The atmosphere of the Rose Ball was reaching its peak.
Olivia and Elaine were soon surrounded by gentlemen holding champagne glasses.
Elaine chatted with them leisurely, occasionally bursting into laughter, while Olivia simply listened to their stories and offered occasional smiles.
Just as the gentlemen, who had been polite, were about to reveal their curiosity about Duke Johann Leopold's ex-wife, the background music changed to a dance tune.
Elaine went out to dance with the man she had been conversing with.
"Shall we dance?"
"I shouldn't have worn these new shoes."
Olivia, using her aching feet as an excuse to decline the flood of dance invitations, stood alone, looking around, before turning to move to the cocktail table.
Sitting at the bar and waiting for Elaine seemed less awkward.
As Olivia passed the illuminated sculptures and was about to walk under a large tree, a group of women surrounded her and approached.
"Do you come to this party often? It seems like I haven't seen you before."
A woman with striking red hair spoke. Her attitude was sociable, but her eyes were not friendly. Among the women standing a step behind her, there were some familiar faces.
"This is my first time."
Olivia smiled softly, trying to recall. She didn't know the woman.
"I thought so. Otherwise, you wouldn't have worn that necklace."
At the cryptic words, Olivia's hand unconsciously touched the necklace.
"Why do you say that? Before that, may I ask who you are?"
Goodness. How could she be so rude? Someone clicked their tongue in dismay.
"Show some respect. I am Anne Boleyn, Princess of the Kingdom of Brit."
The Princess of Brit, why...?
Olivia looked puzzled for a moment before bowing.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness."
"Nice to meet you. I've only heard rumors, but this is the first time we've met like this, Miss Blanchett."
The gaze that had met Olivia's with a benevolent smile turned back to the necklace.
"I wore that last year. I didn't expect to see it again so soon."
"Ah!"
Only then did Olivia realize the condemning gazes directed at her and why the foreign princess was taking an interest in her.
"Is it against etiquette?"
Olivia asked politely.
"It's an unspoken agreement. A sort of unwritten rule as a sign of respect for the other party."
The implication was that Olivia had disregarded a princess of a nation. The princess's eyes were composed yet cold.
The world of nobles was demanding. It wasn't an easily understood form of respect, but Olivia decided to try to understand their ways.
"I didn't know. I apologize if I offended you."
From the moment Olivia appeared, the ladies who recognized the necklace and their partners. Spectators gradually gathered.
"There's no need to apologize, Miss Blanchett. It's a world where you can get what you want with money."
The princess continued with a very elegant and dignified demeanor.
"But just because we have the same necklace doesn't mean we are the same."
The princess drew a clear line between her noble self and the lowly origins of a bastard.
Anne Boleyn had been attending the Rose Ball at the Lancelot Hotel every year. It hadn't changed before her marriage, or after she was sold into marriage, leaving her beloved Edgar behind.
The red dress she had chosen when she first attended had become her signature color, and since then, only Anne Boleyn wore red.
When she wore the Anne Gilbert collection last year, Edgar, who had kissed her hand, praised her for the first time since their reunion.
'It suits you well.'
Before the ball, Anne Boleyn was worried about her outfit and called Madam Lauren.
'I will wear Gilbert again this year.'
Along with red, she planned to make the legendary jewel Anne Gilbert her signature as well.
'I am sorry, Your Highness. Someone has already reserved it.'
'Even though I want it?'
'I apologize, Your Highness.'
'Who is it?'
From Madam Lauren's lips, after a long pause, came an unexpected name.
Edgar Lancaster Lancelot.
It was truly an unexpected figure.
At that moment, Anne Boleyn was certain.
It's for me.
It couldn't be anyone else. He had no officially dating partner, nor was he the type to gift jewels to scandal partners.
Anne Boleyn wore a simple red dress and a small pearl tiara, without any other accessories, to make the necklace Edgar would give her stand out. But.
Edgar was cruel. The plump flesh under her eyes twitched.
"Did your new lover give you that necklace?"
The woman was beautiful. So much so that the flashy jewelry around her neck didn't even catch the eye. That's why it was even harder to bear.
"......Pardon?"
Olivia was taken aback.
"It's a very difficult jewel to borrow. Who is it? That amazing lover."
The onlookers began to stir.
Olivia thought it was clear that this princess wanted to humiliate her. Faced with that intention, Olivia responded calmly.
