WHRS 03

Chapter : 03

“Hey, Brother. Can You Leave the Room?”

Vendia crossed her arms as she stared at Kalbasa, who had barged into her room uninvited.

“You had to have gotten something. Just one thing, right?!”

Kalbasa rummaged through her luggage like a lunatic, as if refusing to believe the truth.
Bags she hadn’t even finished unpacking spilled their contents across the narrow floor of the room that felt more like a storage closet.

“This is insane. Your account’s empty, and you didn’t get a single coin in alimony?! Are you out of your mind?!”

When he found nothing, Kalbasa flung the bag aside and stood up.

With his glare blazing and fury radiating from him like venom, he looked like a toad pumped full of poison.

It had been two days since Vendia returned to the Count’s estate, completely ignoring her father’s demand to leave.

That morning, Kalbasa had visited the central bank to check her account.

This absurd empire had a law that considered a woman’s personal assets as part of her family’s wealth.

Now that Vendia had returned to the Count’s house after her divorce, Kalbasa could access her finances with nothing more than proof of family ties.

“Two thousand crangs?! If you were going to get divorced, you should’ve demanded a massive settlement—or not divorced at all!”

He was throwing a fit because Vendia had just 2,000 crangs in her account.

To be fair, it wasn’t much—barely enough for three meals at a decent restaurant.

That’s right. Vendia hadn’t received a single coin in alimony.

What had Denros said back then?

“You’re the one who first brought up divorce. I bear no fault in this matter, so don’t even dream of alimony.”

Ah, yes. He had said that. So petty.

“No fault,” my ass. She wanted to argue but—

“If you want to dispute it, sue me.”

He had shut her down instantly.

There was no way her broken-down family would help her sue the ducal house, and since she hadn’t even brought a proper dowry into the marriage, losing in court was a guarantee.

She had assumed she’d get something.
She’d even briefly wondered if she could use it to start a business.

“We lived together for a year. He couldn’t be that petty…”

Well, forget business—she was about to starve.

She shook away the image of Denros’s face. She didn’t even want to remember that bastard.

“Because of your divorce, the investors are pulling out of our business! What are you going to do now?!”

Kalbasa shouted, face twisted in rage.

“Did I start a business?”

“…What?”

“You were the ones who borrowed money, weren’t you? If you’re so desperate, why don’t you go marry a rich noblewoman?”

“How dare you say that with your mouth?!”

“Oh, oops. My bad. I forgot—no rich lady would ever go for someone like you. She’d have handsome young men lining up, not some bloated sausage.”

Vendia snorted, giving Kalbasa a once-over with her eyes.

There was a reason their mother dressed so extravagantly.
While Vendia had been stuck as the Duchess, her father and brother had used her title to borrow business capital all over the place.

They never cared what she went through at the ducal estate—not even a little.

“…You’ve seriously lost your mind after that divorce, haven’t you? Talking back to me?!”

Slap.

“Get out.”

Slap.

“Out.”

Slap.

“Out, you sausage.”

Vendia smacked Kalbasa’s mouth three times with a fan that fit neatly in her hand, driving him toward the door.

Arguing with him more than twice was a waste of her time.

“You little—!”

Kalbasa, lips tingling from the unexpected blows, raised a hand to strike her.

“What, you want to hit me too? Like father, like son, huh?”

“Ugh—?!”

Before he could move, Vendia clucked her tongue and shoved both his shoulders with all her strength.

He lost his balance and fell flat on his butt outside in the hallway.

Bam! Click!

She slammed the door and locked it behind him.

“Open the door! Hey! HEY!”

“Oh, right.”

“What the—?!”

She flung the door open again, surprising Kalbasa mid-pound.

“Just so we’re clear—I’m the one who asked for the divorce.”

She enunciated it clearly, then shut the door right back in his face.

She couldn’t stand looking at him for another second.

“YOU’RE DEAD! DEAD, YOU HEAR ME?!”

Kalbasa’s thundering footsteps echoed down the hallway like a tantrum advertisement.

“He’s off to tattle to the Count again.”

Vendia slumped into the seat in front of the vanity, her face exasperated.

“But for a family-regret story… it’s way too soft.”

She rubbed her chin, thinking it over.

Objectively, she had no money, no connections—

“And no husband anymore.”

Simply talking back to her family couldn’t count as revenge or a satisfying payoff, could it?

Was this not a family-regret story? Or…

“Maybe… I’m not the protagonist after all?”

Vendia looked into the cracked and grimy mirror—hardly fitting for a noble young lady’s room.

