You’ll Regret Stealing Him from Me — My Sister Who Took My Fiancé and Celebrated Was a Fool - Chapter 46

Half a year had passed since Roderick and Isabella were sent to the countryside estate.

I had been receiving regular reports about their situation. The letters brought by the butler described Roderick and Isabella’s state of affairs in a matter-of-fact tone. At first, I still held onto hope. Perhaps time would resolve things. They were young, after all. Eventually, they would settle down or so I thought.

But that optimism proved naive.

From the beginning, I had a contingency plan. A worst-case scenario, if you will. Even if their marital relationship grew cold, they could still produce a child. That child could then be positioned as a potential heir to the House of Altvier.

I had even been quietly negotiating with Marquis Edgar Altvier behind the scenes. Since the marquis had no male heirs, he would welcome their child. That way, in the future, Vandering blood would inherit the marquisate.

Yet, even that plan had collapsed under the weight of their irreparable relationship.

The butler entered my study just as I finished my morning duties. His expression was more exhausted than usual. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, and his shoulders slumped heavily.

“Again?”

“Yes.”

His reply was curt, fatigue evident in his voice.

“Another argument, my lord.”

The same report came nearly every week. Roderick and Isabella constantly blamed each other—”This is your fault,” “No, you’re the one who—” Even at meals, they hurled insults. They tried to turn the servants against one another, desperate to gather allies. But the staff only distanced themselves from both.

“Any signs of improvement?”

“None whatsoever.”

Resignation seeped into the butler’s voice.

“The estate manager reported that the servants are exhausted.”

“Exhausted?”

“Yes. Though they take no sides, they endure complaints from both. Their role as mediators has reached its limit. If this continues, they may resign.”

Had it really gotten that bad? The damage was spreading beyond just the two of them. If the servants quit, the estate would become unmanageable. Hiring new staff would only incur more expenses.

Leaving things as they were would invite disaster. The losses kept mounting.

“Understood. Thank you for the report.”

After the butler left, I sat alone in the study, deep in thought.

A month in, I had still clung to hope. “They just need more time,” I told myself. There was a hint of naivety in that belief. I assumed they would eventually calm down that adapting to their new environment might change them. I held onto that faint optimism.

By the third month, doubt had taken root. “Will they ever improve?” The unchanging reports frustrated me. If anything, their fights had only increased in frequency, growing more childish and emotional.

And now, six months had passed.

“…It’s hopeless.”

I murmured the words quietly.

This was complete resignation. The future I had envisioned had veered far off course. The plans I had laid out had crumbled entirely. I had to admit it I had misjudged everything. I misread my son. I failed to see through Isabella.

Neither of them possessed even the bare minimum qualities expected of nobility.

And so, I had to draw the line.

Preparations for the succession were underway. Fortunately, I had another son. One who was competent, diligent, and capable. He took an interest in managing the territory and was well-regarded by the servants. Entrusting him with the Vandering name would bring far fewer worries.

This problem could not be passed on to the next generation. The succession must be clean. That was my responsibility as head of the house.

For the sake of the future, the root of this trouble had to be severed.

I stood and opened a drawer in my desk. Inside lay a letter addressed to Marquis Altvier. The draft was already complete, revised repeatedly with carefully chosen words—conveying sincerity, yet firmness.

The time for a decision had come.

Days later, I summoned Marquis Altvier to the ducal estate.

The secret negotiations, the plan to position their child as the Altvier heir were now null and void. I explained the current situation and informed him that the two would be divorced, after which he would take Isabella back.

The marquis accepted full responsibility for his daughter’s failures and agreed to take her in.

Keeping those two together was no longer possible.

Edgar Altvier was a man of integrity. He was prepared to shoulder his daughter’s sins as his own burden.

The heads of both houses had to take responsibility for their own.

And so, I too had to steel my resolve.

I had to settle matters with my son.

Sitting at my desk, I picked up another letter. The arrangements had already been made. All that remained was to execute it.

Disposal.

A heavy word. But this was my duty.

Roderick could no longer function as the heir to House Vandering. Worse, he tarnished the family name and continued to expand our losses. Left unchecked, the damage would extend to the next generation.

That could not be allowed.

This problem could not be inherited by the future. And so, disposal was necessary.

I sealed the letter and called for the butler.

“Proceed as arranged.”

“Understood.”

He bowed deeply and accepted the letter. His expression betrayed nothing—merely carrying out orders with detachment. A butler of many years understood the meaning of this letter. Yet he asked no questions. That was the proof of his loyalty.