I Became the Heroine’s Stand-in - Chapter 87

Ersivan, with his free hand, gracefully picked up a napkin and wiped his lips. Without a trace of awkwardness, he completed the motion with elegance and finally responded.

“I’ll keep it in mind, for now.”

It wasn’t outright approval, but at the very least, it suggested he would consider it.

The Count, elated, practically shouted in excitement.

“Truly? If you have any questions, feel free to ask at any time!”

“All correspondence should be done in writing. This isn’t a matter suitable for lengthy discussion at a dinner table.”

Ersivan quickly cut him off.

“Ah—yes! You’re right. There’s no need to rush; I let my enthusiasm get the better of me. Please, enjoy your meal.”

The Count then turned to Diana, his gaze imploring her to seal the deal. He likely believed Ersivan had all but agreed. With Diana’s support, he was confident the plan would succeed.

But Diana knew better. Ersivan Valencia was not someone who would fall for such a petty scheme.

“I have to be the one to handle this.”

At least for now, she couldn’t simply follow Ersivan’s lead. She didn’t want him burdened with her problems.

As she solidified her resolve, the Count, trying to shift the mood, summoned the chef to bring out dessert.

Soon after, the chef and a dozen attendants entered the room.

Delicious-looking desserts were placed before each person. The chef, as if desperate for recognition, passionately explained each dish’s unique features.

“I’ll enjoy it, thank you.”

Diana expressed her gratitude and then turned her gaze to the Count, seated at the center of the table.

She glanced briefly at Ersivan, then offered the Count a serene smile.

Interpreting her smile as a sign of support, the Count eagerly gestured for her to speak.

“Father, about the proposal you mentioned earlier…”

There were many people in the hall. Now was the perfect time.

Turning toward Ersivan, Diana finally spoke.

“I believe it would be best to decline.”

Then, she turned back to the Count, raising her voice so it would be heard before anyone could leave the room.

Not just the Count—everyone’s eyes were now on Diana.

“But I already discussed it with His Grace. What are you talking about?”

Wrinkles deepened on the Count’s aging face, and bloodshot eyes bulged with tension.

Unlike the agitated Count, Diana remained perfectly calm. She even took a sip of the freshly poured tea, savoring it with composure.

Her every movement was graceful—only further aggravating the Count and his wife.

“I’m saying that our side will not be involved in your business venture, Father.”

Diana placed her empty teacup on the saucer and continued.

“No matter the scale or the brilliance of the idea, we won’t take part.”

“My dear daughter, this is a discussion between His Grace and me. There’s no need for you to involve yourself.”

“Oh, is that so? I assumed I could, since you mentioned it to me earlier. You encouraged me to persuade His Grace, saying it was a great opportunity.”

“…Encouraged you?”

Before he could stop her, Diana had already spoken the subject aloud.

The Count instinctively glanced at the others in the room.

They all pretended not to care, yet no one had left—clear evidence they were paying attention.

That wretched girl was clearly trying to sabotage his plan, and though he was furious, he couldn’t lose his temper in front of others.

After all, to outsiders, he was the model of a loving, devoted father.

“Even so, you don’t have the authority to involve yourself in this matter. You’re still too young.”

To a daughter he supposedly adored, he responded with patience. The Count suppressed his anger and spoke as gently as he could.

But his beloved daughter did not relent—instead, she pressed on.

“I may have only recently reached adulthood, but I’m fully capable of discerning right from wrong. Haven’t you and Mother always praised me for my intelligence?”

“…Right from wrong?”

This was the end of his patience.

Unable to restrain his rage, the Count finally dropped his facade. His cold, sharp voice cut through the once-calm atmosphere.

As Diana faced her father’s chilling expression and voice, she was suddenly reminded of that day.

When he had locked her in the wardrobe—he had spoken in this same, icy tone.

It should have terrified her. Even that morning, it had.

But now? She didn’t feel the slightest tremble. She couldn’t imagine waiting quietly inside the wardrobe, obedient until he released her.

“Speak. What do you mean by right and wrong?”

The Count pressed her again, growing more agitated at her silence.

Taken out of context, Diana’s words might have made her seem like a disrespectful daughter.

