Marriage of Convenience - Chapter 2

Translator: Skye

Bianca had undoubtedly died. The memory of kneeling on the cold stone floor of the convent, praying even as frequent coughs escaped her throat was still fresh in her mind, as if it occurred just moments ago.

“Please God, please take pity on me and grant me another chance. I know I fell short, I was young and made countless mistakes. I promise I won’t make such foolish decisions ever again and live an honest life instead… I don’t want to die just like this…”

With death at her doorstep, Bianca’s eyes welled up with tears. The sound of sneers from those who had kicked her out to the cold, hard floors of the convent lingered and rang in her ears. Sounds which Bianca tried to drown out by praying more earnestly than before.

Except Bianca didn’t believe God would listen to her prayers. If God was truly listening to her, they would have made themselves known before she had made the wrong choices throughout her life, guiding her on the right path instead.

Her ill body could endure no further. It slackened, losing strength, while her eyes slowly began to close. Bianca ultimately collapsed on the spot, unable to support herself any longer.

She had no energy to raise her slumped body from the stone floor, using what remaining strength she had to lift her gaze to look at the statue of the goddess instead. Bianca could just barely make out the righteous features on the statue’s face with her blurry vision–a face that almost seemed to be telling her that it was going to grant her wish.

A bitter laugh faintly escaped her parted dry lips. She found herself pathetic for clinging onto hope even in her last moments. Bianca closed her eyes, the ends of her mouth still curled in a self-deprecating smile, believing that she wouldn’t be able to open them ever again.

However, Bianca ended up stirring.

In fact, she woke up to find that she had returned to her younger self.

The 38-year-old who was dying from a lung disease as she called out to God on a cold stone floor was nowhere to be found.

When Bianca opened her eyes, she found herself in her room in Arno castle. The patterns on the wall, engraved with the crest of the Arno family, the layout of her room… Everything was exactly as it had been in the past, which only caused Bianca’s head to throb.

Was this a dream? Or was this the final hallucination before she was to open the doors to heaven?

Unsure of the situation, Bianca secluded herself in her room. It felt like she would easily see her lifeless corpse pathetically sprawled on the cold floors of the convent if she were to close and open her eyes again. She never wanted to return to that place.

On the first day, Bianca never stepped a foot outside her blankets, her whole body continuously trembling with fear. On the second day, she turned her room upside down by throwing and breaking everything within sight. All the precious valuables were plucked from their chests and scattered messily on the ground.

On the third day, Bianca screamed from the top of her lungs.

And on the fourth day, she continuously scolded her maids, unceremoniously scarfing down the endless amounts of food she made them bring.

Although Bianca’s bizarre behavior continued, no one paid her any heed. They all assumed it was just their lazy and ill-tempered madam acting on a whim.

Despite being the lady of the house, Bianca made no effort to uphold any duties or responsibilities that came with such a position, which included being a supportive wife for her husband, Zachary. The only things she held an interest in were decorating her room, partaking in trivial hobbies, and picking out luxury goods.

Therefore, who in Arno castle would bother to spare a second glance at her, much less hold any affection towards her? The only reason they still treated her with the minimum amount of respect was because they were being mindful of the Blanchefort family.

“There’s no way,” Bianca mumbled quietly.

Her current appearance echoed her room, both in ruin from days of rampage. Her reddish-brown hair was disheveled like a madwoman, and her light green eyes were subdued and cold. The nails on her fingers, which were used to only strumming the strings of a lute, learning embroidery, or flipping pages of a book, were chipped and broken from throwing and making a mess of things the past few days.

Yet they were still much more neat and tidy than when she had been a victim to frostbite at the age of 38. Bianca gripped the ends of her skirt. Unlike the rough fabric of the clothes she wore while living in the convent, the skirt she was wearing now felt smooth.

She shifted her tired gaze to the statue of the goddess on top of the fireplace. The statue was carved from ivory and it was a precious item that Bianca had brought as part of her dowry. Of course, it also ended up being stolen from her by the same bastards who had kicked her out to the convent…

The faint smile on the goddess statue made of marble that she saw in her dying moments overlapped with the ivory statue she was seeing now above the fireplace.

