Yurisiel tried hard to compose herself.

Still… the fact that he tried to verify it means he probably doesn’t know she’s a commoner yet.

The fact that the tool used to test her was the Louvre language was extremely fortunate from her perspective.

If he had asked questions using high-level subjects like astronomy, algebra, or advanced science that nobles usually study, she wouldn’t have been able to answer anything.

The Louvre language was at least a field she knew from learning it for transcription work.

For some reason, there were several books written in the Louvre language throughout the house, and her mother had kept them.

She must have wanted to keep some trace of that brilliant father of hers, even if only like this.

Even that nameless father who had always earned only resentment turned out to have some use after all, as life goes on.

Thinking she had escaped the fence of suspicion, Yurisiel let out a long breath and quietly continued reading.

An unfamiliar, non-cliché classic romance that must have been placed in the most humble corner of the unpopular section of the library.

Cassian silently observed her.

Things that weren’t noticeable when she gave short answers became newly apparent as her sentences grew longer.

Contrary to expectations of a cold, frosty voice, it was neat and refreshing.

Lips that looked like soft jelly, arousing the urge to touch them at least once.

The long neckline and pure white nape below the hair neatly tucked into her hat.

The curved chest line that moved with each exhale…

Her body, not quite that of a full adult but no longer a child’s, had quite an alluring figure.

The sensation of those soft lips that he had brushed with his own hand was still vivid.

He was about to loosen the roughly tied leash and release her, but now she comes out like this.

There’s no helping it in this case.

The heart flips as easily as the palm of a hand.

The intention to expose her lie and let her go that he had just moments ago vanished.

It was she, not he, who had put the leash back on herself with her own hands. So he was not at fault in the slightest.

At the beginning of a warm spring, she was speaking in a composed voice as if oblivious to such things, basking in the fluttering sunlight.

In front of him. In front of this Blanchet.

Before receiving his terminal diagnosis, he too used to frequent various social gatherings.

It was a common occurrence for numerous young ladies to fawn over him.

In noble families, marriage was no different from business, and the heir of Blanchet was a worthy target to approach for his name alone.

How ridiculous that even now, countless marriage proposals are still flying into the Blanchet mansion he had vacated.

They didn’t even try to hide their desire to willingly do so even if it meant bearing the child of an heir who would die and disappear.

After all, once he died, that child would become the heir, so they wanted to mix their blood with his, even if just a little.

Yet she seemed to act as if such things were of no concern, simply living out her days.

Now just reading an unpopular, shoddy novel featuring a terminally ill man, following his orders.

As one might guess from the title “The Last 365 Days,” this novel had a trite plot about a terminally ill man as the protagonist having a romance for a year.

The lord who brought these kinds of books, saying he prepared them in case he got lonely, probably didn’t know the ending of this novel either.

He must have brought it thinking it was just a simple romance novel.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t have dared to irreverently hand such a book to a terminal patient.

Her clear, lovely voice beautifully resonates through the space like ripples bouncing on a lake surface.

Truly, even the most cliché content seems to transform into something quite plausible when flowing from her lips.

The girl’s voice appears gentle, but when reciting dialogue, she almost resembles a stage actor.

“Shouldn’t you understand by now, after all this?”

“Why are you suddenly acting like this?”

“I told you. I’m sick and tired of it now.”

“…”

“That know-it-all tone of yours, your arrogant delusions, your obsession, all of it.”

The book begins with the utterly trashy content of a man who has taken another woman pushing away the female protagonist.

At the same time, it also feels realistic.

Because such trash is plentiful in this empire too. Most noble men take women as they please and treat marriage vows as mere scraps of paper from the start.

In that sense, the female protagonist of this novel is idealistic if viewed positively, or stupidly naive if viewed negatively.

To believe in such trash.

“So everything up until now was a lie?”

“Did you really think I would marry someone like you?”

“…What?”

“The status of duchess that Lady Vivian has is something you can never obtain no matter how hard you try.”

“…”

“It was my mistake. From birth, I was never meant to be with you.”

Once upon a time in the empire, there was an informal bet about this cliché.

One side argued that the woman who dared to aim for the man’s side despite being only a viscount’s daughter was in the wrong.

The other side argued that the man who abandoned the woman who loved him sincerely was in the wrong.

The noble young ladies destined to become the main wives of any aristocratic family would argue that the woman was at fault.

The gentlemen standing before their beloved mistresses would threaten to choose the latter.

It was a ridiculous bet made purely based on their own situations.

Among those making such pointless bets were even the head of the Blanchet family and his wife.

His mother, who was composed in any situation, seemed unable to let this topic slide, getting all worked up.

