Angela, already uninterested in the endless procession of gifts, lost the last remnants of her patience.
After Kalian withdrew without sparing her a single glance, Angela had done nothing but down glass after glass of champagne.
Perhaps because of her foul mood, the alcohol did little to intoxicate her.
She gestured with a lazy flick of her fingers, calling a nearby servant and instructing him to bring something stronger.
But before he could return with the drink, the long line of gift-givers finally reached its end. Everyone had finished their tributes.
At last, Angela’s bored expression vanished, and she sprang to her feet.
It was time to show why she had bothered attending this ridiculous wedding in the first place.
As she descended from her seat, she felt the weight of countless gazes settling upon her.
Like the other well-wishers before her, Angela approached the newly wedded couple—Dominic and Yvonne.
“I offer my sincerest congratulations to you both on your union.”
Angela’s angelic smile, gracing her breathtakingly beautiful face, was dazzling. She lifted the hem of her dress slightly with both hands and offered the couple a graceful curtsy.
Then, straightening up, she made a gesture.
A maid, taking the silent command, approached with a small, palm-sized jewelry box.
Yvonne’s eyes widened like a startled rabbit.
Never in her wildest dreams had she expected Angela to bring a gift.
The guests, too, reacted with shock, their gazes flickering like ripples on water.
Angela savored their bewilderment, her lips curving upward in satisfaction.
“For our lovely bride, I have prepared a humble yet heartfelt gift. I hope you will accept it with joy.”
Her voice rang out like a celestial blessing, perfectly matching her angelic visage.
But Angela’s true nature was far crueler than a reaper from the depths of hell.
No one here was foolish enough to be deceived by appearances.
Yvonne’s fingers tightened around the armrest of her chair, and Beatrice swallowed hard, her throat bobbing visibly.
Dominic, though outwardly impassive, was surely feeling no more at ease than they were.
At another subtle nod from Angela, the maid stepped forward, placing the jewelry box in Yvonne’s hands.
Its ornate exterior, trimmed with gold, suggested that it contained something of great value.
Yvonne hesitated only briefly before undoing the clasp and lifting the lid.
“Ah—!”
A collective gasp filled the hall.
Several guests rubbed their eyes, certain they had misseen. But no matter how many times they looked, the truth remained unchanged.
Angela’s so-called gift was a hair ornament—one with a gaudy design and garish colors, the kind worn by back-alley women of ill repute.
And the possibility that Angela had given it out of sheer ignorance?
Absolutely none.
“That… is a gift?”
“Tch, what did you expect? The woman who bore her father’s bastard is now her stepmother. Of course she wouldn’t be pleased.”
“Oh, hush. Who do you think has raised Lady Bilton all these years?”
“True enough. But still, to humiliate the new duchess in front of everyone…”
“And they wonder why she’s called a devil.”
“Ugh, disgraceful. I can hardly bear to watch.”
The guests, their tongues clucking in disapproval, shook their heads at the sheer cruelty of Angela’s actions, which stood in stark contrast to her lovely appearance.
And yet, amid it all, Yvonne managed to murmur:
“…Thank you, my lady.”
Her response was nothing short of saintly.
With trembling hands, she placed the hairpiece back inside the box and forced a weak smile.
But there was not a single person present who failed to recognize that her smile was a desperate attempt to keep from crying.
Even those who had quietly looked down on Yvonne for her origins now cast her looks of pity.
Dominic, his jaw visibly clenched, all but snatched the box from her hands and tossed it to a nearby servant.
Then, with barely a pause, he reached down, clasping Yvonne’s now-empty hands in his own, holding them tightly.
Angela, watching this display with thinly veiled amusement, kept up her sweet mask and beamed.
“My lady? Oh no, you must call me Angela, Mother.”
“M-Mother…?”
“You have raised me all this time, haven’t you? That makes you my mother, doesn’t it?”
“I… I suppose it does. Angela.”
“Do you like the gift I prepared for you?”
“O-Of course. I will… use it well.”
“I knew you would love it. The moment I saw it, I thought of you.”
Angela’s false innocence mercilessly toyed with Yvonne, who could barely string together a coherent sentence.
Dominic’s entire frame tensed as though he was ready to lash out.
But Yvonne, stroking his arm soothingly, whispered, “It’s alright.”
Angela let out a quiet, mocking laugh before lowering herself into a graceful bow.
“I wish you both a long and happy life together.”
And with that, she turned away without a second glance, as if she had completed her sole purpose for being there.
Her exit left no room for doubt—she had come with the sole intent of ruining the occasion.
As she strode confidently out of the banquet hall, silent glares followed her.
But to Angela, they might as well have been applause or a triumphant march.
Holding her head high, she walked out without hesitation.
Behind her, Yvonne watched in silence.
Though she sat in the place of honor, she was the defeated one.
From her elevated seat, she could look down upon Angela, but that was all.
That alone was not enough to protect what was precious to her.
Yvonne turned to Beatrice, sitting beside her.
She had to grow stronger—strong enough that Angela could never threaten what she held dear.
The moment Angela stepped out of the banquet hall, her confident strides faltered.
Unlike the composed façade she had maintained, her heart had been in pain the entire time.
