Chapter 3: Chapter 3

The earl’s eyes widened in shock.

“Are you… challenging me to a wager?”

“Predicting my failure without reason is no different from cursing me. At the very least, you should stake something on your prediction.”

“Your aunt created an opportunity for you, and you wasted it! Your future is as good as sealed!”

“Really? The same man who couldn’t predict my rebuttal so easily proclaims to know my future?”

“Ugh…”

The earl gritted his teeth.

“Fine. Life is full of the unexpected, I suppose. Like how you—who were once impeccable in your manners—stumbled so embarrassingly during last spring’s tea party.”

I winced at the memory.

It was February, and I had just inhabited Doris’s body. Learning the nuances of noble etiquette had been a nightmare. I spent sleepless nights studying, all while trying to avoid the suspicious stares of the Earl and Countess.

By March, the Countess had invited the Third Prince to a tea party. I had naively thought all I had to do was sit quietly and sip tea.

But with a corset tighter than usual, the nerves of meeting my future husband, and Tristan’s ever-judgmental gaze… I made a series of blunders. Tristan had sighed audibly multiple times.

Still, I held my ground.

“Since that day, have I ever brought disgrace to the family? I’ve worked to correct my mistakes and improve every day. Why do you insist on keeping me tied to the past, Father? Is it because you lack better excuses to reprimand me?”

“You—you dare speak to your father like this?”

“Well, since I’m about to be sent to a convent to gain a new ‘father,’ what’s the harm in speaking my mind?”

“…”

“Let me ask again. If I succeed in winning His Highness’s heart, what will you give me?”

“Hah! If you can pull that off, I’ll give you anything you want! Forming ties with the royal family—what wouldn’t I give?”

“Do you mean that?”

I stepped back, glancing around the room. The earl, panicked, waved his hands frantically.

“Wait! I didn’t mean everything. I just meant that I’d prepare properly for your marriage to avoid disgracing the family.”

“Understood. I’ll trust you.”

“Ahem. But! If you fail to secure His Highness’s favor by the end of this social season, you’re going straight to the convent. There will be no second chances next year!”

“Understood.”

Despite his threatening tone, I kept my composure, calmly bowing before leaving his office.

He thinks I’ll end up in a convent and that my dowry will go to Natalie?

Not a chance.

Reality will be the opposite.

With today’s barrage of nonsense over, I turned to head to my room, only to find someone blocking my way.

The subtle scent of expensive perfume and a cascade of fiery red hair greeted me.

“Natalie?”

It was my second sister, Natalie Redfield.

Her lips curled into a crooked smile.

“Hello, my dear little sister, Doris.”

“Dear” my ass. I’d rather run into an old boss than face her.

In the original story, Natalie’s interactions with Doris were vague, but as a classic villainess, her behavior was predictable: dismissive and condescending toward her less popular sister.

And, as expected…

“So, you didn’t manage to dance with His Highness even once today?”

“Yes. I’m sure you already knew.”

“Oh, really? I just guessed, judging by your outfit. I figured no one would pick you.”

Natalie threw her head back and laughed, her voice dripping with mockery.

Even her laugh sounded like it was scripted for a textbook villainess.

“Well, His Highness is that kind of man, but even other men ignored you? How pitiful. If His Highness abandons you, you’ll have nowhere to go, won’t you?”

How predictable.

But I wasn’t angry. What was the point? She was fated for a convent-bound ending anyway. Poor Natalie, how did you end up as the villainess?

Smiling, I replied, “True. If only I were half as beautiful as you, Natalie.”

It was 30% sarcasm, 70% honesty.

Honestly, if I had to reincarnate, why not as a stunning lead? Instead, I ended up in a forgettable supporting role with barely any physical traits specified. What a pity.

Now, how would the villainess respond? Something cliché, perhaps—“Should I lend you half my beauty?” or “You’d be better off being reborn.”

I lifted my gaze in anticipation, but…

…What’s this?

Natalie looked genuinely flustered.

“D-Doris. What did you just say?”

“Pardon?”

What’s with her? I didn’t say anything rude.

“I said I envy your beauty, Natalie.”

“And?”

“Nothing more.”

She’s been praised for her looks all her life. Why is she acting so shocked?

“Well, your fiery hair is stunning, and you carry yourself with such confidence…”

I listed her virtues one by one, but Natalie only grew more unsettled.@@novelbin@@

Eventually, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Why are you suddenly complimenting me? It’s odd.”

“Have I never complimented you before?”

“Maybe you have. But you always ruin it with things like, ‘Inner beauty matters more. I’d rather read than spend time on makeup.’ I never remember the nice parts.”

“…”

“Ugh, forget it. You’ve ruined my mood.”

With a flick of her fiery red hair, Natalie turned to leave.

“Next time, wear a proper dress to the ball. Men in this country don’t seem to value ‘inner beauty’ the way you claim.”