This was neither a dream nor a hallucination. This feeling of hunger, fatigue, the vivid sense of everything around her…

This was all real.

“Is this truly reality?”

A hollow laugh escaped her lips. Her body was overrun with fatigue, her voice sounded exhausted, and a slew of thoughts invaded her muddled head, making it feel heavy.

No matter how much she racked her brain, she couldn’t come to an answer.

If this was indeed reality, then what about all those experiences she faced throughout her life?

Had everything up until the moment she died all just been an unfortunate dream?

But the pain from being betrayed by the love of her life, and the despair from being kicked and thrown to the ground felt too real to be considered a dream. Just thinking about the man who played with her heart triggered a surge of rage.

It was impossible for these emotions to arise from something that was just a dream.

If her pathetic last moments had been real, and being here–perfectly fine–was real as well…

Then did this mean that she had returned to the past?

“Have I really traveled back to the past?” Bianca’s voice choked up, reverberating quietly around the room.

If this was indeed reality… If God truly gave her one more precious chance…!

Belatedly accepting the truth, Bianca fell to her feet and wailed. She sounded like a wounded beast as sorrowful sobs escaped her throat, her cheeks wet with tears, and yet there was an aura of joy on her face from being given another chance to live.

♘♞♘♞

After letting out all the emotions she had kept bottled up inside, Bianca composed herself and straightened her features. She had let herself be swept up by her emotions plenty enough.

Now she focused on trying to make logical sense of her situation, but found that she had absolutely no idea how such a miracle had been bestowed upon her. Of course, Bianca had desperately wished for such a miracle in her dying moments, but that alone was surely not enough to let it come to fruition, was it?

Despite joining the convent in the latter part of her life, Bianca hadn’t exactly been the most faithful believer. The reason she had been more or less tossed into the convent was because nowhere else would accept her. Not only had her dowry and personal assets been stolen from her, but she was also labeled as an immoral woman for having an affair. Hence, it was no surprise that she was not welcomed by anyone.

The convent that took her in told her to pray and repent for her sins, but Bianca–having been chased away to such a place and not by her own will–only held feelings of loathing towards God. But it was to be expected as she only had regrets about her life. She hated and resented God for giving her such a difficult one.

It wasn’t until 15 years after she joined the convent, when she was nearing the end of her life, that she began repenting for her sins. To think that a miracle would be granted to an irreverent woman such as herself nonetheless. How could she possibly know the answer to that?

Bianca stared at her reflection in the mirror. The figure looking back at her was no longer blue like a corpse. Instead, her skin looked light and soft like goat’s milk. Fine, miniscule hairs lined her supple cheeks, making them appear like soft peaches–a testament to her current youth.

But in lieu of unadulterated naivete, her blemish-free features were painted with fear, anxiety, and insecurity regarding the future that would unfold.

Bianca leaned back against the headrest, eyes staring off into space. When she was 7 years old, her father had suddenly brought up the news of marriage, prompting her to burst into tears immediately.

‘Bianca. To tell you the truth, I just came back from offering your hand in marriage.’

She had been given chocolate cake that day. The cake alone had made the innocent Bianca happy, as it wasn’t often she was given permission to eat such a thing. After he placated her with plenty of sweets, her father had gone on to explain all the advantages of marriage, coating his words with honey. It was all in order to get Bianca to walk down the aisle on her own with no complaints.

‘The candidate’s name is Zachary de Arno. He recently received his title of ‘Baron.’ Although he hasn’t given me an answer yet, I don’t think he’ll refuse.’

The voice of her father had been sweet like chocolate, but she remembered how the chocolate cake she had been eating at the time tasted strangely like dry mud. Perhaps she had been instinctively trying to warn herself of the rocky marriage life she would end up having. Still, Bianca never would have imagined the very end of her marriage would end up the way it had.

Even if she had been able to predict it, it wouldn’t have changed anything. A child had no choice but to follow their father’s will, including that of marriage. A child could not even express their refusal towards their proposed marriage partner unless they had a legitimate reason to disqualify them. As for Bianca, her young age put her in a position where she could not refuse even if she had a reason. Of course, she wasn’t alone. Cases like Bianca’s were the vast majority.