MLBR 02

Chapter 2

I opened the letter from my cousin Nicole. She said she had heard some rumors about me and, without being asked, volunteered an explanation.

“They say I’ve always acted like I was better than everyone else, with a nasty personality. My blunt expression and rude attitude were proof of that. And now… they’re saying I’m even a flirt.”

The next part was even worse.

“They’re spreading it like it’s the absolute truth—that I’m unfaithful and stringing along multiple lovers.”

My first relationship, my first love, was Whistler. I didn’t even have any male friends, and yet they dared say I was a flirt?

Shaking my head, I looked at the next letter. It was an invitation to the masquerade ball happening in a few days.

It was the one party held only once a year in the Empire, with free-flowing food and drink. In fact, it was the only party where you could basically walk around drinking.

“We’re going.”

If someone cheats, you must take revenge. And to take revenge, you need proof.

It was written clearly in How to Take Revenge After Betrayal: The Practical Edition. Since only five limited copies of the book had ever been published, it was trustworthy. And because the publishing house had gone bankrupt, the book could never be found again, making it all the more valuable.

“It’s already been ten years since I possessed this body, Filena.”

It was a long time, though it didn’t feel that way—probably because my life had been so narrow. At first I was lost, then later I shut myself away to avoid mistakes.

But now, I was determined to change. To step out as someone different from the old Filena—more confident, more radiant.

“Whistler will definitely be at the masquerade.”

That day, I planned to shine brighter than anyone. I would disguise myself, lure him, and collect proof of his unfaithfulness.

“If I can seduce him and catch evidence this way, great. If not, I’ll catch proof of him cheating with Mille.”

The latter would be harder at a masked ball, so the first option seemed far more likely. Once again, the book was guiding me toward a wise decision.

I wanted to finish everything that night. I preferred efficiency—and I certainly had no desire to drag out my ties with the despicable Whistler.

“Clara.”

I called my maid and, with solemnity as though bestowing a grave mission, handed her the invitation. Her face twisted in emotional delight.

“Clara Odenator, an ordinary imperial citizen, has been summoned!”

“Dress me as splendidly as possible.”

“At once, my lady!”

After years of staying home and saving on social expenses, I surely had enough wealth to splurge.

That night, out of all those people, I had to stand out the most—so much that Whistler would never connect me to the dull Filena he once knew.

I deliberately arrived late to draw attention and checked my appearance before entering the hall.

A red dress adorned with ruffles, ribbons, roses, and elegant old-fashioned embroidery across the chest. A mask with red feathers and white beads embedded here and there. Perfect.

Red—the color of seduction, and fitting for revenge. The book’s advice had proven excellent.

Click, click. The sound of my heels turned heads. Their gazes scanned my dress before my masked face.

“Oh my… that dress…”
“Who could she be?”
“It must have cost a fortune.”

In truth, nobles usually avoided overly expensive dresses at a masquerade—since one couldn’t show their face, there was little to gain.

“She must really want attention.”

A mocking voice sneered at me. I ignored it and searched for Whistler.

The king of high society would never miss this ball.

I furrowed my brow and stood on tiptoe, though the slight height difference changed nothing.

Strange. Whistler, being the tall male lead, should have stood out easily.

“Excuse me.”

A deep, gentle voice came far too close.

Turning, I saw a strong arm stretch protectively in front of me—actually stopping a servant from bumping into me.

“Careful. Someone’s behind you.”

The words weren’t meant for me but for the servant.

“S-sorry, truly, so sorry!”

The startled servant apologized repeatedly before fleeing.

The man glanced around briefly, then smiled as he released the hand that had been lightly around my waist from behind.

The space felt empty when his broad shoulders withdrew. Only then did I realize I’d nearly fallen into the arms of a stranger.

“Are you hurt?”

“Thanks to you, no. Thank you.”

Wow, he was tall. Even as I replied, my eyes blinked in surprise. Whistler was around 5’8”, but this man had to be well over 6 feet.

Was it his physique, his presence? I couldn’t look away.

His blood-red eyes matched the plain black mask on his face. Looking into them gave me a strange sensation—like being pulled in, both unfamiliar and yet familiar.

“…Whistler also had red eyes.”

I snapped back and stepped aside so I could continue on. But the man didn’t move.

“Red wine.”