And with that parting jab, Natalie strode away.

I stood there, watching her retreating figure.

“She said I used to talk about ‘inner beauty’ all the time, huh?”

Interesting…

I do enjoy reading more than dressing up, but I never thought of the two as mutually exclusive.

Come to think of it, wasn’t this novel published around 20 years ago? Back when stories were full of clichés about villainesses obsessed with appearances and the idea that women who cared about looks were shallow?

Not that I plan to defend the villainess picking on her sister.

Villainesses are meant to be dealt with by the heroine.

As for me, I still had a social season to endure—a season full of balls and events I’d be dragged to.

Well, I’ll make the most of it by eating all the desserts I couldn’t afford back in Korea!

Of course, the most delicious treat will be watching Tristan’s downfall.

He’s going to regret everything, one way or another.

***

Club Ares

The man slammed his cards down onto the table in a fit of frustration. The establishment, named after the god of war, reeked not of battle but of pleasure and indulgence.

"I can't do this anymore! Two pairs with queens in a row? Do all the queen cards just magically gravitate toward you?" he exclaimed.

"The queen recognizes her prince, that's all," Tristan replied coolly, discarding his cards without the faintest hint of satisfaction from his consecutive wins. As the game concluded, an attendant promptly prepared a glass of brandy for him.

Instead of reaching for his drink, Tristan's gaze wandered to the club's velvet-draped, heavy doors. For two hours now, they had remained closed.

"It’s unusually quiet for a weekend, isn’t it? Fewer patrons than usual. Do you know why, Alex?" he asked, turning to his long-time friend.

"Well, uh—maybe it's the weather?" Alex stammered.

"Impressive excuse. Truly groundbreaking logic," Tristan said dryly, fixing Alex with a pointed stare. Alex rolled his eyes twice, eventually conceding that his attempt at deflection had failed miserably.

"Fine. A new members-only salon started up recently. It’s called the Sacred Salon," Alex admitted.

"Never heard of it. Do they have fairies juggling in there or something?"

To sustain a weekly operation with such exclusivity, the entertainment must be extraordinary, Tristan mused.

Alex's response, however, caught him off guard.

"Scandals."

"…Excuse me?"

"They place bets on society scandals. From minor gossip, like who will dance with whom, to more salacious topics—when a noble’s affair will be exposed, or even who’s likely to divorce next."

"…"

Tristan’s refined eyebrows twitched into an unusually perplexed shape.

"So you’re telling me that a salon catering to bottom-feeders—people whose only joy in life is dissecting others’ scandals—has become wildly popular, despite only operating once a week?"

"Exactly."

"When my grandmother laments, 'The younger generation is morally bankrupt,' I usually can’t relate. But suddenly, her words make perfect sense," Tristan said, finally sipping his brandy for the first time that evening.

Alex, sensing the chance to elaborate, filled in the details.

"Apparently, it started as a small gathering for noblewomen with unmarried daughters two or three years past their debut."

"Interesting."

"But as the group expanded, the topics escalated—from gossiping about wealth and business ventures to sharing dirt on illegitimate children and secret lovers. It became inevitable that scandal-obsessed men and women of all ages would flock to it."

"Something seems off. As a salon grows, the quality of its information usually plummets. Unless…" Tristan trailed off, quickly realizing the flaw in his assumption.

"Who’s the mastermind behind this salon?"

After all, the quality of any gathering depends heavily on its leadership.

Alex smirked knowingly. "Ah, that’s the crux of it. The salon’s organizer is a woman known as Madame Abigail."

"Never heard of her."

"Of course not. It’s an alias. Everyone at the salon wears masks, including Madame Abigail. But they say she’s incredibly well-informed about the capital’s nobles and key figures."

Leaning in, Alex lowered his voice conspiratorially. "There’s even a rumor that she might be Her Majesty the Queen herself."

"Are you insane? My mother would never—"

"It’s just a figure of speech, Tristan. A way of saying she knows everything."

"My mother would faint if she heard such nonsense!"

"Exactly why I hesitated to mention it. If you, her own son, find it ridiculous, imagine how others would react."

"They’d try to dismantle the salon immediately. Ha…" Tristan sighed deeply.

"Right, so don’t go blabbing about this at the palace, alright?"

"Who’d believe me, anyway? I’ll pretend I didn’t hear a thing."

"…Oh. One more question, though," Alex said, checking to ensure no one else was listening before continuing.

"How’s the breakup plan coming along?"

"What? Breakup plan?" Tristan’s reaction was instantaneous—he flinched like a startled cat, his expression one of pure shock.

Alex, caught off guard by the overreaction, furrowed his brow. "Why so surprised? You said you’d create a scandal with some random lady and use it to break things off with your current fiancée."

"…"

"You declared it your New Year’s resolution during our drinking party, shouting that it was your goal for the year. What’s this? Having second thoughts already?"

"…No. Of course not."