IWPU 08

Chapter 8

It was the first time I had seen her up close. Back then, I had stormed out on the first day of the funeral and stayed locked in my room for the remainder of it, so there had been no occasion to meet her. Even if there had been, I wouldn’t have met her anyway. In fact, there were a few chances to meet afterward, but I declined them all.

She was of commoner origin. Very little was known about her past. There were plenty of speculative rumors, but no one truly knew the truth. At the time, I didn’t consider commoners to be the same kind of people as myself. Privately, she was my maternal grandmother, but I never once acknowledged her as such.

‘I treated her like she didn’t exist.’

Shortly after the Marchioness’s funeral, Count Peaceon also passed away. His sudden death, despite being a powerful merchant who had energetically engaged in social activities, raised a lot of suspicion.

The Countess was named as a prime suspect. A long legal battle ensued to uncover the truth, mainly because Count Peaceon’s wealth was unimaginably vast. In the end, due to lack of evidence, she inherited his estate as his legal widow. I vaguely remembered the nanny fuming, saying, “All of it should’ve gone to you, but that wicked woman snatched the master’s fortune!”

I didn’t know the details of what happened back then. At the time, a mere fragment of his attention meant far more to me than astronomical wealth. I was so obsessed with him that I had no interest in the inheritance that could’ve been mine.

‘I had no sense of money either.’

As the legitimate daughter of the marquess, I was always financially secure. I never once felt deprived when it came to material things. While the marquess never gave me affection, he never restricted my spending either.

I was rather extravagant. From an objective point of view, I might not have shaken the entire empire, but I certainly could have shaken a few cities with my spending. It got worse after I became empress. The more I thirsted for his affection, the more I tried to quench that thirst with luxury. The colder he became, the more I spent.

There was a limit to the imperial funds I was allowed to use annually. But once I ran through them, I didn’t stop. I splurged with the marquess family’s money and my own. I had received a large inheritance from the Marchioness, but it wasn’t a bottomless well. Things in this world decrease the more you use them.

Up until my death, I never felt financially lacking. I don’t know exactly how much wealth I had, but I doubt it would’ve been enough to support my level of extravagance. I realized I needed to evaluate my finances.

“She brought his hair,” someone said.

She held out a pouch toward the marquess. Without a word, he opened the lid of a box. She transferred the hair from the pouch into it.

Once she had finished, the marquess closed the lid. She bowed to him again.

“I don’t know how to thank you properly.”

“I merely did my duty.”

With that, he walked into the mausoleum. I tried to follow him, but the countess stopped me.

“Miss, won’t you go see him?”

I looked up at her. Her teary eyes were still moist. She looked pitiable, yet alluring.

“He longed to see you, Miss.”

Count Peaceon was a merchant. Though based in the empire, his influence stretched across the world.

So much so that people said, “All money flows to Peaceon.” The family had always been wealthy, but under him, it reached its peak.

He traveled constantly. He was rarely in the imperial capital. After the Marchioness went mad, he never came near the capital at all.

Saying he wanted to see me now was absurd. If he really did, he could’ve come. The fact that he didn’t was his own choice.

“Why?”

She looked startled, as if she hadn’t expected that reaction. But only for a moment—she quickly composed herself and smiled.

“You were his only blood relative.”

Her tone was strange. Her voice was gentle and soft, but there was a hidden edge—like a dagger concealed in lace. Her demeanor toward me was warm. It wasn’t an act—it felt genuine. And that made her words even more puzzling.

Did she mean he wanted to see me because I was his blood, drawn by familial love? Or despite being blood, because I had value?

‘Was it the former? Or the latter?’

I slowly glanced down at her lower abdomen. Her slender waist, contrasted with her full chest, added to her fragile appearance.

At the time, I had been so obsessed with him that I knew little of what was happening around me. But some memories did remain. Especially the nanny’s grumblings—those had been repeated often enough to stick with me.

The nanny had hated the countess. She would always badmouth her to me. When the count died, she was at her worst. She was convinced the countess had killed him to steal his fortune. She even claimed the woman should be captured, tortured, and made to confess.

Back then, I hadn’t cared about either her or the inheritance. But tired of the nanny’s nagging, I gave false testimony against the countess. My lies probably contributed to her being a suspect for so long.

‘And because of that…’

She miscarried during the investigation.

There was no torture as the nanny had hoped. The countess, though of commoner origin, had been formally granted her title. There was no physical abuse.

Still, even without torture, the mental stress must have been severe. Being interrogated as a suspect is difficult for anyone—let alone a pregnant woman.

I recalled the nanny laughing with delight, saying it was divine punishment when she heard the woman had miscarried. I pointed to the countess’s belly, which showed no signs of swelling.

“You’re not his only blood anymore.”

Her expression froze instantly.

I didn’t know whether she really had killed the count or not. She might’ve been a greedy woman who aimed for his fortune—or a tragic figure ruined by slander.

As before, I didn’t care who she truly was. I just hoped the child in her womb could survive. According to rumors, the child might not even be the count’s. Still, I wanted it to live.

‘It’s unlike me, but…’

It wasn’t that I had suddenly become a better person. I was still selfish, still only cared for my own safety and comfort. I never once imagined sacrificing myself to save that child.

Maybe it was just another passing whim. But right now, I didn’t want that unborn child to die. I didn’t want to see another life lost before it had even begun.

‘…Maybe it’s guilt, after all.’

“You seem to be mistaken. He only had one blood relative—Miss.”

Her voice was calm, but her face was dark. She was trying to hide it, but the shadow on her face was clear. There was a story behind it. I had no interest in her personal drama, so I asked bluntly.

“Isn’t that child of Count Peaceon’s blood?”

“Miss, that’s going too far!”

Her lips trembled. The seductive aura she had shown until now vanished. Her gaze turned icy. If looks could kill, I would’ve dropped dead on the spot.

From her reaction, it seemed she hadn’t known about the pregnancy. The count died two months after the Marchioness. Regardless of rumors, the official cause of death was heartbreak over losing his daughter.

The countess miscarried during the interrogation after the funeral. She may not have even known she was pregnant until then.

“Getting agitated won’t be good for the baby.”

“Miss!”

Her clenched fists trembled violently. It was a strong reaction. The count had been old, but not too old to father a child. Most people would at least wonder, “Could I be pregnant?” But she didn’t seem to consider that possibility at all.

I didn’t want to meddle, but since I had started, I figured I might as well continue a bit more.

‘Saying a few more words won’t hurt me.’

“Whether you believe me or not is up to you. But if you don’t want to lose the child, take care of yourself. And if it really is the Count’s, it’s best to let him know.”

No parent would willingly die after learning they had a child. Maybe the Count wasn’t really dead. If he wasn’t murdered, that is.

“He was your grandfather.”

She seemed skilled at managing her emotions. Calm again, she looked straight at me. But there was something she didn’t hide—or didn’t bother to.

Her eyes burned as they met mine.

“Not the Count—your grandfather.”

“……”

If it were about the child, I’d understand. I’d clearly insulted her by questioning whether it was the Count’s. Her anger would be justified.

But her fury over what I called him? That, I couldn’t understand.