Deceived, Yet Drawn to You - Chapter 136

“A painting you want to show me?”

“Come with me.”

After offering a brief greeting to the mayor and his wife, Edmund led Blair away. Watching his back as he walked ahead, firmly holding her hand, made an unconscious smile form on her lips despite her lingering tension.

“Do you actually have other intentions?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you use the painting as an excuse because you wanted to go somewhere out of people’s sight?”

At her question, Edmund let out a short laugh and turned to look at her.

“So the well‑mannered young lady finally fell into corruption after getting involved with me.”

“…Wasn’t that it?”

“It is tempting, but no. There’s a piece I especially want you to see in this exhibition.”

As if asking her not to slander his rare moment of sincerity, Edmund guided Blair toward the center of the exhibition hall. Perhaps because it stood at the very heart of the venue, even the air felt different from the other display areas. Against a wide, deep‑blue wall hung a single painting, illuminated solely by the lights suspended from the ceiling.

“…Ah.”

Blair stopped walking. As if entranced, she stepped closer.

“This is….”

Though she had seen the oil painting only once at a secret auction last spring, she remembered it clearly.

An oil painting by Francis Marce, a master of Symbolism. Against a background dark as night sat a mahogany table and a quietly seated woman. On the table lay a pair of pure white silk gloves and a pomegranate split in half.

“Do you remember the day you first saw this painting?”

“Of course.”

The memory of that day remained vivid. It was the day she sat beside her then fiancé, Isaac Dorman, forced to endure silent humiliation while his mistress, Nicoletta, sat beside him. Even as she foresaw a future of repeated disgrace after marrying Isaac, she saw a distorted reflection of herself in the woman within the canvas. That was why she couldn’t look away.

“It was beautiful, but somehow suffocating.”

The pomegranate forced open to reveal its red flesh looked like her own fate, destined to be ruined beyond repair, and the white gloves felt like the role of a virtuous woman she would be forced to perform until death. Above all, the vague gaze of the woman in the painting, eyes that looked helpless as if they could go nowhere, felt exactly like her own.

“At the time, it felt completely like my situation, and it frightened me.”

Blair unconsciously reached toward the canvas, then hesitated. The dripping red juice suddenly overlapped with the image of metallic‑smelling bloodstains. Like an afterimage that refused to disappear even when she closed her eyes, it disturbed her vision. A recent memory she thought she’d forgotten began to stir at the edge of her consciousness.

“You may have felt that way back then.”

A low voice quietly interrupted her thoughts. As he adjusted his grip on her hand, a steady warmth flowed from him. That warmth pulled Blair back from the swamp of memories and into reality.

“But what about now?”

Looking at the painting alongside her, Edmund asked. Blair blinked once and took a slow breath. After a moment of silence, her closed lips parted.

“It doesn’t look that way anymore.”

The vivid red juice flowing from the pomegranate no longer felt grotesque. Instead, it felt like a medal earned for protecting her own life. The trace of a shell broken by her own strength was proof that she survived.

“The white gloves too. I used to think I had to keep wearing them, but now I know I can cast them aside whenever I want. My worth isn’t determined by such a facade.”

The woman’s gaze in the painting still seemed to search somewhere as if yearning for salvation, but Blair now knew she no longer needed to project herself onto it.

Blair tilted her head slightly and looked up at Edmund. “You knew, didn’t you? That I would face Francis’s painting with different eyes this time.”

“I merely arranged the opportunity.”

He spoke calmly, without claiming any credit.

“Whether you became the same person as the woman in the painting or chose to say farewell to her was something only you could decide.”

Edmund never dragged Blair toward salvation by force. He simply stayed beside her as the safest shelter until she could pull her own freedom to the surface. Just like now.

“Thank you, Ed.”

At last, Blair stood face to face with her dark past and completely separated it from who she was now.

“I think I finally understand how I’ve changed by being with you.”

Bright light from the exhibition lamps poured over her shoulders. Darkness would never swallow her again.

***

The two of them returned to the crowded hall once more. Holding onto Edmund’s arm, Blair looked at the people around her with a slightly different perspective.

In the past, high society had always felt like a courtroom filled with sharp judgments and whispered gossip. She used to shrink within that time, constantly assigning meaning to every passing glance and policing her own expressions.

But now it was different. Even before the strangers filling the exhibition hall, she didn’t hesitate, nor did she grow anxious over someone’s gaze. When guests approached to greet them, she responded with a natural smile. Her voice didn’t tremble, and her laughter wasn’t forced.

Wasn’t it almost miraculous? Simply no longer feeling like a being measured by others’ standards made the world look entirely different. Instead of an object to be evaluated, she stood as the subject of her own life, and that awareness steadied her footing.

“I heard the joyful news.”

A noblewoman approached to offer congratulations. Blair recognized her as the Viscountess Feinberg, whom she’d met at a hunting gathering before.

“I hear a blessing will soon come to the ducal household. I couldn’t help but offer my congratulations to you both.”

“Thank you, madam.”

“His Grace must be hoping for a son, of course. A daughter wouldn’t be able to inherit the long‑standing House of Libert.”

The viscountess’s gaze turned toward Edmund. She was the same bold woman who once suggested entering the hunting grounds herself to look for their respective husbands, never one to hide her curiosity.

“I don’t place particular importance on the child’s gender.”

At his steady, even tone, Blair glanced at Edmund’s profile.

“To me, the person carrying the child matters more than the child itself.”

A flicker of embarrassment crossed the viscountess’s face. His declaration ran counter to the heir‑centered values taken for granted in noble society. Standing beside Edmund, Blair was startled for an entirely different reason.

Until recently, she’d believed he needed an heir simply to inherit the title. She never doubted his affection, yet she struggled to trust his intentions completely. Realizing now where Edmund’s sincerity had truly been directed, the emotions she couldn’t quite control stirred violently in her chest, making the time she’d spent suffering alone feel almost meaningless.

Had his opinion changed? Or had she misunderstood from the beginning?

Come to think of it, they’d never truly spoken openly about having a child together.

“Hmm… I’ve often heard how deep the bond between you two is. I seem to have been rude.”

“If my wife isn’t uncomfortable, then there’s no problem.”

When Viscountess Feinberg looked at Blair with wide eyes, Blair quickly pushed aside her thoughts and waved her hands.

“It’s alright. You were congratulating us, so there’s no reason for me to feel uncomfortable.”

The viscountess bowed her head once more in apology before leaving with a smile. Blair watched her retreating figure, then looked up at the man who wrapped an arm around her waist.

“That sounded like quite an unconventional statement.”

Edmund met Blair’s gaze as he idly traced the joints of her fingers. Their eyes remained locked as she asked, “May I take that to mean the person who bears the name matters more to you than the name Libert itself?”

“That name has never been important to me.”

“….”

“It only became necessary at some point. I came to see it as the means to keep you safest.”