NRAL | Chapter 82

~Chapter 82~

The Woman in the Mirror

“…Alright, Father. I’ll speak to the Grand Duke. But—may I also send another letter to Baron Turner? Maybe over time, the Grand Duke’s interest in me will fade.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. From the looks of it, his interest isn’t something that’ll disappear so easily. Instead, think of a way to properly seduce the Grand Duke. If you’re going to be his mistress, you may as well become a long-lasting and well-loved one. If you want your life to be at least a little more comfortable, you’d best keep my words in mind.”

It was advice delivered sincerely—as if he were speaking from the heart of a father who had raised Eleanor as his daughter for the past ten years.

That “sincerity” was laughable and revolting. Eleanor clenched her teeth.

“…Yes, Father.”

When she answered obediently, the Duke of Astria dismissed her with a flick of his hand, as if she were a nuisance.

She didn’t want to see his face any longer than necessary either, so Eleanor bowed politely and immediately turned to leave.

Tap tap tap!

As she opened the study door and stepped out, she faintly heard hurried footsteps growing distant down the hall.

Eleanor quickly walked in the direction of the sound.

At the edge of her vision, she caught a glimpse of a fluttering, ornate dress hem disappearing around the corner.

There was only one person in the mansion who wore such dresses—Nora.

Did she overhear the conversation I had with Father?

If not, there was no reason for Nora to be running away like that.

Eleanor mentally reviewed their conversation to check if anything dangerous had been said. Thankfully, there was nothing too sensitive.

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what had sent Nora fleeing in such a rush. But she didn’t chase her.

There was no need to. Eleanor already knew that Nora was suffering—and that she would continue to suffer even more.

And things will only get worse from here on.

***

Tap tap, tap tap!

Nora’s hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor, while moonlight from the windows illuminated her path.

Her golden hair whipped behind her as the Duke of Astria’s cold, commanding voice echoed in her ears.

“Ask Grand Duke Royster what he’s willing to offer in return for taking the Astria lady as his mistress.”

Eleanor—as someone’s mistress.

Nora had come to understand just how much noble society valued honor. She now knew how scandalous it was for the daughter of a high noble to become a man’s mistress.

But this… this was not the outcome she had hoped for.

It’s not enough!

Yes. It was far from enough. Compared to what Nora had wanted—it was nothing.

She had wished for Eleanor to meet with something far more painful. Something much more humiliating. Something that could not be compared.

Not a warm, comfortable mistress’s life!

Eleanor was unlike other nobles—she didn’t care about honor or reputation. Nora knew this better than anyone.

So what pain would she really feel from becoming a mistress? Most likely, she’d welcome the Duke’s decision with open arms.

“Is this what you nobles call elegance and nobility? If so, I’d rather stay a base, ignorant commoner a hundred times over.”

At the dinner party hosted by Kiara’s household, Grand Duke Royster had openly defended Eleanor. Maybe it was just to spite Arlo, but to Nora, it was clear he had feelings for Eleanor.

He had paid for her debutante gown. He had saved her from attackers. He had repeatedly helped her.

What kind of torment could possibly come from ending up with a man like that?

Maybe if it were fate… then perhaps.

Bang!

From the Duke’s study to her own room, Nora had run nonstop—until she slammed the door shut behind her.

Her eyes darted around the room without knowing what they were searching for, wide and cold.

This room, used only by the princesses of the Astria family—filled with beautiful, antique furniture, extravagantly framed paintings, and floral decorations that changed with the seasons.

But then, her eyes froze.

Her gaze had landed on the vanity mirror—where a ghost-like, empty reflection stared back at her.

Nora dragged her heavy steps toward the mirror and stood before it.

She saw a beautiful face. Silky hair carefully styled, lips tinted a lovely red, glittering earrings adorning her ears.

It was the face she had always dreamed of. Yet, it was different from the innocent fantasy she’d had as a child.

Why did the expression that should be glowing like spring sunshine look so lifeless? Why were those eyes, which should be shining like stars, filled only with envy and jealousy? Why were the cheeks, which should be flushed with joy, instead marked with bruises and scratches?

Slowly, Nora reached up and touched her cheek. The moment her fingers brushed her skin, a dull ache spread again.

The one who had left the purplish bruise on her cheek—was none other than the Duke of Astria. The marks from when he slapped her days ago had yet to fade.

And the scratch across her face—that one was fresh.

“How dare someone like you mock me?!”

That was what her fiancé, Arlo, had shouted before throwing a teacup at her.

