Count Redfield widened his eyes.
“Are you trying to make a wager with me?”
“Predicting my misfortune without any grounds sounds an awful lot like casting a curse. At the very least, you should put something on the line.”
“You couldn’t accomplish anything even at the opportunity your aunt set up for you! Looking at that, your future is obvious!”
“Really? You couldn’t even anticipate my response just now, and yet you speak so confidently about my future?”
“Grr…”
The Count ground his teeth.
“Fine. The world is full of unpredictable things. Especially when I think of how you, who used to have impeccable manners, fumbled so awkwardly at that tea party in spring!”
Ugh. That memory choked me up for a second.
Back in February—right after I had possessed Dori—what gave me the most trouble was noble etiquette. The Count and Countess kept eyeing me like ‘Something’s off with the youngest one,’ so I stayed up nights reading etiquette books just to get the basics.
Around March, Countess Redfield hosted a formal tea service and invited the Third Prince. I’d assumed all I had to do was sit still and sip tea.
But thanks to an extra-tight corset, the pressure of facing my future husband, and his incessantly crooked glares…I made a handful of small mistakes, enough that Tristan let out a very audible sigh.
Still, I stood tall and answered now:
“Since that day, have I once brought shame to our family? I’ve learned from my mistakes and improved steadily, so I don’t understand why you keep tying me to the past. Is it because you have nothing else to scold me over?”
“Y-you… How dare you speak to your father like that!”
“Well, since I’m about to be packed off to a convent and assigned a new father, there’s no point in holding back, is there?”
“……”
“Let me ask again: If I succeed in winning His Highness’s heart, what will you give me as a dowry?”
“Hmph. If you can actually do that, I’ll give you anything! If you secure ties with the royal family, there’s nothing I wouldn’t give!”
“Truly?”
I stepped back and glanced around the room. The Count panicked and waved his hands frantically.
“Wait! I-I don’t mean literally anything. I just meant I’d prepare something worthy of the royal family—without shame!”
“Alright, I’ll trust you on that.”
“Ahem. But! If you fail to win His Highness’s heart by the end of the season, then it’s off to the convent for you. There will be no next year!”
“Understood.”
Despite his voice rising in a tone that bordered on a threat, I answered calmly. The Count let out a disapprovingly ‘ugh’ and swallowed hard. Without a change in expression, I gave a brief bow and exited the study.
Shipping me off to a convent, and giving my dowry to Natalie?
Not a chance.
‘Reality will be the complete opposite.’
Having endured the day’s quota of absurdity, I turned to head back to my room—only to be blocked by someone.
A strong whiff of refined perfume… and vivid crimson hair as fierce as a rose.
“Sister?”
It was my middle sister, Natalie Redfield.
She curled her lips into a crooked smirk.
“Hello, my sweet little sister, Dori.”
Sweet, my foot. I’d be happier running into my ex-boss on the street.
The novel never really depicted how Natalie treated Dori, but considering she’s a villainess, it’s not hard to imagine.
She probably ignored her unpopular little sister.
And, right on cue:
“Hey, did I hear you didn’t even dance with His Highness Tristan once today?”
“Yes. So you already knew.”
“Oh, so it was true? I only said that based on the dress you’re wearing!”
Natalie threw her head back and cackled.
How can even her laughter be so textbook villainess?
“Well, His Highness is the type of man he is, but for every other man to pass you by too… how tragic. If he abandons you, you’ll have nowhere left to go, will you?”
What a cliché.
Still, I wasn’t mad.
No matter how hard a villainess works, her ending is exile to a convent. Poor thing. How did you end up as a villainess character, anyway…
I kept my smile as I replied.
“You’re right. If I were even half as beautiful as you, sister, that would’ve been nice.”
30% flattery, 70% sincerity.
I mean, I was going to possess someone, I wish they would have been a beauty.
Instead, I ended up in a side character with no facial description—so I basically look like myself. It’s honestly a little disappointing.
Now, let’s see how the villainess responds.
I fully expect lines like, ‘I can share half with you’, ‘But wouldn’t being reborn be faster?’, but when I looked up–
…Huh?
Natalie looked flustered.
“D-Dori. What did you just say?”
“Pardon?”
What’s wrong with her? I don’t think I said anything rude.
“I’m just saying I’m envious of how beautiful you are, sister.”
“And.”
“That’s all I meant!”
She’s heard that her whole life—why the shock?
“Unlike my mediocre carrot-colored hair, yours is as vibrant as flames, and your posture is so straight…”
Even as I listed her good points one by one, Natalie’s confusion didn’t subside.
Eventually, her eyes narrowed.
“Suddenly complimenting me, how strange.”
“Have I… never complimented you before, sister?”
“Maybe you have. But you always ended with something like, ‘Inner beauty matters more. I’d rather read a book than do my makeup,’ so I forgot whatever came before that.”