It felt as if someone were slicing away at her flesh, thin layer by thin layer.
It was a good thing she had dismissed the servants from following her.
After causing such a spectacle in front of so many onlookers, if she were seen stumbling now, she would truly be the subject of ridicule.
Angela clenched her jaw and forced herself forward, step by step.
“Haa… haa…”
Had the path to her room always been this long?
Her chest was unbearably tight, as though she couldn’t breathe.
The endless corridor stretched on and on.
Should she just collapse into the nearest room?
She was considering something she never would have before—until, suddenly, a strong force seized her wrist.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
The voice, brimming with fury, belonged to Kalian.
Angela found herself abruptly spun around, forced to look up at him.
His gaze burned with rage, like he was confronting an enemy commander.
Had he been holding a sword, Angela would have been certain her head was about to be severed.
“What?”
She swallowed the pain rising in her throat and forced a calm tone.
“What?”
Kalian repeated, his voice like a blade.
His grip on her wrist tightened as if intent on breaking it.
But Angela would not be cowed so easily.
“Yes, what? What is this about?”
She lifted her chin defiantly, daring him to answer.
Kalian ground his teeth.
“Are you seriously asking that? You humiliated Lady Yvonne in front of everyone!”
His anger was not for himself but for Yvonne.
Having grown up in the Bilton estate, Kalian had always been particularly attached to Yvonne.
Perhaps, as an orphan, he had found traces of a mother in her—just as Angela once had.
And that attachment had persisted, even now that their statuses had changed.
“I gave her a hair ornament. Since when is that considered humiliation?”
Angela feigned ignorance, her expression dripping with insincerity. The more she did, the more Kalian felt an overwhelming disgust for her.
“You gifted Lady Yvonne something that would suit a tavern wench and claim it wasn’t meant as an insult?”
“Ah, was that what it was?” Angela gasped, placing a delicate hand over her mouth as if in surprise. “I had no idea.”
“No idea?”
“Mmm, not at all. But if what you’re saying is true, then I suppose I did insult her. Must have been humiliating for her, with so many people watching.”
Angela let out a soft laugh, covering her lips with her fingers. The playful chuckles slipped through them like silk.
Kalian flinched as if repulsed, violently shaking off Angela’s wrist. His movements made it clear—he found even touching her revolting.
Running a hand through his neatly combed hair in frustration, he breathed in sharply, his chest rising and falling in deep, heavy motions.
As if unable to contain his fury, he shook his head abruptly.
“The Young Lady of Bilton is not human. No person could be like this.”
His voice dripped with sheer loathing.
“Everyone points their fingers at you.”
“If all you can do with those pretty eyes is look at people that way, of course, they’ll call you a devil.”
The words dredged up memories, ones Angela had no wish to recall.
A heat burned behind her eyes as she forced them open wider.
“If I’m not human, then what am I?”
“…”
“A devil?”
Kalian scoffed, unable to believe her audacity.
“Yes, precisely. I’m glad you understand.”
His voice was razor-sharp, slicing through the air.
“As far as I’m concerned, the Young Lady of Bilton is a demon. A true Satan. Tell me—what crime did Lady Yvonne commit to deserve this from you?”
For the first time, Angela was momentarily at a loss for words.
“Just…”
Just what?
Yvonne was the woman who had nursed her, raised her.
How had it come to this?
Once, she had been so precious…
Angela’s gaze drifted somewhere far away, as if she were staring into an abyss.
A strange emptiness settled within her—an absence so fleeting that no one else would have noticed.
“Her mistake was catching my attention.”
To Kalian, Angela was nothing more than a shameless wretch, incapable of shame.
“Catching your attention?”
He repeated the words slowly, like they were poison on his tongue.
And then, he stepped back.
“You already have everything.”
The distance between them widened—deliberately, intentionally.
As if the very air between them was repulsive, Kalian put even more space between them.
“From the moment you were born until now, you’ve never lacked a single thing. Was it truly so impossible for you to be just a little—just a little—more generous?”
“How much more?”
Angela fought the urge to step closer, suppressing the humiliating impulse with force.
“I lowered my head to a woman who warms my father’s bed. I even gave her a gift. What more should I have done to be considered generous?”
Silence.
An open, deliberate insult.
Kalian clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, veins bulging along the backs of his hands.
As if he were restraining himself from striking her.
His eyes, now bloodshot, burned with predatory intent, searching for a weakness to tear into.
“I understand you now, Lady Bilton.”
The words came only after the tension in his fists finally loosened.
The man who had barely held back his rage now stood eerily composed.
His voice, stripped of warmth, was like ice.
“Tomorrow, at the banquet, wear an ornament just like the one you gifted Lady Yvonne.”
“…!”
“If you do, I will acknowledge that you merely have poor taste, that your intentions were pure. I will offer a formal apology.”
Angela opened her mouth to protest, but Kalian did not give her the chance.
His voice was unwavering as he continued.
“However—”
His gaze flickered briefly to the accessory nestled in Angela’s golden hair before settling back on her.
“If I see you wearing a refined, elegant ornament like you are today, I will not let this pass.”
“And if you don’t let it pass?”
“Then I will request a formal annulment of our engagement from House Bilton.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
