Chapter 64.2
I didn’t respond to Luke, just murmured, “What a damn coincidence.” What a damn cliché. Just walking down the street, running into someone, uncovering a secret I never wanted to know. Just like a fictional world. Seeing the affectionate couple wasn’t what stopped me in my tracks. It was the presence of someone else, something so unbelievable it made me question my own eyes.
In the novel, Vivian Ewill was pregnant with someone else’s child. Yes, she was carrying a life that hadn’t yet been born. So who was the child walking between Hector and Vivian, holding both their hands and smiling brightly? Hector, Vivian, and a child who looked remarkably like her. The three of them looked so natural, like a family.
“She has my child,” Hector’s voice echoed in my ears.
So, there really was a child. A child already born. I slowly raised my hand, gripping Luke’s wrist on my shoulder, and turned to face him.
“You win, Luke.”
“…What?”
“If your goal was to torment me, you’ve succeeded. Well done.” My voice was surprisingly calm. “Well done.” This time, I wasn’t talking to Luke. I was thinking of Hector.
The child barely reaching their waists looked about three years old. Three years of silence. Should I be grateful? I formed a soundless smile. Luke’s expression as he looked down at me was unreadable.
***
The sharp shatter of glass jolted me back to reality. I turned to see a servant cleaning up broken glass and spilled champagne, and a nobleman standing nearby, face hidden behind a fan. Given the setting, all eyes were drawn to the commotion, and the fan was likely used as a shield.
“…What am I doing?” I murmured to myself, turning back. The room was filled with art—paintings, sculptures, and other pieces related to the temple. Most were religious in nature, which was to be expected, given that the host was none other than the Divay family, renowned for their divine power.
I slowly walked around, checking the time. I’d been at the exhibition for almost an hour. “How long does he intend to keep me waiting…?” I muttered, heading towards a wall covered in paintings. Seeing Vivian Ewill’s child had left me uneasy for days. I thought I was done with betrayals, yet it felt like I was constantly experiencing new ones. Then Haroon Kisha contacted me, inviting me to this exhibition. He probably wanted to continue our previous conversation. But…
“Surely that sly prince hasn’t forgotten me?” It was surprisingly difficult to hear anything about Haroon. Even spotting the conspicuous prince proved challenging. I was starting to wonder if he really had forgotten me.
“Lady Divay’s work is truly the most exquisite.”
“Simply gazing upon it feels like a healing experience.”
The voices made me pause, turning my attention to the painting. A massive artwork dominated one entire wall, depicting an angel, the symbol of the Divay family. The angel, with large, white wings outstretched and the Divay emblem on its forehead, extended its hands as if bestowing blessings upon everyone at the exhibition. The attendees showered the enormous painting with praise.
But my gaze was drawn to a smaller painting displayed opposite the angel. A dark-winged, black child, seemingly born of shadows, cowered in the darkness, shielding itself from the light.
“This one…” It felt out of place. It strangely captivated me, yet simultaneously evoked an inexplicable sense of unease. I couldn’t discern the black child’s expression. It was simply rendered in shades of black. But somehow, it seemed afraid.
“The artist who painted this…” I examined the signature on the small painting. It matched the one on the massive angel piece. Which meant it was also Lady Divay’s work.
“Do you like that painting, Amelia?”
I turned towards the gentle voice.
“Ricardo.”
“His Highness, Haroon, will be here shortly. I apologize for the wait.” Ricardo’s violet eyes sparkled behind his round spectacles. He met my gaze and smiled warmly. It seemed the prince who’d summoned me here hadn’t forgotten my existence after all.
“Are you tired?”
“Not at all.” I felt a slight headache, but it wasn’t from waiting for Haroon. It was from the turmoil in my mind.
Our conversation drew the attention of those around us. I could sense the hushed whispers. It was likely due to Ricardo’s presence. No one here was unaware that he was a Divay. Yet, he wore the uniform of a knight, as if he wasn’t permitted to wear anything else.
“…My mother painted that.” His gaze shifted naturally to the painting. “She said she painted it… thinking of me.”
I must have had a strange expression on my face. The painting was titled, “My Beloved Child.”
Beloved? How could anyone depict their beloved child like that?
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