“……”
“Hah. Whatever. You’ve ruined my vibe.”
Natalie twisted a lock of her red hair around her finger.
“At the next ball, pick a real dress. I don’t think this country has any men refined enough to notice your so-called ‘inner beauty.’”
With a cutting remark, Natalie turned and walked away.
I stared blankly at her retreating figure.
‘She said Dori used to go on about inner beauty, huh?’
Hmm…
I do prefer reading to dressing up, but I’ve never thought books were superior to grooming.
That’s right, wasn’t this novel published about twenty years ago?
That’s back when… villainesses only care about looks, women who only care about looks are stupid, villainesses are enemies of only women.
‘Not that I’m defending a villainess who bullies her little sister.’
It’s the female lead’s job to deal with her, not mine.
As for me, I’ll be dragged around to every event this season…
‘I’ll just eat all the desserts I couldn’t afford back in Korea!’
Though, of course, the tastiest treat will be watching Tristan’s downfall in real time.
Hope you regret everything—a lot.
* * *
Club Ares.
For a place named after the god of war, it reeked far more of indulgence than blood and steel.
A man threw down his cards in frustration.
“I’m out! Two pairs with Queens two rounds in a row? I swear, every Queen card ends up in your hand!”
“The Queen recognizes a Prince when she sees one.”
Without even a hint of glee at his consecutive wins, Tristan laid down his cards. A server, catching on that the poker round had ended, promptly brought out the brandy.
But instead of reaching for his glass, Tristan turned his eyes toward the club’s entrance. The thick velvet-draped doors hadn’t opened in two hours.
“If I’m not mistaken, there seem to be fewer guests than usual for a weekend. Any idea why, Alex?”
“Oh, that’s—… Maybe the weather’s bad?”
“What an impressive excuse. So convincing, I’m stunned.”
Tristan looked sharply at his longtime friend. Alex rolled his eyes twice, then gave up on trying to patch his clumsy cover.
“There’s a new members-only salon that opens every Saturday. It’s called the ‘Sacred Salon’.”
“First I’ve heard of it. What, do fairies juggle there or something?”
To sustain a weekly salon, it must feature some spectacular entertainment.
And then Alex gave an unexpected answer.
“Scandals.”
“…What?”
“They bet on high society scandals. Everything from who’s going to dance with whom, to when a noble’s affair will be exposed, to who’s getting divorced—stuff like that.”
“……”
Tristan’s usually composed brows twitched into a rare, bizarre shape.
“That kind of… So, basically, a salon for burnouts whose only joy in life is dissecting other people’s drama from the shadows? And it’s somehow popular enough to survive on a once-a-week schedule?”
“Exactly.”
“I never understood why my grandmother sighed, ‘The youth these days are so depraved,’ but now I think I’m finally starting to get it.”
For the first time that evening, Tristan brought his brandy to his lips. As he sipped, Alex continued his explanation.
“Apparently, it started as a small gathering of noblewomen whose daughters had debuted two or three years ago but still weren’t married.”
“Hmm.”
“But as the group grew, it became a hub for exchanging info on family wealth, business rumors, secret children, hidden lovers—inevitably attracting scandal-hungry folks of all kinds.”
“That’s strange. When groups like that get too big, the quality of the information usually drops… Hold on.”
Tristan suddenly realized what he had overlooked.
“Who’s running this salon?”
The quality of a gathering rises and falls with its organizer.
Alex gave a sly grin.
“That’s the kicker. The hostess is someone named ‘Madam Abigail’.”
“Never heard of her.”
“Of course not. It’s a pseudonym. Everyone at the salon wears masks. Madam Abigail included. But apparently, she’s astonishingly well-informed about the capital’s nobles and elites.”
Alex lowered his voice.
“Some even joke that she might be Her Majesty, the Queen.”
“Are you insane? No—Mother would never do something like that!”
“It’s just a tongue-in-cheek comparison. It means she’s that knowledgeable.”
“If Mother heard that, she’d clutch her pearls and faint!”
“Which is exactly why I wasn’t going to bring it up. If you’re this appalled, imagine what others would think.”
“They’d try to burn the salon down, as fast as possible… Ha…”
“So don’t go blurting it out at the palace, okay?”
“Who’d believe me, anyway? I’ll pretend I never heard it.”
“…Oh. There’s one thing I’ve been meaning to ask.”
Alex checked that no one was nearby, then leaned in.
“How’s your plan to break off the engagement going?”
“What? Breaking off the engagement?”
Tristan flinched like a cat with its tail stepped on. His startled reaction made Alex look even more surprised.
“What’s with the shock? Weren’t you going to stir up a scandal with some random lady, then use that as an excuse to cut ties with your fiancée?”
“……”
“You shouted that was your goal for the year at the New Year’s drinking party, but have you already gone soft?”
“…Right. I did say that.”
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