He picked up a glass of dark wine from the table. Tilting his head, a lopsided smile appeared, revealing a dimple.

For a second, I nearly lost focus again.

“Would you like some?”

“I’ll pass. I plan to drink later.”

Logically, it made no sense to refuse free drinks here—each glass was worth hundreds of gold.

Still, my polite refusal didn’t faze him; he swirled the glass with the ease of a host.

“You seemed to be looking for someone. Tell me. I’ll find them for you.”

But everyone was masked. How could he possibly know? I only had confidence in recognizing Whistler because I’d been around him for years.

And yet, he spoke without hesitation.

“Well… it’s not impossible.”

“Marquis Whistler Gas.”

There was no risk in saying it aloud—Whistler was adored by countless people regardless of age or gender.

“Whistler, huh…”

The man chuckled, lowering his head slightly.

“Seems he’s still popular.”

His nostalgic tone made my fists clench.

‘He’s a walking black company. A boss who steals credit and frames others—an utter tyrant.’

I nodded calmly. “Yes, he is.”

“What’s so good about him? Are people blind?”

For a moment, I thought my ears deceived me. Someone badmouthing Whistler? That was like witnessing the impossible.

Whistler was the male lead—wise and mature beyond his years, quick to adapt socially, always stepping in as mediator when fights broke out. He ruled high society like a king, guiding parties at will. People even called him an angel.

So surely, I’d misheard.

The man raised his pale hand, sipped his wine, and his throat moved as he swallowed.

“I didn’t say much.”

Then, as if reading my mind, he muttered—

“Only that Whistler is a bastard.”

“…Bastard?”

“Yeah. Not an animal, just a curse. Not cute, not worth raising—a plain bastard.”

My mouth fell open.

Everyone knew: to oppose Whistler was social suicide. Not because of him alone, but because of his powerful supporters.

And yet here was a man casually insulting him.

Inside, my heart screamed: Yes! You’re right! But I couldn’t reveal everything to a stranger.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You heard me.”

He smiled with his eyes, leaning down slightly. Instinctively I tried to step back, but his hand pressed against the wall, caging me in.

“How dare you—”

“Look.”

He set the glass down and gently took my shoulder, turning me.

“There he is. Whistler.”

I had to admit it.

“You’re right. Thank you.”

Far off, I saw him—shining blond hair, a gleaming blue mask. It was him.

Laughing with a friend, he was heading toward the terrace.

“Go.”

Curiosity about the man tugged at me—how sharp his eyes were, why he insulted Whistler. But I couldn’t waste the chance. The priority was proof.

After a quick farewell, I hurried toward the terrace. As I approached, the shadows deepened, and then I heard a familiar voice.

“So, what about it?”

I’d planned to act casual and greet Whistler when he emerged. But first, I heard my own name.

“What did you do with Filena?”

Startled, I hid behind the curtain.

“What do you mean? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Whistler replied, raising his brows. His friend, lips loose with drink, continued.

“Oh, come on. I know you. I’m the only one who remembers what you were really like as a child. Didn’t you plan to enjoy her a little longer tonight—then toss her aside? Am I wrong?”

“Stop insulting my girlfriend.”

“Heh. After all this, you still haven’t dumped her? You’ve already let every bad rumor spread. Some people already think you’ve broken up.”

“This is your last warning. Just because I’m considering how to end things with Filena doesn’t give you the right to speak that way.”

“Fake. You’ve been planting rumors for years. Didn’t you decide back then you’d dump her eventually? If you’d already decided, why hesitate? Spreading the rumors now is just to smooth the break.”

Whistler’s hand lifted toward his friend’s face—only for the man to slump, collapsing drunkenly against his shoulder.

And then the truth clicked in my mind.

It was all Whistler.

I had suspected he might’ve spread the rumors of infidelity. But to think he’d been plotting it for years? I never imagined. Yet remembering the original story, it fit perfectly with who he really was.

So my boyfriend was this kind of man. Trash beyond imagination. Morality utterly destroyed.

Rage, despair, shame—all chained my body. My head went white, and only one urge remained.

I wanted to grab Whistler by the collar.

For the first time in my life, emotions controlled me, pushing me forward. But then—

A hand gripped mine, its cold touch jolting me awake. The same man led me back into the shadows. His fingers brushed my lips.

“Shhh.”

He tilted his head gently, calming me.