After I Died, My Husband Went Mad [EN]: Chapter 48

The two of them donned their masks and began their charade. Whether he truly had amnesia or not, Sebelia was determined to play the part of Bella, and Dihart, in turn, pretended to be a naive young man, blissfully unaware of the world’s complexities.

This is where the beauty of their performance lay. The players never broke character, even amidst the most intense moments. They accepted each other not as individuals, but as figures on a stage, bound by the roles they inhabited.

“Would you care for more bacon?”

“No, thank you. I fear I ate too quickly.”

In this space, there existed a young man named Dihart, possessing nothing but his name, and a woman named Bella, striving to heal and embrace a new life.

“Thank you for your concern, Bella.”

“You’re welcome.”

Thanks to this carefully constructed reality, the meal seemed destined to conclude without incident. However, unforeseen pitfalls lurked beneath the surface.

“Has everyone finished eating?”

Claude, appearing somewhat distant today, presented dessert. Sebelia blinked, surprised by the unexpected treat, which had never been offered during a meal before.

“I baked these for the first time in a while. Well, what do you think? Impressive, aren’t they?”

Warm steam emanated from the beautifully baked muffins. Each one seemed to boast a unique flavor profile. Some were as golden as ripe wheat, while others were as dark as rich chocolate. Sebelia wrapped her hands around the teacup that Worts had poured, patiently awaiting her turn to choose.

“You go first.”

“Pardon?”

“Some have chocolate chips, others blueberries. Take your pick.”

Sebelia’s eyes widened slightly, a hint of unease flickering within them. This situation felt foreign, unfamiliar. She realized that all three men were intently watching her, awaiting her decision.

“Oh, um…”

“Shall I give you one with chocolate chips?”

Claude, noticing her hesitation, gently placed a muffin on her plate. Sebelia offered a small, grateful smile. The ability to choose without hesitation was a privilege, one she had rarely, if ever, experienced in her life. Even during her time as the Duchess in Hillend Hall, she had always prioritized the opinions and expectations of others before her own desires.

‘It was the same when I selected jewels or fabrics from the merchants my father sent.’

She was ever mindful of maintaining her dignity as the Duchess, acutely aware of the potential for criticism due to her birth out of wedlock. She meticulously observed others, carefully avoiding any action that might invite disapproval, and readily conformed to their opinions.

In light of this, purchasing the necklace for Dihart had been an act of immense courage, summoning every ounce of resolve she possessed. Fortunately, as it was intended as a gift for him, the residents of Hillend Hall had overlooked it without comment.

“Mr. Dihart, you may have what’s left here.”

While Sebelia delicately poked at her muffin with a fork, Claude offered one to Dihart. His demeanor was noticeably less gracious than when he had presented one to Sebelia. Dihart chuckled inwardly at Sebelia and took a bite of the blueberry muffin.

“Ugh.”

Dihart’s brow furrowed involuntarily. All eyes turned to him, their gazes filled with concern. Dihart stopped Bella from bringing the muffin to her mouth and said.

“Don’t eat it just yet. This muffin has a rather fishy aroma.”

“What? That can’t be right.”

Claude, surprised, took a bite of his own. He mirrored Dihart’s expression and recoiled.

“Ugh…”

“Did you perhaps bake fish in the oven recently?”

Dihart managed to swallow the remnants in his mouth and posed the question. At that moment, Worts, who had been quietly returning the muffin to its place, exclaimed, “Ah.”

“I baked some fish I caught in the lake early this morning.”

“What?”

“I was feeling peckish.”

The culprit was the lingering fishy odor in the oven. Claude was annoyed at himself for not noticing it sooner, and even more irritated with Worts for failing to mention it. He glared at him, but Worts calmly picked up another muffin.

Meanwhile, Dihart clutched his churning stomach and gulped down water.

“Ugh…”

“Are you alright?”

“Ah, yes.”

Dihart nodded, forcing a kind smile in response to Claude’s concern. In reality, he felt on the verge of vomiting, but he couldn’t allow himself to succumb with Sebelia watching.

He wiped away the cold sweat and said in a weak voice, projecting the image of a pure and innocent young man.

“I wasn’t aware. I suppose I don’t have a very strong stomach.”

Just then, thump! The chair shook, and Sebelia abruptly rose from her seat. The three men were startled and looked up at her, their eyes wide with surprise. Sebelia covered her face and said in a small voice.

“Ah… I also have a sensitive stomach and am bothered by the fishy smell. I apologize.”