It was absurd. All she had done was visit him during his recovery and express concern for his condition. But Arlo, consumed by inferiority and distrust, had exploded in rage and thrown whatever was within reach.

If she hadn’t leaned back in time, she could’ve been seriously injured. Thankfully, it only drew a small bead of blood.

Ironically, just ten minutes later, Arlo had softened completely, as if nothing had happened.

“I’m sorry, Nora. I lost my temper for a second. You know you’re the only one I have. So please… think before you speak. Every word matters, you know?”

Was that an apology or a scolding?

Nora was angry—embarrassed even—but she didn’t show it. She knew what would happen if she did: he’d explode again.

Since the hotel attack, Arlo had become unpredictable. His emotions bounced wildly, and his violence had worsened.

The physician said it was normal—an expected change after trauma—and insisted that as his future wife, it was Nora’s duty to support him emotionally. To soothe and comfort him.

‘And I’m supposed to do that for the rest of my life?’

Her lovely face in the mirror twisted with disgust.

Suddenly, a certain refined voice echoed in her mind.

“Do you still believe the pain is temporary and the position is forever?”

Eleanor’s voice. Her expression wasn’t joyful but rather filled with pity as her eyes swept across Nora’s bruises and cut lips.

How humiliating.

Nora’s fingers dug harder into her cheek. Her perfectly manicured nails pricked her skin.

“I’m… I’m happy.”

Yes. This was happiness. So what if she was occasionally hit? It didn’t happen often, and it wasn’t too severe. At least she didn’t have to starve or freeze to death.

She didn’t have to become someone’s second wife. She wasn’t going to be anyone’s mistress. One day, she’d be empress of this empire.

What greater happiness could there be?

So, the actions that had taken Eleanor’s place were certainly the right thing to do.

Nora continued to justify it to herself. She repeated that she was happy more than ten times, like a prayer.

But her whispered affirmations were so faint that they were quickly drowned out by the loud voice banging at her door.

Bang! Bang, bang!

“Nora! I know you’re in there! Come out, just for a second, okay?”

This was the third time this week that Damian had come all the way to her bedroom.

She hadn’t even opened the door once, yet she could already smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Come on! Are you really going to do this to me?!”

Nora stared blankly into the mirror. The woman in the reflection, dressed beautifully and holding her cheek, felt both familiar and repulsive.

“Open up! Or I swear, I’ll tell everyone!”

When the threats began, Nora finally turned and slowly walked to the door.

She flung it open.

“Ack! N-Nora!”

“Yaaawn… Damian, what is it at this hour? You startled me out of sleep.”

She let out a slow, drawn-out yawn, lips slightly parted in faked sleepiness, her eyes curved sweetly into a smile. A smile that hadn’t been anywhere near the mirror.

“O-oh! Were you sleeping? I thought you were avoiding me…”

“Avoiding you? I’ve just been busy lately. No reason for me to avoid you on purpose.”

“Right, right? But you’ve been so busy?”

“Of course. You know how hectic things are with Arlo’s condition.”

At the mention of Arlo, Damian’s face immediately soured.

Why waste time nursing that useless patient? It’s not like that thing down there was ever going to work again.

Normally, he’d let it go—but the alcohol made him bold.

Frustrated, Damian suddenly grabbed her wrist.

“Nora. So when exactly are you going to be ready?”

Nora glanced around. Thankfully, the servants had gotten the message and disappeared. No one seemed to have heard his outburst.

“Answer me! How much longer do I have to wait?!”

Damian, though smaller and thinner than the Duke of Astria, was quick to anger, just like his father.

In fact, now that she thought about it—most of the men around her were like that. All except one—they were arrogant, selfish, and violent.

Her wrist throbbed with pain, but she didn’t flinch. She was used to this kind of pain now.

But that gaze—the one looking down on her—was still unbearably disgusting.

So Nora made up her mind.

“Calm down, Dami. You’re going to have me all to yourself soon anyway. Why rush?”

Once I become Empress, I’m going to kill you.

“W-What…?”

“Come on, think about it. Arlo’s… well, let’s just say he’s not exactly ‘functional’ anymore. Who else would I turn to but you?”

Pretending to offer her body… only to crush his skull in when the time came.

“Then why haven’t you been seeing me lately?”

“Well, it’s not the right time yet. That incident at Hotel Mercedes only happened recently. If I suddenly started ignoring Arlo, everyone would call me a wicked woman. Even my father would be furious.”

Nora smiled sweetly—while vividly imagining ripping the man before her to pieces.