There is no happy ending

At first glance, it sounded like crying, but Bianca never laughed. The time she’d spent crying in the hallway of the Winston mansion had been enough.

‘…… That’s Bliss Winston.’

Yes. It was Bliss Winston.

Bliss had been acting all sweet and cuddly with Bianca under contract for the past six years, but that wasn’t who he was. Bliss was cold, calculating, and harsh with others.

Many noblewomen dropped handkerchiefs in front of her to get her attention, but he never let me pick them up.

From the beginning, Bliss was not an affectionate man. He was only good at pretending to be.

He wasn’t delicate.

Over the past six years, love might have paralyzed Bianca’s brain.

Because ‘he’, Bliss, had made her feel special in front of everyone else. Maybe she’s been living under a false sense of security in the presence of Bliss because her unrecognized feelings have made her heart flutter.

She shook her head self-deprecatingly, thinking how foolish her love was.

Bianca remembered her first meeting with Bliss. Even though it had been six years, everything was as vivid as if it had been yesterday. It was a significant day for Bianca in more ways than one.

So even if she tried to forget, she couldn’t.

***

The sky was pitch black when Bianca, sixteen, and Bliss, twenty, first met. To make matters worse, it was raining. It was enough to make anyone unhappy.

But Bianca’s mood was not unpleasant. She was in a good mood. Or, to be more precise, she was in good spirits, thanks to a good night’s sleep the night before.

‘The weather is amazing…….’

Young Bianca smiled at the thought.

The veil she wore hid her face, so no one could see her smile. But even if they had, no one would have pointed it out. It was a day that should have been more solemn than ever, but it was.

It was at a funeral that Bianca Moening and Bliss Winston first met.

A clichéd funeral, on a day when it was drizzling with rain. Everyone was dressed in black, without fuss, with solemn expressions on their faces.

The dead in the coffin, naturally, said nothing. The only noise was the sound of the rain. The boring funeral procedures passed.

The only thing different was that none of the people shed a tear and that the woman lying in the coffin was too young.

‘Silly Eugene.’

It was Eugene Moening who died…….

‘You’ve been a wretch all your life, and now you die like this.

Eugene was the head of the Marquess of Moening’s family, Bianca’s eldest sister…… and the product of a surrogate mother’s womb – more like an illegitimate child if you will.

No one at the funeral was unaware of this fact, so there was no weeping.

Moening’s blood was too blue and too cruel to mourn the death of a half-nobleman.

On the contrary, some rejoiced inwardly that he had died at an opportune time, for Bianca, the child of a true marquise, had been born and was about to make her debut in society…….

Bliss was at some distance from the coffin. Not as far as Bianca, but close enough for someone from another family.

Surprisingly, Bliss was the fiancé of her other half, Eugene, but she too had dry eyes.

She didn’t look bored, but it was obvious that she didn’t have much else on her mind for this funeral.

Bianca looked at Bliss through the veil.

Bliss was looking at Eugene’s coffin, her face expressionless. Unbeknownst to Bianca, Bliss’s gaze was long and lingering on Eugene’s coffin. There was no emotion in his gaze, but there was.

Eugene, lying in the coffin, was an innocent-looking woman with dark brown hair that looked good on her.

She was tearful in death, but she had no idea how this funeral was going to turn out, so she was able to keep her eyes closed, looking more peaceful and wistful than anyone else.

‘Duke Winston.’

Someone called out to Bliss. Bliss’s gaze left the coffin. Bliss smiled slightly and looked at the person who had spoken to him.

It was one of the elders of the Moening Marquisate. An old hand was extended to Bliss as if to shake. Bliss clasped it with his large hand.

Like a clichéd funeral, the clichéd words followed.

‘I’m sorry to hear of your loss, …….’

How clichéd, how yawn-inducing……, Bianca thought.

It was a polite greeting, but it was so out of place.

Look at Bliss’s face, where in that impassive expression is the face of a brokenhearted man. Bianca could have bet her bottom dollar that Bliss would soon be strolling the social scene with a new woman at his side.