Lillian, so pure and innocent, would never dare to speak so bluntly to her father. Diana needed to make it clear that her words came from concern—not rebellion.

Aware of their audience, Diana swiftly imitated Lillian’s voice and expression.

“I hope you don’t misunderstand me. Please, don’t be upset. As your daughter, I’m only concerned for you and suggesting an alternative path. I simply thought exploring other options might be more helpful…”

I know nothing. I’m just worried, that’s all. Her eyes dipped downward, shimmering with emotion, as she did her best to play the part of a kind, well-meaning daughter.

It left the Count flustered, the only one in the room who had raised his voice. Clearing his throat repeatedly, he smoothed his tone and resumed his affectionate father act.

“You say this for my sake? Then surely, as a daughter, you should respect your father’s opinion, shouldn’t you?”

“But, Father, you told me yourself—several failed business ventures have left your finances unstable. If things fall apart again, it could be disastrous. It worries me that you’d invest such a large sum despite that. You’re not as young as you once were, and it’s not so easy to reclaim past glory…”

She began with concern, but ended by belittling him. To an outsider, she seemed like a loving daughter, concerned for her father—but to the Count, it was a humiliating blow to his pride.

“I know this might be your final attempt, your last chance. But if something goes wrong… if you lose everything you have left, what will you do in your later years?”

As if overcome with worry, she reached out and gently took the Count’s hand.

His hand, trembling with shame and rage, momentarily stilled in surprise.

Then his eyes met hers—deep violet tinged with blue.

Eyes often called the scales of truth, they were clear and unwavering. Looking into them, he couldn’t help but believe that Diana’s concern was sincere.

And so, the Count was trapped. He couldn’t reveal that he had lied—that her worries were unfounded.

Had it been just the two of them, or even the small group from earlier during dinner, he might have come clean.

But now, with so many eyes watching, he couldn’t bear the public humiliation. His pride wouldn’t allow it.

Yet remaining silent would be tantamount to admitting she was right.

No matter the relation, no one would partner with a failed businessman. And certainly not Ersivan Valencia.

Protect his pride, or preserve trust? The Count stood at a crossroads.

“I’ve been thinking,” Diana said brightly, pulling her hand away and clapping her hands together.

Her cheerful tone and lively gesture seemed full of promise and optimism.

“If the issue is financial, why not let us provide you with an allowance?”

But hope shattered instantly into worthless fragments.

“…Allowance?” the Count echoed, as if he’d been struck.

His demeanor swung wildly, as if he had multiple personalities.

At one moment warm and affectionate, the next cold and cutting—any onlooker would find it strange, even suspicious.

“Yes, an allowance. We could provide generously. I thought that might be more comfortable for you…”

Now, he wasn’t just angry—he was staggered. He couldn’t tell if Diana was doing this on purpose or if she was truly foolish enough to believe this was helpful.

Of course, the Diana Valencia he knew would fall into the latter category.

If she was still the same Diana he had once known.

“You could pay off debts, build up savings…”

“…Lillian. This father of yours is not so incompetent as to require an allowance.”

“But, what else could drive you to ask us for money? Instead of aiding your business, wouldn’t it be more helpful if we gave you money regularly—”

Money. Business. Help.

She emphasized those three key words, highlighting just how dire his situation appeared.

Servants began whispering to each other. The Count couldn’t help but worry they were mocking him for how pathetic he now seemed.

“…Surely His Grace would prefer to gain something from this rather than endlessly give,” the Count added quickly, trying to save face.

Surely Ersivan didn’t want money flowing out with no return. The Count hoped to appeal to that logic.

“You do me a disservice, Count.”

“…What?”

“As you said, there’s nothing wrong with strengthening bonds. To maintain good relations, I would gladly offer the support.”

Ersivan smiled softly.

Damn it. He refused the business yet agreed to pay an allowance? What kind of man was this—impossible to read.

The more the Count struggled to control the situation, the more chaotic it became.

Though the crisp autumn air drifted through, cold sweat dripped down his back. No matter how much tea he drank, his thirst only worsened.

Thus, the Count began to sink deeper into the trap Diana had laid.

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