I Became the Heroine’s Stand-in - Chapter 93

“…Thanks to you, I was able to do it.”

Her hastily added words trailed off, followed by the soft hiss of deflation like the sound that escaped when tension, wound tightly, finally eased.

She glanced at Ersivan’s face and found his expression peculiar. Like someone who had hoped for something, only to be let down.

‘I thought you were confessing to me.’

‘…Huh?’

‘So, I guess it kind of ruined the moment…’

It was a look Diana had seen before—whether as herself or in Lillian’s life.

What mattered was that it was an expression people made when they expected something romantic—only for it to veer off course.

‘…No way. There’s no way that’s what he meant. Don’t be ridiculous.’

Even someone as perceptive as Diana could sometimes misread people. It was the problem with expectations—they narrowed her focus, made her interpret things through a tinted lens.

And he wasn’t someone she could expect that kind of thing from.

“…Why that expression?”

Still, a question wasn’t crossing the line, was it? With a flicker of hope, Diana asked Ersivan directly.

“Forgive me for saying this out of nowhere, but… you have quite the talent for making others feel good.”

“…Pardon?”

“You always speak so beautifully.”

Not the response she had hoped for—or even anticipated—but somehow, it felt… exactly like Ersivan Valencia.

She wanted to shoot back that he only spoke beautifully because others showed kindness first. But fearing he might realize her feelings, she let it go.

“I learned from you, Evan.”

So Diana stopped at the line she always drew.

A safe level of wit, a modest compliment. Just enough to avoid suspicion. Just enough distance.

That was enough for her.

She could express her gratitude. He could feel less burdened by guilt.

That much was perfect.

“Shall I see you tomorrow, then?”

“Let’s.”

The moment felt perfectly suited for farewell. As Diana wished him good night, Ersivan reached for the door handle.

She turned away before her body could lean toward him, gently tapping the doorframe with her hand as she passed. The narrow door opened slightly, and she slipped inside.

Before it shut fully, their eyes met for a brief second—or so it felt.

Leaning against the door, Diana caught her breath. Only when the sound of his footsteps faded did she slowly sink to the floor.

She couldn’t summon the strength to rise. For a while, she simply sat there, motionless.

She could hear attendants moving through the corridor. Though it was still early, the household was already settling in for the night.

The chill of the floor began to seep into her legs. The repeated coughing reminded her of what her old nurse used to say—cold legs weaken one’s defenses.

Just as she was trying to stand, a commotion erupted right outside her door.

“…You mustn’t, sir!”

The butler’s urgent voice rang out.

Diana froze, her steps halted, ears tuned.

“He’s upset right now!”

“Don’t stop me. There’s something I must say…”

The Count and the butler were arguing.

Between hiccups and slurred speech, it was obvious—the Count had drunk heavily and gotten himself thoroughly intoxicated.

No doubt he was using his inebriated state as an excuse to settle scores over the events at dinner.

The butler was trying his best, so Diana figured she didn’t need to intervene. But even the butler couldn’t be too forceful with the master of the house.

If the Count continued to act disgracefully, the quarrel would drag on, and others would notice.

Not that Diana cared if people saw the Count’s shameful side—in fact, she welcomed it—but one person gave her pause.

Namely, Ersivan, who had just returned to his room.

“You can’t, my lord!”

“Let me go. I have words for my daughter—words she needs to hear.”

The Count seemed ready to raise his voice.

No helping it now.

Diana shut her eyes tightly and reached for the door handle.

“…What’s going on?”

Her calm question startled the butler, who was sweating profusely. He glanced between Diana and the Count, at a loss for what to do, then stammered:

“…The Count… His Lordship seems to feel… some regret, or grievance, toward you, my lady—the Duchess—and insists on seeing you at this late hour.”

Just as she’d guessed.

Diana straightened from where she’d been leaning on the door and adjusted her posture. For now, she had to play the role of dutiful daughter.

Whatever her private thoughts, maintaining a cordial public image was still important.

“Did I somehow offend Father…?”

Feigning concern, she wiped her face with her hands and looked over at her drunken father, gesturing for him to enter.

“I doubt he’ll say much. Please don’t worry.”

“How could Father ever say anything harsh to me? You needn’t worry either—please rest well.”

Diana dismissed the butler with a warm smile. The moment he turned away, her expression immediately dropped.

The Count had already made himself at home, plopping down on the edge of her bed. He nodded off and jerked back upright repeatedly, as if bowing his head every few seconds.

It was almost comical how he couldn’t even sit straight from being so drunk.

“What brings you here?”

She wanted nothing more than to throw him out on the spot but did her best to appear kind.

Diana hadn’t completely severed ties with him yet. For now, it was important to conceal her hostility.

“You…”

“…”

“You ruined everything!”

But the Count wasn’t interested in cooperation. His bellow was so loud it made her ears ring, and she instinctively winced.

Though she knew she should calm him down, Diana raised her voice in frustration.

“You’re the one who ruined everything. Strictly speaking, you brought this upon yourself.”

“If you hadn’t said what you did…!”

“I only said it because I cared.”

Her lashes lowered slightly, and she wore an expression of deep sorrow and injustice.

The Count, overwhelmed with frustration, struck his own chest with clenched fists. Then he stamped his feet hard against the marble floor.

“How dare you call that concern for me!”

“It’s true.”

“And yet the outcome was not in my favor!”

“But I only followed what you taught me.”

“…What?”

So he still had the capacity to comprehend. At least enough to want an explanation.

Diana smiled at his question. How ironic that he couldn’t even remember his own words. It just proved how hollow they truly were.

She approached the Count, her composed face mere inches from his flushed, alcohol-reddened one.

Her eyes calmly traced his stubborn features, then she finally spoke.

“That day—you cast me aside, remember? You told me it was for my own good. That I’d understand one day. That I might think it cruel now, but someday I’d be grateful.”

Her voice had shifted back to its usual tone. Gone was any warmth—her words were cold, firm, and filled the silence.

“I simply acted with the same mindset. So please, let go of your anger.”

She smiled faintly. For a brief moment, she looked exactly like Lillian.

“…You.”

Surprisingly, the Count didn’t interrupt her. He listened to every word, in silence.

Only after she’d finished speaking did he finally open his mouth.

His bloodshot eyes, as red as his face, locked onto hers.

“You’re not Lillian.”

“No. I’m not. Though you brought me here to take her place, I can never truly be her.”

“Lillian would never have treated me like this.”

In his eyes, disbelief and despair coexisted. His flushed, inflamed gaze was a swirl of both emotions.

“Do you wish I were more like her?”

“…”

“But Father, you never treated me as kindly as you did her.”

Sure, Lillian might have had her own complaints about her parents—but unlike Diana, she had always been treated as a person.

Diana couldn’t even muster a bitter laugh. Straightening from her bent posture, she slowly paced the room.

Soon enough, the Countess would realize her husband was missing and come looking for him. All she had to do was endure until then.

“…You really have changed.”

A suddenly clear, measured voice struck her from behind.

Puzzled, Diana turned toward the Count.

He was no longer sitting. Without assistance, he stood straight—not like the staggering drunk earlier.

Only then did Diana realize that, just as she had been pretending, so too had the Count.

“You’re no longer my daughter. You’ve changed too much…”

How amusing, the Count trying to speak as if he possessed some grand fatherly love.

Diana let out a short, derisive exhale. It wasn’t even worth a laugh.

“I’m still your daughter, Father.”

Now, she was done holding back.

Diana decided she wouldn’t look back anymore. Sometimes, recklessness was what changed the future.

“But you’re missing one important detail.”

“…”

“I’m no longer your foolish daughter.”

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