"I don't have a lover yet, Your Highness. I was looking forward to the ball today, but I haven't found a connection yet."
The princess's brow furrowed, but Olivia didn't care.
"The necklace is Madam Lauren's choice. She is a designer recommended by my maid, and I simply respected her design philosophy."
Olivia, looking straight at the princess, gave a bright smile.
The ladies of Rondo, including Carol, looked pale.
The Olivia Blanchett who cowered in the face of obvious malice was gone. The wretched bastard who hid in the darkness and swallowed her tears no longer existed.
What on earth happened to change a person so much?
A waltz was playing again, but no one left their spot.
Those who knew Olivia's past only blinked, gauging the winner of the battle of wills sparked by the necklace.
On a May night, amidst the dizzying fragrance of beautiful roses, the ball was heating up in an unexpected direction.
Anne Boleyn's usually relaxed eyes shattered.
Liar.
Madam Lauren would never lie, so the liar must be Olivia Blanchett.
And the meaning of that smile must be mocking her.
Anne Boleyn felt deeply humiliated by the situation.
Her fingers stiffened with overwhelming anger. Veins bulged on the back of her clenched hand, and the gathered crowd buzzed again as their attention focused on the tall man who was walking leisurely towards them.
The man in the elegant black evening dress was Edgar Lancaster Lancelot.
In an instant, Anne Boleyn, captivated by his appearance that made her forget Olivia's existence, smiled unconsciously and called his name.
"Edgar."
Edgar was greeting the distinguished guests attending the ball.
Rumors that the Princess of Brit and the former Duchess Leopold of Rondo were at odds were carried by the wind across the rose garden to the gazebo where he was.
Edgar, frowning slightly, couldn't help but head there.
Edgar gazed at Anne Boleyn and took slow steps.
He couldn't help but laugh at the princess, who, even while on edge, revealed her expectations upon discovering him.
They were once beautiful lovers, but their relationship ended with the princess's marriage. The fact that she was acting as if their relationship, which had ended with her divorce, had started again was a nuisance to Edgar.
"It is an honor to have you grace us with your presence, Your Highness."
Edgar bowed respectfully and slowly, then glanced at Olivia Blanchett. If she had any sense, she would quietly disappear at this point.
Under the bright lights of the rose garden decorated with stained-glass lamps, everyone's attention was now focused on Edgar and Princess Anne Boleyn.
Anne Boleyn thought the violin melody carried on the cool breeze was romantic. All of it was Edgar's magic.
Anne Boleyn tried to suppress her trembling heart and reached out her hand.
Edgar kissed her hand as if it were a habit. As Edgar straightened up, his gaze searched for the spot where Olivia had been standing. Only darkness remained in the empty space.
Edgar smiled, and the princess mistook it as affection for her.
Olivia, seeking a quiet place, came quite deep inside and sat on a bench to catch her breath.
The dome-shaped white marble pergola did not have glass lamps hanging, but the evenly spaced streetlights illuminated all sides.
As the tension eased, her heels throbbed as if she had overexerted herself. Olivia frowned as she took off her shoes.
Blood was slightly seeping from the skin that had peeled off her heel. She took a handkerchief from her clutch, placed it on the injured area, and then raised her head.
She could see the brilliant lights of the ballroom. She couldn't go back there now. Not as long as she was wearing this necklace.
She had to at least tell Elaine that she was leaving. She couldn't see her.
An unbearable sense of fatigue washed over her. Olivia sighed briefly, removed the handkerchief from her bloodied foot, and buried her face in her arms, hugging her knees.
The cool night breeze shook her chiffon sleeves and touched her skin. Olivia stroked her slender forearms.
Madam Lauren.
Olivia repeated the name in her mind. Last year's customer was the princess of the Kingdom of Brit. So the necklace was definitely not a mistake. How could she make such a mistake? It didn't make sense.
But Madam Lauren had no reason to do this to her at all. She could have simply ignored the request of a lowly bastard.
She should be angry, but somehow she felt bitter.
The sounds of music and laughter coming from afar felt distant, like another world.
She wanted to go back to her room, lie down on the soft bed, close her eyes, and wake up to find this night had passed. It was then that the sound of neat footsteps echoed on the flagstones of the promenade.
Olivia, startled, jumped up.
The man who climbed the stairs with a leisurely pace was none other than Edgar Lancaster Lancelot.