Saying it was obvious that a low-born wench would aim for that position.

The way she instantly reduced a woman’s love built up over 10 years to mere desire was truly characteristic of his mother.

In the process, his father, who outwardly maintained an affectionate facade, went along with his mother while watching her reactions.

After all, the power held by his mother’s family was quite beneficial to the Blanchets as well.

Meanwhile, his father’s rather vacant eyes further fueled his mother’s fervor.

His mother, who often got worked up over commoner wenches while ranting about non-existent mistresses, must have sensed another woman in his father’s heart.

So this couldn’t be blamed entirely on his mother.

No, in fact, the greater sinner might strictly be his father.

Where was this lover occupying a corner of his father’s heart?

He’s slightly curious now.

Now that he’s been given his death sentence.

Perhaps she was a woman with a pretty face and seductive posture like the wench before his eyes.

It’s fortunate, in a way, that he who inherited that blood will disappear from this world soon.

If not, he would have gone around making some woman cry, one he wouldn’t even take as a mistress.

In the butler’s words.

“What do you think?”

The girl lowers the book she was reading and slowly turns her head to look at him with verdant eyes.

Her prim lips hesitate for a moment before finally opening.

“About what?”

“Was the woman wrong? Or was the man wrong?”

The girl’s expression subtly contorts.

As if to say, what kind of trashy question is that?

It feels like she’s equating him with the trash in that novel.

Nevertheless, she’s sitting there trying her best not to go against him.

Soon, as if having reached a conclusion, the girl’s mouth opens.

“The woman was wrong.”

Ha. What an unsatisfying answer.

Humans are unlikely to give answers that contradict their own situation.

So her answer was actually predetermined from the start. That the man was wrong.

So the girl before his eyes is telling another brazen lie right now.

Under the fine pretext of catering to his mood.

“The woman was wrong?”

“Yes.”

So she can tell any lie to obtain a drop of Blanchet?

It’s irritating that while she wanted to please him in everything, now that she’s actually doing it without sincerity. Talk about reverse psychology.

“Do you really think that?”

“If she mingled with a young master of high status without knowing her place, she should have known when it was time to leave.”

It’s laughable how there’s not even a hint of wavering. As if talking about someone else’s affair.

That twists his mood once again.

Honestly, this kind of thing is only natural.

Who would dare to fully express their own opinions in front of a Blanchet?

Unless they were insane.

Those who moderately catered to his moods and feelings were nothing out of the ordinary for him.

But she shouldn’t have been like that. Because the reason he hired her included the fact that she was a crazy girl who broke that normal line.

So she should have stayed that way. If she didn’t want to go against him.

His words came out as twisted as his mood.

“Of course. Because from the start, her intentions were impure, clinging to his side like a leech with that lowly status.”

It’s a simple warning to know your place.

Understanding that, a tremor appears in the girl’s gaze as she looks at him.

Seeing that expression, a sneer forms on his lips.

It’s because her looking at him as if hurt by his words creates the illusion that she was aiming for the position by his side.

Her expression, on the verge of tears yet resolutely not crying, was quite a sight to behold.

Enough to make him want to keep her by his side until he dies just to see that face.

A dangerous desire to twist her rises unbidden from within.

He becomes sensitive to something he would have normally dismissed as mere flattery from a subordinate trying to please him.

It’s unlike him. He can’t count how many times he’s had such thoughts already.

It seems to have been that way ever since she came.

She’s a dangerous being, this girl. The warning bells are ringing inside him like that.

And yet, he has not the slightest intention of stopping this dangerous act.

After all, he who will soon die and disappear can now observe the world askew.

It was she who voluntarily entered this twisted world.

For a long time after that, the wench read the book and he listened again to content he already knew.

The sentences he had read countless times, which he could recite by heart by now, feel different when mixed with her refreshing voice.

It’s both amusing and quite intriguing that he called her here just to have her do something like this.

As her gentle voice warms the air.

Where he is, a dark shadow has fallen, while bright sunlight shines from the girl’s feet.

The sun split exactly in half seems just like a symbol of good and evil.

He is the evil tormenting her. She is the good suffering at his hands.

It doesn’t matter either way. Because the absolute good is always Blanchet.

The evil is always her who went against Blanchet’s mood.

Finally reaching the end of the book.

The girl takes a deep breath before the conclusion.

It’s not even funny. The way she hesitates at the ending after reading steadily in front of a patient until now.

He knows the ending of that book which he has read hundreds of times.

And probably that audacious wench who had never read that book before now knows it too, having just read it.

Translation complete. 100% of original text translated.