Chapter 3
Clarice accepted a daffodil from Castro and smiled faintly, a little sorrowful.
“Do you know what kind of problems will happen if we get married?”
It was a reality they would have to face sooner or later. At that question, Castro’s head dropped weakly.
“…Yeah.”
“And you still want to marry me?”
‘Idiot.’
Clarice bit his lip softly. From the first time they met until now, Castro had never changed — foolish, stubborn, endlessly sincere.
‘How did I end up falling for such a fool?’
“Your family won’t sit still and let this happen.”
“They’re an independent house now. On paper, all ties were severed.”
“Yes, on paper. But that only applies to your father’s side, not your mother’s.”
“!”
Castro’s eyes trembled. He had forgotten about that. Clarice shook his head slightly.
“When your mother divorced the marquis, she returned to her birth family. Legally, that may have cleared things, but your mother’s family could still claim parental rights — say she’s your real mother and try to interfere.”
In other words—
“If we can’t have a biological heir through same-sex marriage, then your mother’s family will argue that their bloodline should inherit the duchy instead.”
Castro’s maternal family, though living in the borderlands, had power rivaling that of any noble house in the capital.
Clarice had met his mother once before — a refined lady, but one whose heart held no longing for her son, only rage toward her unfaithful husband.
Even knowing that Castro had nearly died and come back alive, she treated him like a stranger. She carried the name of “mother,” but never once acted like one.
‘So what would someone like her ever do for her son, now the Duke of Valentine?’
It was obvious.
“If we want to secure this duchy’s future, we’ll need to adopt someone. I’m not letting some piece of trash from your mother’s family take over. That’s why the Emperor allowed our marriage in the first place.”
“……”
“Let’s just get married already. I hate crawling around, worrying about what others think. Once we’re officially married, we’ll have more freedom to act.”
“How long did the Emperor give us to produce a successor?”
Castro rubbed his face tiredly and asked in a low voice.
He was happy Clarice had accepted his proposal — but at the same time, it weighed on him.
Clarice, seeing this, chuckled quietly.
“Three years.”
That was the time limit they’d been given to find an heir for the Valentine Duchy.
If they couldn’t within three years—
“Valentine will be dissolved. And we…”
“…will have to divorce.”
[The Whereabouts of the Beautiful Flower — Side Story 3: The End and the Beginning]
Five days had passed since Penelope had visited the Valentine Dukes and handed them the adoption contract.
But there had been no response. No letters, no messengers — not even a simple acknowledgment.
Not that she expected warmth between them, but still… she had specifically asked that if they were going to reject her, they should send a red-string-tied messenger bird so she’d know.
This silence was worse than a refusal.
If they had rejected her quickly, she could’ve tried something else. But with no answer, she couldn’t move at all.
‘Are they trying to kill me with anxiety?’
She was going crazy.
Even if she wanted to contact them first, she was in no position to do so — she was the powerless one here.
Her proposal had been absurd to begin with. Even if they flatly rejected her, she couldn’t complain.
Still, she couldn’t help being terrified. Not even during her college entrance exam in her past life had she been this scared.
“Please…” she whispered.
Because today was Monday — the day her family, House Leranswell, would officially fall into ruin.
Just as she was deep in thought about her bleak fate, familiar voices rang out from the hallway.
“D-Duke! The young lady is—!”
“How dare a knight block my way!”
‘Oh no. Oh no.’
She wanted to turn into dust and vanish.
She cursed her memory for perfectly recalling the Duke’s voice from five days ago — loud enough to make her doubt the mansion’s famous soundproofing.
‘Did he boil a train whistle for breakfast?’
Her head already ached.
“Penelope!”
‘I can hear you just fine, Father.’
“Damn it!”
His voice thundered through the room. With no other choice, Penelope got up from the sofa. If she didn’t, he’d probably break down the door.
‘Three seconds.’
That’s how long she figured it would take.
“I’m doomed.”
He was furious — even more than she’d expected. He must have come straight to her room the moment he heard she’d gone out.
‘…3, 2, 1.’
Bang!
The door burst open.
“Where is that crazy brat?!”
‘Good morning to you too, Father.’
Penelope sent silent applause for her “wonderful family life.” Pretending to be calm, she lowered her head politely.
“Welcome back, Father.”
That calm greeting only made his face twist with rage. He slammed the door shut and strode toward her, grinding his teeth.
“Welcome back? Ha! You think that’s what you should be saying?!”
‘If I didn’t say it, you’d just yell about my manners anyway.’
Penelope swallowed her sarcasm.
‘So full of words, aren’t you?’
“I’m sorry, Father.”
“Do you even know what you’ve done?!”
“…What?”
She feigned ignorance — the classic ‘I know nothing’ tactic.
“What are you talking about, Father? I haven’t done any—”
“You think I wouldn’t know you went to see those Valentine bastards?!”
He jabbed a finger at her, shouting.
“The butler told me everything! You took the family carriage and went to the Valentine Dukes five days ago!”
“……”
His eyes burned with fury. His fists trembled.
This was not going to end well.
“Have you lost your mind?! At a time like this, you dare run around like some stray dog?!”
Unable to contain his rage, he raised his hand.
And—
‘Crap.’
Smack!
Her head snapped to the side. Pain bloomed across her cheek.
It took a moment before the sting really hit. She touched her face — it was burning hot, as if she’d been branded.
‘I-It hurts.’
She could taste blood in her mouth.
‘It’s gone too far.’
“Does it hurt? You think your pain compares to mine, you ungrateful brat?!”
He shouted without a shred of guilt.
Typical.
He always said things like that while claiming it was “discipline.” When words didn’t work, he hit.
It wasn’t even surprising anymore — but this time, it hurt differently.
‘Was it really so wrong… to try to live?’
Her eyes stung. Her lips trembled shut, heavy with unfairness.
‘What rotten luck.’
She wanted to punch her past self — the one who ever hoped for warmth in this family.
In novels, the heroine sometimes “redeems” her evil family, right? Total fantasy.
Some people simply couldn’t be saved.
“Damn it.”
She hadn’t meant to cry.
Not in front of him.
But the tears welled up anyway.
‘Great. Now I’ll be cringing about this forever — maybe from prison, maybe from hell.’
“What? What did you just say, you little—!”
Hearing her mutter a curse, the Duke’s eyes went wild. He reached out to grab her by the collar—
But his hand stopped midair.
“Idiot.”
Someone had blocked him.
“!”
“?!”
Penelope froze. That voice— it couldn’t be.
Had she gone crazy after being slapped?
It was impossible. Who would dare enter the daughter of a Duke’s room without permission?
Who would risk their life breaking into the mansion of House Leranswell?
“…”
“Beating your own daughter now, huh? You’re insane.”
That voice — calm but sharp — filled her with an odd relief.
‘No way. Could it be… him?’
Her head turned slowly, as if in disbelief.
And when she saw the man beside her, she almost gasped aloud in joy.
“You… you—!”
“What? Spit it out. Don’t get on my nerves.”
The man who appeared was breathtakingly beautiful. His silver hair shone like moonlight, and his green eyes were as fresh as spring.
He wasn’t just handsome — he looked like the gods had accidentally overdone it.
She didn’t need anyone to tell her who he was. She already knew.
‘Is this… luck?’
Her lips twitched upward into a shaky smile.
“Hello, Your Grace.”
It was Clarice, the High Priest — and Duke Castro’s husband.
He looked down at her with an amused, satisfied gaze, like a child finding a lost toy.
“Hello, contract daughter.”
Ignoring the Duke’s dumbfounded expression, Clarice said cheerfully—
“Are we meeting for the first time?”
