Previously
Emma is forced to attend a tea party hosted by Heather Dartmouth, who previously bullied her and the real Rosaline. At the party, other noble ladies gossip about Arthur's close relationship with his childhood friend Brianna Wells to provoke Emma, but she remains unfazed and openly admits to seeing him.
‘Why on earth did the Brows take that girl in? It makes no sense!’
People Heather didn't dare touch had become Rosaline's shield.
She couldn't describe how shocked she had been to encounter her at the MacCallan party.
Even though Heather had behaved like a lady and offered an apology for the past first, Rosaline had shown no gratitude and instead framed her as a shameless person.
‘I even had to be interrogated by the police because of a fire that had nothing to do with me. She’s so brazen.’
She was furious, but she could no longer mock or ostracize her at will. It was because of those who were wary of the Brows.
Furthermore, Rosaline was currently seeing Arthur Gottfried—the handsome, refined, well-bred popular man of high society.
They called it an ‘interview,’ but the marriage was as good as decided.
That fact made Heather so angry that she had let slip the story about Brianna Wells just to scratch at Rosaline’s heart, but that country bumpkin had remained perfectly composed, asking what the big deal was.
‘Let’s see if she can stay that way after they’re married. When her husband goes around meeting another woman because they’re childhood friends, she’ll want to die.’
But even as she thought this, Heather’s mind was not at ease.
‘Wait, is that bumpkin going to get married before I do?’
No matter how much times had changed, a woman’s value was still determined by her marriage, her in-laws, and her husband. In such a climate, a delayed marriage was a source of public shame.
Of course, as the daughter of Count Dartmouth, she received many marriage proposals, but the problem was that there was a specific man she wanted.
‘Ah, I feel like I’ve made my intentions clear enough. When will Young Master Colton propose?’
It was just as Heather turned her gaze toward the man she harbored an unrequited love for, Blake Colton, with a sigh.
He, who rarely smiled in her presence, was laughing while talking to some maid. A maid, not even a noblewoman!
She didn't know the girl's name, but she was a child who had joined the household just over a year ago. Was she eighteen or nineteen?
To make matters worse, she was quite pretty.
Suddenly, she recalled a relative saying that a maid’s ultimate goal was to become a noble’s mistress.
‘Unless she’s trying to seduce him, why would a maid be mingling with a guest at a party?’
Heather’s anger, which had been wounded several times by Blake’s indifference, was redirected toward the maid in a bizarre turn of events.
Of course, she had enough sense to know that berating her out of the blue would look strange.
Heather quietly watched the maid move elsewhere and slowly headed toward a corridor where she could intercept her. It was a spot completely out of Blake’s sight.
And when they finally met face-to-face, Heather intentionally slammed into her.
The plate of food the maid was carrying fell onto Heather’s dress, staining it with messy scraps before shattering on the floor.
The maid screamed in shock, but Heather forgot to even pretend to be surprised and immediately slapped her across the face as she had intended from the start.
Heather slapped her again, and the tips of her long nails left a long, thin scratch on the maid’s cheek.
The maid, who had been struck by a bolt from the blue by her mistress, didn't know what to do as tears streamed down her face. No matter how it looked to others, the maid had felt quite clearly that Heather had bumped into her on purpose.
The maid couldn't understand why Heather was doing this to her, but she had no choice but to beg for forgiveness.
Looking down at the maid, Heather curled one side of her mouth. She had recently learned exactly how to ruin the life of a penniless subordinate.
At the sudden intrusion of a voice, Heather knit her brows and whipped around.
There stood Rosaline, leaning against a pillar with her arms crossed, though no one knew when she had arrived.
Heather’s expression contorted even further at those words.
At that, Rosaline’s lips curled downward as she slowly approached.
Before she knew it, Rosaline had walked right up to Heather and was looking up at her, as Heather was the taller of the two.
When Rosaline suddenly took another step forward, Heather let out a sharp gasp and recoiled.
‘She really is a curse…’
She didn't believe the maid would actually do something so bold, but she hesitated because Rosaline had witnessed the whole scene.
If she forced the maid to pay damages or gave her a severe punishment now, Rosaline would surely go around blabbing about it. Then Blake would find out, and he might get the wrong idea about her.
Heather gritted her teeth in frustration before forcing a smile.
She then cast a cold gaze toward the maid.
The maid fell to her knees on the floor, clutching the hem of Heather’s skirt and pleading.
“Please forgive me, my lady! I have younger siblings to feed!”
Heather heartlessly yanked her skirt away from the girl’s grasp and turned around.
Feeling quite unpleasant that Rosaline was staring at her, she threw a word her way as well.
Heather glared at Rosaline, who countered without backing down an inch, then gave up on further conversation and turned away.
Left in that spot were only the young maid sobbing as if her world had ended, the broken plate, and Rosaline.
‘Heather Dartmouth is just the Herona version of Rosaline Tesis.’
Watching Heather’s back as she headed to the second floor to change her clothes, I let out a hollow laugh.
How could someone who had everything be so twisted?
I clicked my tongue and turned my head, and the poor maid came into view.
Witnessing the incident between Heather and this maid was truly a coincidence. I had broken a cookie in half without realizing it had jam inside, and my hands got sticky, so I just wanted to wash them.
But perhaps because I’d been hit so many times myself, my ears perked up at the sound of a slap from somewhere. I hurried over to see what was happening in this dignified and elegant mansion, only to find a maid facing the same crisis I once had. And by the exact same person, no less.
‘No matter how much of a conscience-selling person I am, how could I just turn away and pretend I didn’t see that?’
So I’d gone and done it, but now, what to do.
I grabbed the wrist of the maid, who was trying to pick up the shards of the plate from the floor, and pulled her up.