Chapter 59 

So the reporter wasn’t a journalist—but a stalker.

The article’s level of detail about my schedule was honestly disturbing.

I skimmed the front-page gossip and closed the paper.

“I told you not to call me ‘brother.’”

“And yet I am your brother, so what else should I call you?”

Barak’s childish banter was frustrating—but not wrong.

“I figured you’d be pleased with this kind of article.”

“What?”

“Everyone already knows Lady April has feelings for His Highness Perfoné.”

Who didn’t know the engagement was arranged?

Especially after I left the duchy—April had swooped in and clung to Perfoné, pretending to be me.

“Isn’t this kind of article better than another one about your supposed feud?”

I shrugged.

“So why are you so angry?”

“You really don’t know?”

Barak looked furious—and strangely… worn down.

His eyes betrayed a fear: that April Hill Rise’s identity was slowly being replaced.

“That article doesn’t change the fact you’re not the real April.”

“And if the real April returns, things will change again.”

“You keep trying to take her place!”

“I never took anything.”

My cold tone stopped him mid-sentence.

“I never intended to.”

His sunset-colored eyes dimmed, shadowed like dusk.

I bent to pick up the paper.

Barak thought I was stealing April’s place.

But if I was merely reclaiming what had once been mine, was that really stealing?

No.

April had taken my place.

Barak insisting I was the thief only proved he knew it too—deep down.

“The truth is, I never once thought April stole anything,” he muttered.

I took a step closer and brushed dust from his shoulder.

“And the next time a headline like this runs—don’t storm in here yelling.”

I expected him to slap my hand away. He didn’t.

He just stood there, staring.

I smiled at him.

My face—identical to April’s—was reflected clearly in his eyes.

“You’re terrified. It’s written all over your face.”

“…You.”

“Scared dogs bark the loudest, you know.”

“You once asked me if I hated you.”

He wasn’t looking at the paper anymore. He was just staring.

I knew what was coming.

This wasn’t about the article.

This was about something he’d never managed to say when we were younger—back when I used to trail behind him, desperate to be noticed.

“I did,” he said flatly.

“When you came into this house, I pitied April. My sister—forced to share her life with a stranger.”

He wasn’t just angry because of guilt.

He resented how I became “April.”

“Do you really think that matters to me now?”

It was an honest question.

When I was young, it would’ve broken me.

Back then, I just wanted to be part of this family.

I wanted his approval.

But now?

“Keep hating me if it helps ease your guilt.”

I looked down at the photo in the gossip article.

It wasn’t actually a picture of me—but of April. The real one.

Barak could glare at me. Hate me. Want me gone.

But that didn’t change anything anymore.

Back then, it hurt—because I liked him. Because he mattered.

But not now.

“Just… don’t let Lady April see this article.”

Barak said nothing for a long time.

Then he muttered:

“You’re right. It’s partly guilt.”

I blinked. He admitted it?

He never did that before.

But he didn’t look at me. Just clenched his fist.

“My sister… because of you…”

He didn’t finish.

Just cursed quietly and walked out.

“…Seriously?”

That wasn’t like him. Barak always finished what he started.

Always said what he wanted—bluntly, decisively.

I turned to Amber.

“Guess I hit a nerve.”

She smiled awkwardly, pretending not to have heard anything.

“Barak really cared about April, didn’t he?”

“I wouldn’t know. I joined the household recently and rarely saw them together.”

A tactful answer.

She handed me my silk gloves and helped me prepare.

Smart girl.

Even if she hadn’t been here long, she understood how to survive in this house.

Once dressed, I stepped out.

The butler handed me a bouquet of roses.

“The carriage is ready, milady.”

“Thank you.”

The blooms were rich crimson—classic, bold.

“Who are the flowers for, if I may ask?”

I smiled.

“Sir Beatrice.”

“…Excuse me?”

“I’m giving them to Sir Beatrice.”

The air turned cold.

But I didn’t care.

Everyone knew who I meant.

Not Count Beatrice.

Not Adolf Beatrice.

Only Adonis Beatrice deserved them.

That was exactly why it made nobles uncomfortable.

Everyone knew Count Beatrice hated that his daughter outshone his son.

Most likely, the Beatrice estate wasn’t celebrating right now.

It was mourning.

Even though Adonis had won, she wouldn’t be congratulated.

And no one would dare celebrate with her.

What a joke.

To act like only Adolf existed, while the truly talented one was cast aside.

“You’re sure this won’t cause trouble?”

“Why would it? I’m simply congratulating a brilliant knight.”

No one could publicly object—not when a duke’s daughter offered praise.

“If no one else will celebrate her victory… then I will.”

⸻

At House Rise…

“You’re back.”

Lian entered, pale-faced, having just returned from the mountains.

“Where’s Irina?”

“She went out briefly. If you’d come sooner, you might have caught her.”

“Maybe it’s better this way.”

Irina was playing her role as April perfectly.

Smiling. Gentle. Graceful.

As if she’d never been abandoned. As if she had always belonged.

Sometimes… even more like April than April herself.

And that—more than anything—made Lian feel guilty.

Disappointed.

“Is Father in the study?”

“Yes.”

Lian clenched his fists.

Why did the temple suddenly start looking for Irina’s father?