Golden hair as bright as wheat, soft bangs that parted naturally to frame her face, large double-lidded eyes with long lashes, a petite and elegant nose, and rosy, plump lips—her features were dainty and harmonious, like a classic egg-shaped beauty.

“Pretty, sure…”

But then she thought of her ex-husband’s face.

Maybe she wasn’t the main character after all—he looked exactly like a male lead out of a romance novel.

“I don’t know anymore.”

She was completely lost. She couldn’t tell what kind of story this was, what her role was supposed to be.

“Wait. Are they even really my family?”

She narrowed her eyes at her reflection.

Though she retained all of Vendia’s childhood memories, her face bore zero resemblance to her father, mother, or Kalbasa.

Come to think of it, her personality was nothing like theirs either.

Feeling unsettled, Vendia decided to take a walk.

Before her marriage, her room had been an attic-like hovel.
Not even a head maid would be given such a space.

Grumbling about her garbage family, she climbed down the ladder.

As she passed the hallway and the main hall, she heard murmuring voices.

They were coming from the Count’s study.
It was clear that her father and Kalbasa were inside.

Without hesitation, she cracked the door open and pressed her ear to the gap.

“Father! She’s insane. She even hit me! Look at my swollen lip!”

Kalbasa’s pitiful whining rang clear. He’d been tapped a couple of times with a fan and acted like he lost teeth.

“What if this gets out? Her reputation’s already stained from the divorce—if word spreads about her disgusting attitude, she’ll never marry again!”

“Enough.”

“Father!”

“I’ve already made arrangements.”

Vendia furrowed her brow and leaned in closer.

“Marquis Sachsen. You know of him.”

“That old man? The one with four mistresses?”

“Yes. All of dubious backgrounds. That’s why he wants a real noblewoman now. He doesn’t care about Vendia’s divorce record.”

“How much are we getting for the marriage?”

“Two million crangs.”

“That’s enough to buy us some time.”

“Exactly. He’s visiting in two weeks. We’ll send her off then.”

“She’s bound to resist. You saw how she acted.”

“She’ll go. I’ll make sure of it. She’s already dragged our family name through the mud.”

Slide. Click.

Vendia closed the door quietly.

‘Oh? Trying to sell off the freshly divorced daughter already?’

Without even asking her?

Her gut churned with fury.

No. Absolutely not.

In this kind of story, she should be offering someone a contract marriage to escape her family.

But she already had a contract marriage—with the Duke. Doing it again would just be repetitive. That never happens in romance-fantasy novels!

“Um… Lady Vendia?”

While lost in thought, someone called out to her as she passed the study.

She turned and saw a nervous young woman, slightly shorter than herself, wearing the uniform of a Count’s servant.

“Yes? What is it?”

“I was just heading out on an errand to Soho Street, and I thought I’d ask if you needed anything.”

The maid offered politely.

Vendia raised a brow.
The servants in this house usually ignored her.
This one must be new.

“No, I’m good.”

“Alright then, I’ll be on my way.”

The girl bowed and turned to go.

Soho Street…

If she remembered correctly, that area was a bustling market filled with all sorts of goods—from luxury boutiques to dirt-cheap bargains. One of the empire’s top three marketplaces.

Even people from the slums went there.

…Wait a second.

“Hey!”

“Yes? Do you need something?”

“Nope. Just take me with you.”

Vendia flashed a sly smile.

“Um… Lady Vendia. If you tell me what you’re looking for, I can find the shop for you.”

“No need. I’m not buying anything.”

Vendia didn’t even look at Sasha as she wandered down alley after alley.

That was the maid’s name—Sasha.
One year younger than Vendia and newly employed at the Count’s house.

“Then why are you searching around so much…? Are you looking for something?”

“A mad dog.”

“…Excuse me?”

Sasha jumped, startled. Vendia swept aside her bangs in frustration after another fruitless alley search.

She’d scoured nearly every back alley of the market, but still hadn’t found what she was looking for.

“Sasha, can you help me look?”

“M-mad dog? I’m scared of dogs…”

“Not a real dog.”

“Then what?”

“Check the edges of the market—the dark alleys or trash heaps. You’re looking for a man. Ragged clothes, messy hair, skinny like he hasn’t eaten in days.”

“…A man?”

Sasha looked completely lost.
Judging by Vendia’s description, it sounded like she was looking for a homeless person.

“The most important thing—his face. Despite the mess, it has to shine. You have to know that if you clean him up, he’ll be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. Got it? Tell me if you find someone like that.”

Vendia lit up with excitement and resumed scouring the alleys.

This might just be… a reverse-rescue male-lead story!

Time to go pick up the male lead herself.