She hurried out of the dining room and disappeared. The remaining occupants stared blankly at the door through which she had vanished.

* * *

[I don’t have a strong stomach.]

The pungent smell of food, the echoing voices, cold gazes, and the sharp scraping of a knife against a plate. For a fleeting moment, Sebelia was transported back to Hillend Hall.

“Heok…”

Back in her room, she clutched her chest. She recalled the surprised expressions on their faces, aware that she had behaved strangely. But she couldn’t help it.

The moment she heard his words about not having a strong stomach, the trauma that had taken root deep within her heart resurfaced.

The dining room, Dihart’s presence, and his words—all three converged to reopen the festering wound. She buried her face in the pillow and groaned.

‘How foolish.’

I must sever this connection. That wound no longer belongs to me. Sebelia muttered, as if casting a spell. I’m alright. I am no longer Sebelia Inverness, and such things cannot harm me.

“I’m okay.”

After a while, the face that emerged from beneath the pillow was composed, her expression as serene as ever. A calm, gentle face with a smile that was both knowing and unknowing. Sebelia faced herself in the mirror and pressed her lips tightly.

“There could be hundreds of such instances in the future.”

Are you going to act like a fool every time? Sebelia asked her reflection. She slowly shook her head.

“Bella.”

Sebelia repeated her new name and reached out to touch the mirror. Her lake-like blue eyes rippled like the surface of water swaying in the wind. She spoke to herself in a determined voice.

“The wounds of the past can no longer torment you.”

So, rise. I must carry on with the day as usual. She smiled, as if she had painted it on, and grasped the doorknob. And she collided with Dihart, who was waiting for her in the hallway.

* * *

After Sebelia left the dining room, Dihart discarded his kind facade. Claude and Worts excused themselves, sensing his shift in mood as his golden eyes turned cold and distant.

Left alone, Dihart rested his chin on one hand and pondered the situation. The fishy muffins no longer troubled his stomach.

‘What is going on?’

Dihart’s lips were pressed into a thin line. Beneath his lowered eyelids, his golden eyes, shrouded in shadow, reflected his confusion. It wasn’t merely that the situation was deviating from his expectations, but that he couldn’t decipher the motivation behind her actions.

Originally, Dihart had intended to take a walk with her after the meal and engage in conversation, hoping to gain her trust or, at the very least, establish some rapport.

‘But she suddenly jumped up from her seat.’

Dihart’s brow furrowed. Sebelia’s abrupt departure was not part of his plan. He stared at the spatula hanging on the wall, attempting to understand her behavior. He arrived at a single, suspicious conclusion.

‘Could it be that she’s reporting to my handler that I have amnesia?’

It was a conjecture that Sebelia would have found appalling had she known. But he couldn’t help his suspicions, finding it difficult to accept that she was the real Sebelia. Dihart had spent his entire life distrusting those around him.

To him, the notion that the brown-haired Sebelia was an imposter was a familiar, easily accepted, and convenient explanation that aligned with his ingrained way of thinking. But if she is the real Sebelia…

‘Stop, I need to stop thinking.’

Dihart groaned and closed his eyes. He refused to entertain conclusions that would inevitably cause him pain. No definitive answer had been reached. He resolved to focus on the present reality.

Of course, Dihart had no inkling that his reasoning would lead him astray.

He rose from his seat, pushed aside the blinds, crossed the living room, and made his way to the first-floor hallway where Sebelia’s room was located.

There, Dihart waited for her, not necessarily to unearth any specific information.

‘I’ll expose her shady intentions. And I’ll find out who’s behind her.’

Fueled by this absurd ambition, he leaned against the hallway wall. Several minutes later, Dihart heard the sound of the door opening.

Click.

The lock disengaged, the handle turned smoothly, and warm light spilled through the opening. Dihart narrowed his eyes, observing the scene. Sebelia emerged from the light and stepped into the shadowy hallway where he stood.

“Damn it…”

He muttered a curse under his breath. The intense sunlight behind her made her hair shimmer more brilliantly than usual. The dark brown strands appeared almost blonde in the dazzling light. Dihart swallowed hard.

‘Sebelia.’

Suppressing the urge to call out her name and grab her shoulder, he took a step forward. The brown-haired Sebelia was staring up at him with dazed eyes, her thoughts unreadable.

“Are you feeling better, no. Are you okay?”

Damn it! He attempted to speak normally but realized too late that he needed to act. He corrected himself, but it was too late. Dihart’s neck flushed red with embarrassment as he stammered like an awkward youth.

He was already frustrated, and nothing seemed to be going his way.