TVDR 03

Chapter – 03

Arno’s next business venture was this:

A play.

No—more precisely, an exhibition disguised as a play.

“The last princess of the fallen duchy unveils the lavish theater she adorned with her own extravagance.”

The Empire was buzzing with tales of the Duke of Mesena’s daughter.

Outwardly, people claimed to be furious at the disgrace she brought upon the Duchy of Mesena—but the truth was far from that.

As the once–cultural center of the Empire shattered and collapsed, everyone felt a strange, secret thrill watching its ruin.

The legacy of a fallen duchy.

The phrase alone stirred a voyeuristic fascination in people.

A strange blend of sentimentality, a guilty sense of “Serves them right for falling,” and involuntary awe at the grandeur of the duchy’s final and greatest heirloom—

The Debauched Princess.

He wanted to exhibit her.

‘If I told you that even someone who sold off her entire family estate still had something precious to her, would you believe it?’

The moment he heard those words—

The moment he saw that unfamiliar expression on her face—

He almost believed her.

No—he almost believed that even the princess was capable of sincerity.

But the moment he returned to the mansion and heard that she had immediately demanded the ledger for all the goods she had sold, everything snapped back into place.

The moment she got the money, she’d spend it on dresses, jewels, and hats.

Buying a theater was nothing more than another impulsive act of indulgence.

Precious memories?

Absurd.

And yet… the face she made while speaking of her grandfather lingered in his mind.

Her eyes, her voice, the air in that moment—

Arno had always taken pride in his unmatched ability to spot lies, honed through countless negotiations and trades.

But that moment had not been a lie.

Which, ironically, did not mean it was the truth either.

She was a creature of pure desire—incapable of sincerity.

‘But a creature of desire can be a valuable asset to sell.’

So the next day, he suggested a lunch with the princess—who had apparently slept in.

He normally avoided conversations with that lunatic collector, as they always devolved into discussions of jewels, men, or clothes—but today, he had business to discuss.

And at that lunch—

“Princess.”

“……”

“Princess.”

“……”

“Luiza!”

“Hm?”

Luiza suddenly jolted awake.

Yes—unbelievably, Luiza Mesena had been dozing off right in front of him.

The same lunatic who used to stare at his face obsessively during meals.

“…Did you not sleep well last night?”

“For me, this time of day is practically dawn. And I was reading last night, catching up on things, and mostly going through the ledger, so… Ah, right. What were we talking about?”

Books? He had never once heard that the princess enjoyed reading.

And when had she started speaking to him so informally?

As a child, she had been a terror—yet once the duchy began collapsing, she had treated Arno with humiliating politeness, desperately trying to suck up to him.

So why the sudden change—

His confusion dissolved the moment she mentioned the ledger.

Meaning she had stayed up all night thinking about the money she’d soon be receiving.

Of course.

Feeling annoyed that he had stared at her sleeping face longer than he wished to admit, Arno replied stiffly:

“We hadn’t begun speaking of anything. I was just about to start.”

“Ah, that’s how it was. Then—”

Luiza set down her utensils, slicing her meat with flawless table manners.

The princess was born and raised as a noble, yet she had always been strangely inept at proper dinner etiquette.

He once assumed that being raised as a cherished granddaughter by her grandfather had deprived her of learning refinement—

But now, it seemed she could do it—she simply never bothered.

Arno watched in mild disbelief.

“I’ll start. I spent all night reviewing the ledger.”

Of course she did.

“My head nearly exploded doing the calculations myself…”

Calculations? The very idea that the princess possessed any sense of financial arithmetic was shocking.

“If I want to repay the debt for buying the theater, then instead of letting it sit idle, I should run it properly. If you allow it, I’d like to manage it myself.”

“……?”

Arno froze.

Even Alfredo, who was pouring water nearby, trembled.

And no wonder—because the princess had never done anything remotely productive in her life besides drinking and chasing men.

Arno had never expected her to run the theater. His plan had been to ask her merely to help “decorate” it, thinking that her extravagant tastes would at least be useful there.

He even planned to dangle the idea of forgiving her debt as bait.

The cost of the theater equaled the annual finances of most noble households—but the finances of House Dienze were far from “most.”

And although the princess had claimed she would repay the money, she clearly lacked the ability—or even intention—to do so.

So he had assumed he would never get that money back and might as well use it as leverage.

But now—

She wants to repay him? By running the theater herself?

Arno stared at Luiza in disbelief.

When her illness began progressing, her grandfather had desperately tried to instill proper leadership skills in her, including entrusting her with various business ventures within the duchy.

And every time—Luiza squandered funds and ruined the venture beyond repair.

