I AM NOT THE LOVE INTEREST! Chapter 59: Audacity

Chapter 59: Audacity

—ARIA—

"I only wish to leave this wretched household."

Father leaned back slowly against his chair, one hand pressing hard against his temple while deep thought settled visibly across his expression.

The composure he usually maintained so effortlessly had cracked several tis already during this conversation, and sohow seeing that only made the atmosphere feel heavier.

anwhile, Cynthia remained seated quietly nearby with her hands clasped tightly together on her lap. Her gaze lowered briefly before lifting toward again uncertainly, as though she were debating whether to speak.

She finally inhaled softly.

"Lady Aria, I–"

But I imdiately raised a hand.

"No," I interrupted calmly.

Both of them looked toward .

Because frankly speaking?

I was not done yet.

I slowly turned back toward father fully this ti, forcing my voice to remain composed despite the growing frustration simring underneath it.

"I want you to consider my offer carefully," I said evenly. "Because I am being remarkably generous right now."

Father’s brows furrowed imdiately.

"Generous?"

"Yes," I answered without hesitation. "I am offering you the opportunity to preserve this family’s dignity quietly."

The temperature inside the room sohow dropped further.

I folded my hands neatly in front of before continuing.

"Either you cast aside discreetly and allow to leave this estate peacefully..."

I paused deliberately.

"...or I personally inform the entire empire myself."

Silence crashed into the room afterward.

Honestly, if dramatic pauses were currency, I would already own property across three kingdoms.

Father’s expression darkened imdiately.

"Aria."

"No, father," I interrupted calmly again. "Let us stop pretending this situation can remain hidden forever."

I gestured lightly toward Cynthia without even looking at her directly.

"She is your daughter. Your blood. Your responsibility. Whether society approves or not changes nothing."

Cynthia visibly stiffened slightly at my words.

"And eventually," I continued more coldly, "soone will talk."

Because nobles always talked.

Well, aristocrats survived entirely on gossip, emotional repression, and expensive tea.

"This matter will not disappear simply because everyone avoids discussing it politely over dinner."

Father’s jaw tightened hard enough that I genuinely worried for his teeth.

"You are speaking recklessly."

"No," I replied imdiately. "I am speaking realistically."

I slowly exhaled afterward before turning away from the desk completely. My heels clicked softly against the marble floor as I walked toward the door, though I stopped before reaching it.

Because now ca the important part.

The negotiation.

Or more specifically...

My startup funding.

I turned slightly over my shoulder afterward.

"I will give you one week," I said calmly.

I heard father instantly straighten faintly in his chair.

"One week to send away properly."

The room fell quiet again.

Then I added slowly,

"And I do an properly."

This ti, the aning behind my words was impossible to miss.

Father stared at silently.

anwhile, inside my mind, I was already calculating numbers aggressively.

Land prices.

Fabric costs.

Tailors.

Workshop space.

Transportation fees.

Marketing expenses.

Embroidery materials.

Jewelry production.

Employee wages.

Goodness, being ambitious was financially horrifying.

Every ti I thought about business ownership too deeply, I suddenly understood why rich people looked permanently stressed.

I slowly maintained my composed expression despite the violent budgeting session currently occurring inside my brain.

Because listen, if I was getting disowned anyway, I at least deserved compensation.

Preferably in gold.

Large amounts of gold.

Massive emotional damage reimbursent gold.

Father could afford it if he wills.

He owned enough wealth.

anwhile, I was over here planning to build an entire fashion revolution using discarded curtains and determination.

Life was unfair.

"I trust," I continued carefully, "that father understands the importance of ensuring his legitimate daughter leaves this household with enough support."

Father’s eyes narrowed faintly.

Ah.

Good.

He understood perfectly.

Noble language truly was fascinating.

Sotis threats sounded more elegant when wrapped in formal vocabulary.

Cynthia looked between both of us uncertainly now, clearly realizing this conversation had sohow evolved into a negotiation disguised as family drama.

Father finally spoke after several long monts.

"And if I refuse?"

I almost smiled.

Slowly, I turned fully toward him again.

"If you refuse," I answered pleasantly, "then I suppose the capital will eventually hear a very tragic story involving a hidden daughter, inheritance complications, emotional neglect, and an extrely distressed noblewoman forced from her own household."

I paused thoughtfully.

"Oh."

Then added politely,

"The newspapers would adore it."

Cynthia inhaled sharply.

Father looked genuinely horrified which honestly felt validating.

Because for once, he finally seed to understand that I was no longer the sa obedient daughter quietly enduring everything around while everyone else decided my future on my behalf.

No.

That girl already died weeks ago.

And unlike them, I rembered it.

"How audacious of you!" Cynthia suddenly snapped as she rose from her seat so quickly that her chair scraped harshly against the floor.

Her finger pointed directly toward before she could stop herself.

For the first ti since entering this study, her sweet and humble mask cracked completely.

There it was.

Finally.

The real Cynthia.

Not the trembling victim desperately seeking family.

Not the gentle younger sister searching for acceptance.

Just another ambitious woman panicking because her carefully arranged position was beginning to shake.

But the mont she realized what she had done, her entire expression shifted instantly.

Impressive recovery speed.

Her eyes imdiately welled with tears as though soone backstage had scread cue the tragedy.

"I..." Her voice trembled softly. "I only hoped we could live together as family..."

Ah yes.

There it was.

Act Two: The Suffering Orphan Monologue.

"I never wished for any of this," she continued tearfully while lowering her gaze. "I never wanted to hurt you, sister. After my mother died... I was alone. I felt alone for so many years."

Father’s expression softened imdiately.

The man looked one emotional speech away from adopting another secret child directly off the streets.

Cynthia pressed trembling fingers against her chest dramatically.

"I only wanted a family," she whispered. "I only wished to belong sowhere."

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly witnessed another dinsion.

Unfortunately, she continued anyway.

"When father finally brought here, I truly thought..." She paused shakily. "I thought perhaps I could finally stop living in fear."

The tears sliding down her cheeks looked perfectly tid.

Academy-level performance.

Father finally stood up from behind his desk and approached Cynthia carefully.

"Hush," he said quietly. "No one here is blaming you."

Excuse ?

I stared at him in disbelief.

Sir.

Respectfully.

You invited into this room to announce your affair child and now suddenly I was sohow the villain for reacting badly?

The audacity truly ran genetically in this household.

Excuse myself. Ehem.

Cynthia lowered her eyes again while father rested a hand gently against her shoulder.

I folded my arms slowly before leaning lightly against the nearby chair.

"You know," I said calmly, "the truly fascinating part of all this is that both of you seem to believe I am angry solely because Cynthia exists."

Neither of them spoke.

I smiled faintly.

"That would actually be the simpler problem."

Father frowned imdiately.

"Aria!"

"I have no intention to further extend this conversation. One week. No later than that. Good night."

And just like that, I turned and left the room.