If I was going to say something clichéd, I might as well say something more appropriate. Bianca’s eyes didn’t look happy when she saw the elderly man use what she considered to be the worst greeting to please the Duke of Winston.

‘I suppose we’ll have to live with it.’

Clichéd words, Bliss Winston replied. Bianca’s eyes narrowed at the words, but Bliss didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he seemed grateful for the elder’s words.

Bliss was very good at hiding his thoughts in those days.

The elder smiled in satisfaction and shook Bliss’s hand.

‘I wish the Duke peace in his future.’

‘Yes.’

‘You were a picture of companionship…….’

Bianca thought of Eugene again at the Elder’s words. Bliss and Eugene had been such a good match.

I don’t know. Bianca’s impression was skeptical.

She had seen Bliss and Eugene strolling through the gardens of the Moening Marquise from a distance. Not often, but quite a few times.

Eugene would be smiling absentmindedly in the garden, and Bliss Winston would be smiling. I don’t remember, but I don’t remember him feeling the same way.

‘Indeed…….’

Bianca looked at Bliss and the Elder openly now, unconcerned with the stares of others.

At the time, Bianca had been curious to see Bliss’s reaction to losing Eugene. At the mention of being picture-perfect, Bliss smiled slightly.

Somehow, that smile seemed to deny…… that Bliss and Eugene had ever been together.

At the same time, it piqued her curiosity.

Bianca didn’t know Bliss. But she remembered the stories Eugene had told her about Bliss, the girl he’d fallen in love with and talked about nonstop.

She remembered Eugene sitting in one of Bianca’s offices, chatting away over a cup of tea that was fashionable in the Empire.

To be honest, Bianca hadn’t listened to her. She was too busy to listen to his useless love games.

Bianca had been studying for the succession from a certain point in her life, to ensure that she would inherit the marquisate that Eugene would not, and so she had lost her childhood very early.

Eugène’s story was not a curious one. Despite having the same surname, She knew too well the difference between Bianca and Eugene’s positions.

Bianca would be a pillar of the moening, while Eugene would be happy to be composted.

Still, Bianca wouldn’t kick her out. Even though it was only half a moening, she respected the other half.

Even if she was destined for compost, Bianca would rise above it. If someone from her lineage is going to be my compost, I have to respect that.

That’s what Bianca thought.

That’s why, as the years passed, she remembered some things. Like the fragments of Bliss that Eugene would talk about with his cheeks as red as roses.

Sometimes, when I listened to Bliss leisurely, I thought that she was half a person, but still loved by the outside world as Moening.

But…… this is something.

The Bliss that Eugene was talking about is not the same bliss at all. It was very easy to recognize that fact. So easy that it was almost laughable.

At the same time, Bianca had a question.

‘Was the Duke Winston of whom Eugene Moening spoke, really Duke Winston?

The question had always been a curious one. It did so now, and ‘that’ curiosity impelled Bianca.

The elder had left shortly after telling Bliss about the Moors. Bianca was quickly in front of Bliss before anyone else could claim him.

Even at twenty-two, Bianca was small for a sixteen-year-old.

She was nearly two heads shorter than Bliss, and her sensitive temper had left her with a thin body that hadn’t put on any weight. Wrapping her small frame in a black robe, she stood tall and imposing.

Bianca pulled on the veil. Behind the veil, Bianca smiled, her lips twisted into a smile, painted red in a way that was inappropriate for a funeral.

Clichéd funeral, clichéd rain, clichéd things.

But little Bianca in front of him, not a cliché.

The red lips, the twisted lines.

The words that follow.

As Bianca looked at Bliss, Bliss looked at Bianca and sensed something.

‘You are fortunate to have found yourself in such good hands, Duke Winston.’

Bliss’s heavily sunken eyes met Bianca’s, bright with a freshness unbecoming of a funeral.

The words that remain between them are not good ones for Bliss, who has lost his fiancée, but for some reason, they are the only ones that make him happy.