"Oh my god, is the dress already finished?"
One of the young ladies, who had been practically vibrating with the desire to needle Charlize about Askin Lemut, finally spoke up. She looked like she’d been waiting for this moment all day. In reality, she was probably cursing me under her breath. My comment about "idiots who drink before important meetings" had clearly hit a nerve.
But, fearing my temper, she’d quickly pivoted.
"I heard the Duke ordered... what was it, ten different designers to the mansion today?"
The other girls’ eyes lit up. This was what they lived for—the chance to see what new, outrageous thing Charlize Altsbeit was doing. They hated me, but they envied my power and wealth with a passion that was almost religious.
"...By chance, and with all due respect, what color is your dress for the banquet?" one of the shyer girls asked.
I wondered why she was so obsessed with the color. Wasn't the design more important? But then, a memory from the "real" Charlize surfaced.
*“What if she shows up in the same color as me? I’ll ruin her.”*
At the last banquet, Charlize had literally dumped an entire bottle of wine over a woman’s head just because they were wearing the same shade of blue. It had been her way of getting revenge on Askin for refusing to be her partner.
'Wow, the karma I’ve inherited is just... staggering,' I thought, clicking my tongue.
I finally understood why they were so serious. In the world of the high aristocracy, being the target of Charlize Altsbeit’s "fashion enforcement" was the social equivalent of a death sentence. To be humiliated like that in front of everyone was the worst thing that could happen to them.
"Well, if you must know what I’m wearing..."
I took a slow, languid sip of my herbal tonic. I knew I was being watched, and I leaned into the "Vicious Princess" persona just enough to be effective. I caught a glimpse of their faces—even as they hated me, they were bewitched by Charlize’s effortless grace.
"Would you like to see for yourselves?"
I stood up and gestured to one of the maids. I opened the large double doors leading into the adjoining room, which had been converted into a temporary storage space for my grandfather’s gifts.
The room was perfectly organized. Racks of dresses, shelves of shoes, and glass cases of jewelry were arranged with military precision. The maids had done an incredible job.
The young ladies gasped. Their eyes widened so much I thought they might actually pop out.
"Is that... an Abbey original? No, it’s Biak!"
"Princess, may I... may I take a closer look?"
I gave them a dismissive nod, and they swarmed into the room like children in a candy store.
"I’ve never seen this color before!"
"LePapa has a collection like this? Since when?"
They were fashion addicts, and they were currently in their version of heaven. But as they looked closer, they discovered something even more shocking.
Every single item—every dress, every shoe, every bag—was engraved with a unique mark.
*“One of One.”*
In the Empire, only the absolute best craftsmen were allowed to use that mark. It meant the item was a unique masterpiece, the only one of its kind in the entire world.
The young ladies were horrified and exhilarated at the same time. The sheer amount of money my grandfather must have spent was incomprehensible. It was a display of wealth so absolute it was almost insulting.
When they finally returned to the hall and sat down, they were still buzzing with excitement.
"I can't believe those weren't for sale... they must have been custom-made!"
"I’ve never seen anything like them!"
I took another sip of my drink, my gaze landing on the daughter of Countess Lotaria. She was currently trying to hide her new bag behind her back. The "limited edition" gift from her fiancé, which she’d been so proud of a few minutes ago, now looked like a common market toy compared to the "One of One" collection next door.
"As you can see, I have quite a few options," I said, a small, mocking smile on my lips. "I don't think there’s anything particularly special about a simple 'limited edition,' do you?"
The girl’s face turned bright red, but she couldn't say a word. The other socialites, realizing they might be the next target, quickly asked me again about the color of my dress. They were desperate to avoid a repeat of the wine-dumping incident.
"The Imperial designers are still working on several options," I lied smoothly. "I haven't even decided which one I’ll wear yet."
I leaned back, my expression turning cold. But then, the girl from Countess Lotaria’s group spoke up again, her voice trembling slightly.
* * *
"M-maybe... for the Goddess Festival banquet... will your fiancé, Duke Lemut, be attending?"
The air in the room didn't just turn cold; it froze solid. It was as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over the entire gathering.
"..."
'Is this girl really picking a fight with me now?' I wondered.
I stayed silent, watching the subtle shift in her eyes. She thought she’d found a weakness. Charlize’s body was incredibly sensitive to malice, and I could feel the mockery and resentment radiating off her in waves.
'Charlize might not have cared about the hate, but she certainly noticed it,' I realized.
"He is coming," I said simply.
The reaction from the "Gaemang Club" was... complicated.
I suddenly remembered a detail from the original story. At the last banquet before Charlize’s "banishment," she had told everyone that Askin would be there. She’d practically shouted it from the rooftops. But Askin had refused to show up, leaving her standing alone and humiliated. That was the night she’d gotten drunk, caused a massive scene, and been sent away by her grandfather.
"Aha... he’s coming... right," the Countess’s daughter said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Well, that’s wonderful! Because after the main banquet... late that night, my fiancé is hosting a proposal party."
She was practically glowing with smugness now.
"He’s even opening a bottle of 'Trueze 120-year' wine. They say there are only twenty bottles left in the entire Empire. I’d love to invite you, Princess... but of course, you’ll be busy with Duke Lemut, so it might be difficult for you to attend, wouldn't it?"
The other women joined in, their voices a chorus of fake congratulations.
"Oh my god, a proposal party! How romantic!"
"I didn't know you’d already moved past the engagement stage! Congratulations!"
They were all looking at me, waiting for me to snap. They expected the "Vicious Princess" to start throwing things. But I just sat there, looking at them.
'How on earth did the original Charlize ever call these people friends?' I wondered. They weren't friends; they were vultures waiting for her to fail so they could pick at the remains.
"Your relationship with the Duke must be so much better now, isn't it?" the girl continued, her smile never reaching her eyes. "You should get married quickly!"
I looked at her and felt a sudden, profound sense of pity for the original Charlize. Her only "friends" were a group of people who couldn't wait to see her destroyed.