Chapter 22
Thud—
A pile of letters fell over my head. The Marquess—my father—had dumped them mercilessly, and one sharp envelope scraped my face as it fell.
I felt a sting at my temple. It must have left a cut.
“These are all from this morning,” Father said in a cold voice.
Behind him, the head maid Gemma was standing with a smug look, as if she were enjoying the scene.
“After reading that ridiculous special edition, everyone decided to contact me—assuming I was the one who spread it around.”
What kind of idiot thinks that? They clearly don’t know my father’s personality.
He threw one of the envelopes directly at my face—on purpose this time. It grazed my cheek, leaving a red line. I could feel the warm sting of blood.
From a glance, I recognized the seal—it was from the Imperial Palace. My guess was right.
“Even the Imperial family sent a letter. They… called me a lovesick fool.”
Wow. Might as well have called him some devoted romantic god.
And suddenly, I understood why Father was so upset. Being mistaken for someone who “deeply loves” a daughter like me—a daughter he thinks is worthless—must have felt like an insult to his judgment. And worse, as if he favored me over my younger sisters.
That was the kind of man he was.
“Still, I intended to let it go quietly. I thought a week of fasting in your room would make you reflect, even if only a little.”
“…”
“But you couldn’t even last a day before disobeying me? How much more hopeless can you get?”
I’m not hopeless.
You are.
What made it worse was knowing Owen was here to witness all of this humiliation.
This was the man who told me I deserved the greatest man in the world.
The man who, wearing only my nightclothes, knelt in front of me and asked me to tame him.
And suddenly, I thought—
‘Why am I putting up with this humiliation?’
What did he say to me?
I’m not that powerless 21-year-old Sophia anymore.
Sure, technically I am 21 now, but before my regression, I had survived every hardship, nearly succeeded in rebellion, and was known as the “Iron Lady Bartoli.”
Coming back in time doesn’t erase what I’ve been through. I still have my horsemanship, my embroidery skills, and my ability to talk circles around people—all honed in my previous life.
I lifted my head sharply.
Father, oblivious, looked at me like I was some insect.
“I don’t know exactly how you pulled this idiotic stunt, but I’ll take the blame for it and cover it up. Your ban on going out or eating will be extended for another week.”
“No, don’t.”
“…What?”
My voice came out firm. This was the first time—in either life—that I’d openly defied my father.
And once I started, the next words were much easier. I wasn’t alone; my former self was cheering me on from across time.
“Don’t pretend you did it. I don’t like that. Why steal someone else’s work like some street thug or petty thief?”
“Hah!”
“That was done by someone who truly cares for me. Not someone like you, who hits me and starves me while pretending to be a good man outside—two-faced.”
Father looked like he was about to grab the back of his neck in rage.
“You, you—!”
Gemma stepped forward, but I didn’t even glance at her.
Still holding Father’s gaze, I clenched my fists and added sarcastically,
“If you really want to clear up the misunderstanding, why not put out another special edition? Something like, ‘The previous special edition was not distributed by the Marquess of Bartoli.’ That should solve everything, don’t you think?”
I saw the fury flash in Father’s eyes. He raised his hand. I could already tell he meant to slap me, and I braced myself.
I could probably dodge it. But strangely… I didn’t move.
Fine. Let him hit me once and be done with it. I’d already spoken knowing it might sever ties.
His hand came swinging—fast enough to split my lip—
—but stopped right at the door.
A large hand had grabbed his wrist from behind the door.
All of us—Father, Gemma, and I—stared wide-eyed.
A moment later, a man stepped out. One hand still gripping Father’s wrist firmly—it was Owen, the Grand Duke of Glentino.
My mouth fell open.
Owen was much taller than Father. Younger, of course, and radiating an intimidating aura.
This was not the laid-back man who cracked silly jokes with me—this was someone who looked ready to make anyone kneel.
Maybe it was his stiff expression. Or maybe it was the way the veins stood out on the fist at his side.
Father recognized him immediately.
“Lord Glentino? What are you—”
“You’re behind on news. I’m the Grand Duke now. Forgive me for the rudeness, but I saw a bug on my father-in-law’s face and decided to remove it.”
Then Owen swung his arm—
“Ugh!”
Father’s face twisted, and he went flying to the floor.
Ouch. That had to hurt—like taking all the pain from one of my father’s slaps, rolling it into a ball, and slicing it thin like a cucumber by a master chef, then feeling it all at once.
Gemma had already scrambled far away. Father leapt up, shouting,
“A bug—! How dare you—”
“It’s still there. Right on your face. It says ‘Fool.’”
I nearly burst out laughing. Why was he making jokes now of all times?
But Owen stayed serious.
“I mean you’re incredibly oblivious.”
“What?”
“All these letters came in, yet the House of Glentino didn’t send a single one. This, despite our engagement. Do you know why?”
Father was silent—he clearly hadn’t considered that.
Owen smirked coldly.
“It’s because I knew you didn’t send out that special edition. You shouldn’t steal credit for someone else’s actions like some common thief. But because of this—”
He slipped an arm around my back and pulled me close.
“—I didn’t expect the woman I love to end up in trouble.”
“Ha…”
Whether Father sighed or scoffed, I barely noticed—I was too focused on Owen’s words.
Thump. Thump. My heart was pounding like crazy. Did he just call me “the woman I love”?
…No, impossible.
Even if we did get along, Owen and I had only properly met a few days ago. There was no way he actually felt that way—it had to be for show, to act in front of my father.
I forced myself to calm down, trying not to think too much about the arm around my waist.
But Father wasn’t going to back down so easily. He regained his composure quickly and barked,
“Even if you’re a Grand Duke, you can’t interfere in another household’s discipline. And violence like this—you’ll be hearing from my family officially.”
“Why am I an ‘outsider’?”
“…What?”
“I’m not. Didn’t I just call you father-in-law?”
Then Owen lifted my left hand to show my ring finger—adorned with the enormous pink diamond.
Even seeing it again, the size was shocking. Father frowned, disbelief clear on his face.
“Sophia and I agreed to marry yesterday. If you intend to use violence against the woman who will soon be my wife, I won’t stand by.”
“Y-you…”
Of course, we hadn’t actually agreed to marry yet. But I figured he was just bluffing.
Father snapped his gaze to me.
“You’ve gone mad. How could you accept a proposal so soon after your fiancé’s death? Without your father’s permission?”
I’d been expecting that. I answered smugly,
“Every Imperial citizen over 21 has the right to choose their own spouse—without a guardian’s consent.”
Yes, noble marriages usually required formal proposals between families, but it wasn’t strictly necessary.
“And I just had my 21st birthday yesterday. Not that you even remembered.”
“Ha! So you think you can marry like some lowborn, without proper etiquette or process?”
“When was I not lowborn in your eyes, Father? If you’re that angry, go ahead and disown me. And don’t bother coming to my wedding.”
Then I turned my back on him.
In both my lives, this was the first time I’d ever shown my father my back in an argument. And the first time he was left speechless, simply staring at me.
