to say hello. But that smile no longer seemed genuine or beautiful.
‘Please, don’t come. Please.’
She was afraid. That girl was undoubtedly a scorching sun, and Iora was an oblivious crow flying without knowing what she’s doing. The closer she got, the she’ll burn and crash.
‘Don’t come with him.’
She fervently prayed, but as if every moment were flowing towards Arcanda, she walked over, arm in arm with her partner, and laughed in a gentle voice.
“Iora! There you are. I was so worried when you left like that the other day. Where were you? Are you hurt?”
“…Arcanda.”
That wasn’t the first thing they needed to talk about, but what made her wear that dress. Arcanda must have noticed the attention around them. She made a faint ‘ah’ sound, then delicately touched her lips.
“Oh, this dress. I’m so, so sorry, Iora. Are you upset?”
“What happened…?”
The words ‘It’s okay’ didn’t come out. Or did they? She wanted to ask so badly. ‘You didn’t wear that dress on purpose, right?’ That’s what she wanted to ask, even though she knew the nobles who were listening to their conversation would gossip about what a snobbish and petty person she was.
However, Ovid suddenly intervened. “I’m glad you’re doing well, my Lady.”
When Iora heard his low voice and felt his intense gaze turn towards her, she caught herself momentarily intoxicated by a dizzying vision. She was lying on his lap in the rattling carriage, and he was there looking with pity—not contempt, not disgust.
It was but a fleeting moment of wonder. Iora bit her lip and bowed as was proper.
“…Greetings, glorious little sun of the Empire.”
“I heard that you two ended up wearing the same color. We had originally planned to wear different colors, but an accident of some sort forced Arcanda to make a last-minute change a few days ago. Now that we’ve changed our plans, the young lady must be surprised at what she’s seeing today.”
It sounded like an excuse. But it was Arcanda who needed to speak up. But it was clear that the prince’s interruption was meant to tell her not to question it. For fear of upsetting his woman, of hurting her. A weak laugh escaped him—they looked like a couple who had already been married for ten years.
“Ah, I see.”
Arcanda held him tighter as if to express her gratitude and grinned playfully.
“I was going to explain, Ovid.”
“It’s the same no matter who explains it.”
How could it be the same?
“Iora, I’m really sorry. I should have managed to wear a different color, but unfortunately, there wasn’t much quality fabric available, just between black and purple. You know how challenging it is to get fabric at this time. You understand, right?”
“She will understand, won’t you, Iora?”
She stared blankly at the Crown Prince who was gently stroking Arcanda’s hand as if to tell her not to feel too bad. In an effort to compose herself, Iora bit the inside of her cheek.