Such a woman, manage a theater?

He didn’t believe her.

But at the same time—he wasn’t about to let a stroke of luck slip through his fingers.

He would act reluctant—but only on the surface.

“And why should I trust you with the theater?”

“Knew you’d say that.”

As if expecting this, the princess pulled a notebook from her coat.

When she turned her head to yawn, he noticed her hair—it was not arranged in the usual elaborate braided updo adorned with jewels. Instead, it was loosely twisted up and pinned in place with nothing but a quill.

He had never seen her this disheveled. She had always obsessed—excessively—over her appearance.

“Businessmen like you love investing in the arts, yet never hand over money easily.”

She muttered, saying something cryptic.

“So I wrote a script. I put together the concept, characters, setting, and even a rough budget. I think—”

With dark circles under her eyes, she glanced down at the “script” she had written and grinned.

It was the first time he had seen her smile like that.

A genuine smile—unadorned by pretense.

So that’s what she looks like when she truly smiles.

Arrogant… and strangely girlish.

Again—he could not tear his eyes away.

“I think this will do well.”

A script.

Luiza had always been someone who only knew how to spend money—not write.

Even as a child, she would attend plays only to flirt with actors backstage.

“How do you know it will do well?”

“You’ll know when you read it. The script is flawless.”

Her confidence was strangely overpowering. He found himself taking the script she offered.

On its cover, a title was written:

<Romeo and Juliet>

“Romeo? Juliet? Are those the protagonists’ names? They sound dreadfully tacky.”

“…….”

The princess did not respond.

She merely looked exasperated.

After staying up all night reading books, the absence of Shakespeare in this world was still so bizarre to her that she could not get used to it.

I was surprised that Arno granted permission to run the theater more easily than I expected after reading the script.

But his following words made it understandable:

‘There isn’t much to running a theater anyway. The youngest troupe member will handle ticketing, Alfredo will keep the accounts, and the actors will perform. As for the script… it wasn’t bad. It seems the Duke’s effort to expose you to the arts wasn’t entirely wasted.’

His tone was laced with mockery, but permission was permission.

The reasoning was simple:

This world was modeled after Shakespearean-era Europe.

I had sensed this while reading, but after spending all night reading literature, I became certain.

In Shakespeare’s era, running a theater required only three roles: investor, playwright, actors.

There was no concept of a director or artistic director.

Famous scripts, like ancient Korean pansori tales, were passed down, shared, and performed everywhere. The success of a play depended not on directing but on the actors’ individual skill.

In fact, research indicates that many of Shakespeare’s works were not 100% original, but adaptations of well-circulated stories.

Meaning Shakespeare himself was closer to a talented actor–producer than a pure writer.

So what Arno acknowledged was solely the script.

Well—not mine, but Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.

And perhaps more importantly—

He understood the value of using Luiza Mesena’s infamy as a marketing tool.

In the original novel, Count Arno Dienze was a ruthless businessman—like the Jewish moneylender in The Merchant of Venice.

When he decided to invest in the theater, it likely had little to do with artistic merit and everything to do with the value of showcasing the “ruined duchy’s notorious princess.”

Right now, I—Luiza Mesena—was the Empire’s hot topic.

A legendary villainess.

If someone like me purchased a theater and staged a performance, people would swarm to watch—if only to mock me.

To jeer. To ridicule.

Arno had no intention of considering how the princess would feel under such scorn.

A cold-hearted man.

But undeniably smart.

Luiza Mesena would be insulted, but the performance would be a hit—tickets would sell at outrageous prices.

As for me? I wasn’t the real Luiza Mesena, so I had no reason to feel hurt or wronged about him using his fiancée like a puppet.

My task was simply to make the audience who came to mock me leave in awe.

To alter the villainess’s fate, and to repay the count’s debt.

To do that, I needed to stage my own version of Romeo and Juliet.

“…Which means I need to meet the actors first.”

I put on one of Luiza’s carefully curated hats and stepped out of the mansion.

Alfredo followed behind me anxiously.

“You truly intend to visit him?”

Ah, yes. The actor I was about to scout had a past connection with Luiza.

Specifically—

“You’re taking the Count’s money and…” Alfredo glanced around, then lowered his voice. “…You’re going to offer a theater role to your former lover?”

My former paramour, one might say.

I smiled brightly at the horrified Alfredo.

“Who knows whether he will end up cast or not? But to find a romantic male lead, I should at least go where the handsome men are, shouldn’t I?”

Why was villainess acting rolling so naturally off my tongue?

If I’d gotten a role like this in my previous life, I’d have won a Tony before becoming a saint or anything else.