Fakes Don’t Want To Be Real Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 

“If you have nothing more to say, may I take my leave? I’m a bit pressed for time.”

 

It wasn’t just that glancing at her hands made her uneasy. But now that she’d achieved what she came for, so leaving now seemed reasonable.

Verndia only stared at Psychke, offering no response.

In truth, he was slightly distracted.

Until now, he had assumed her insistence on signing a contract was just an extension of her attempt to draw attention.

Even if she was clever, a well-raised duchess wouldn’t have knowledge of monsters.

He had thought that refusing might make things troublesome, and even if it were a lie, signing the contract could only cost him time at worst, so why not?

But the moment he saw the scars on her hands, evidence of wielding a sword, an unfamiliar thought crept into his mind: Perhaps she had been telling the truth.

 

“Duke?” Her dry voice broke his reverie.

“Very well.”

 

Verndia resolved to carefully review the report Crow would bring on the duchess, accepting it.

Then,

 

“Psychke! Duke Verndia!”

 

A high-pitched squeal and hurried footsteps approached.

Verndia, rising awkwardly, turned toward the sound while Psychke paused, hand on her chair.

The source of the commotion was Lillian, wearing a new, extravagant outfit from the boutique and behind her trailed a visibly displeased Yzhar and Lenox.

 

“Ugh, what rotten luck,” Verndia muttered under his breath, displeased at encountering someone he didn’t want to see.

 

Unaware of his comment, Lillian quickly claimed the seat beside him, puffing her cheeks and pouting at Psychke.

 

“It’s not fair that you had a secret meeting to rush through. Next time, I’m coming too!”

 

She had asked permission, not insisted on joining.

Before Psychke could point this out, Lillian leaned toward Verndia, voice sweet with charm.

 

“Nice to meet you, Duke.”

 

Psychke, still stunned, stared blankly at her across the space. It was like a storm had entered the room.

Lillian was clever.

She didn’t act ignorant due to lack of etiquette; she understood how to use her natural charm, the sympathy her humble upbringing invoked, and the innocence her appearance suggested.

 

“I’m Lillian. Please take care of me.”

 

When she lowered her eyes politely, she completed the look that stirred protective instincts in men. So even Psychke, forgot that Verndia had once disliked Lillian momentarily.

No man, no matter how stone-hearted, could remain unmoved by that display or so she thought.

But her assumption proved wrong.

 

“Move, don’t block the way.”

 

Despite being a duke, Verndia tolerated no nonsense. Lillian’s forced charm failed to mask her own grimace.

Without hesitation, he left. Lillian had no time to stop him.

 

“My apologies.”

 

Isolet, his aide, offered only a brief apology and followed.

A cold silence fell instantly.

Lillian broke it, wide-eyed and tears brimming.

 

“D-Does he hate me?”

“Please, don’t cry, Sister.”

 

Lenox, taking Verndia’s seat, comforted her, then glared at Psychke, muttering sharply.

 

“Her eyes… they’re so wrong. How could anyone like that?”

 

Lenox assumed Verndia was infatuated with Psychke. In a sense, he was right as Verndia treated Psychke like a beloved partner in public. Yet Yzhar thought differently: the moment it became clear that the figure before him was nothing, Verndia would turn his attention to what truly mattered.

This was mere strategy.

So instead of agreeing with Lenox, Yzhar addressed Psychke.

 

“Running off just to beg for love, were you?”

 

From what Yzhar had observed, Psychke had always chased after him.

It was irritating, undermining Silkisia’s reputation, but he had turned a blind eye as long as Verndia’s feelings could be swayed.

Now, however, she was running like an impish filly, ignoring family duties.

With the Duke of Silkisia away visiting the southern territories, Verndia’s eldest son, Yzhar, held the household’s real power.

Defying him now was, effectively, defying the head of the family. Therefore,  Yzhar had no intention of letting this pass.

 

“I’m disappointed in you, Psychke Silkisia.”

 

In his obsidian eyes shone unmistakable contempt.

Before her regression, such words would have struck her heart but Psychke waited calmly for his next words.

 

“For one week, you are forbidden from using the Silkisia estate’s training grounds. During this time, you shall not receive treatment befitting a lady nor command any maid. Any objections?”

 

Other than being called Psychke instead of Psychke Silkisia, little had changed.

She even felt a sense of relief s any harsher punishment would have been troublesome.

Her composure seemed to annoy Yzhar.

 

“You don’t seem capable of reflection.”

 

The Psychke Yzhar knew had been fearful, lowering herself to avoid rejection—always shadowing Silkisia. She shouldn’t be standing stiff like this.

 

“You are also forbidden from attending the training grounds during this period.”

“…!”

 

Her impassive face cracked.

Yzhar, feeling a strange satisfaction, leaned back with arms crossed.

 

“Oh? A whole week without seeing her? How refreshing.”

 

Lenox muttered irritably, but Psychke ignored him.

 

“Why?”

 

Her gaze, cold as if touching her would freeze him, fixed on Yzhar.

He smiled like a predator who had made a successful hunt.

 

“The training grounds are reserved for those who possess the Silkisia estate.”

“The soldiers don’t own the estate.”

“They are qualified. Can you say you’re better than them?”

“Yes.”

 

Yzhar’s brows twitched at her unhesitating answer.

 

“What?”

“I said I am better than them.”

“Hah.”

 

The absurdity left him pressing his brows, exhaling sharply, while Lenox angrily challenged her.

 

“Are you insane?”

“What have I done to be worse than them?”

“You’re crazy! Are you out of your mind?”

 

Lenox circled his finger near his temple but Psychke didn’t spare him a glance.

Her unwavering gaze made Yzhar exhale again. The situation was going awry.

He knew what the training grounds represented. He expected her to bow, apologetic as always.

 

‘Here we go again.’

 

When coercion fails, flattery comes next.

His duty was to ensure Psychke’s pride was checked, that she wouldn’t leave the Silkisia household out of frustration.

It was her father’s command.

Yzhar adopted the mask of a caring older brother, speaking words meant to allure but empty as a mirage

.

“Yes. As you said, you are no less than them. Even a noble heir cannot compare to the lady of Silkisia.”

“….”

“One, those heirs will one day lead their houses and you will serve in support. Different roles mean different qualifications.”

 

Psychke had heard all of these before, so she offered no response.

Behave as a lady. Do not damage her hands with a sword. Study politics and alliances, consider how to befriend other heirs.

That is her duty as a lady, as a duchess of Silkisia. Then she will be recognized as the true lady; as a member of Silkisia.

 

‘Lies.’

 

They’ll only use her, then discard her but never acknowledged her.

 

“No, I will not live that way.”

 

She cut off his drawn-out persuasion. She felt the shock from the two across from her but she ignored it, fixing her gaze on the dark eyes of the rigid Yzhar.

 

“It’s my call how to live my life not yours, older brother.”

“Do you understand what you’re saying?”

 

The man, silent and heavy, barely moved his lips.

 

“While Father is absent, my will is Silkisia’s will. Do you refuse to follow it?”

“Have I ever truly been Silkisia?”

“…!”

“Older brother, you knew well how I am treated inside and outside Silkisia’s house yet you condones in.”

“Are you out of your mind?! Lenox leapt up, brandishing the empty teacup Verndia had left, “How dare you speak to your older brother like that!”