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Chapter 14
Honestly…
Is he even sane?
Asking his little sister what gift he should give to his mistress?
Seriously?
“But I don’t know what to give Catherine,”
David said, propping his chin on his hand, his brow furrowing.
“She keeps running her mouth about wanting something romantic already. I don’t know why women are so emotional. It’s annoying.”
Wow.
I didn’t know a human being could be this brazen.
Completely ignoring everything he does wrong, yet having the gall to complain about “women” as a whole.
Truly the king of patriarchal trash.
And besides…
What about Isabel?
I felt my stomach twist.
If the one-year anniversary with Catherine is two months away, then his wedding anniversary with Isabel is next month.
Yet he doesn’t spare a single thought for his own wife, only for his mistress?
At this point, shamelessness is a talent.
“Um… Brother,”
I said, unable to hold back anymore.
“Lady Schofield is important, sure, but isn’t your wedding anniversary with Sister-in-law coming up?”
“Why does that matter?”
David looked genuinely confused.
“Why would I have to do anything for Isabel?”
“What? But—”
“She’s the duchess of the Lavantes family. There’s nothing more childish than making a fuss over a wedding anniversary. She should maintain her dignity.”
Right.
So worrying about a mistress is dignified, but caring for your actual wife is childish?
And then, this incredible adulterer went even further.
He started lecturing me.
“You should be obedient once you get married too. That’s the way to peace in a household. Understand?”
Unbelievable.
If only I could stitch that mouth shut.
I hid my trembling, angry fists.
David pressed on.
“So? Do you have any ideas for a one-year anniversary gift?”
“I don’t have anything right now. Could you give me some time?”
Ugh.
How dare he drag me into gift-planning for his affair?
Did he really think I’d help him come up with such filthy ideas?
Yes. I definitely need to get Isabel divorced as soon as possible.
My eyes sharpened.
Isabel is far too precious to stay any longer in this garbage family.
Sure, I know she’ll eventually awaken as a sparkling, soda-bursting heroine who’ll put everyone in their place.
But… wounds remain.
And she doesn’t need to be hurt any more than she already is.
“Tsk. Thought you might be helpful… Fine.”
David waved a hand lazily.
Basically: the conversation was over.
I gladly left.
* * *
“Hmm?”
On my way out of the study, I froze.
Someone was yelling in the living room.
“You are such a—!!”
That sharp, ringing voice…
Marissa?
I rushed toward the living room.
Peeking around the corner, I saw Marissa and Isabel standing face-to-face.
What is going on?
I frowned deeply.
Marissa stood with her hands on her hips, huffing, glaring at Isabel.
Isabel stood with her head bowed, like someone being scolded for a crime.
“You’re not a child—why are you playing doll dress-up?!”
Marissa pointed at Isabel again accusingly.
From Isabel’s lowered lips, a faint apology slipped out.
“…I’m sorry.”
My eyes widened.
Because at Marissa’s feet…
a tiny dress lay crushed under her shoe.
Wait. Isn’t that…?
In the original story, Isabel often designed doll clothes as a hobby.
They were so delicate and beautiful that when she casually gifted some to a noble family’s young lady, they became wildly popular.
But of course, Marissa had mocked her, saying it was lowly and improper for a duchess to make doll clothes.
Later, when Isabel became a famous fashion designer, she recalled how making doll clothes was her comfort during difficult times.
And Marissa is stepping on something so precious?!
Something snapped inside my head.
My voice came out cold as ice.
“Mother.”
Marissa flinched and spun around, startled.
Isabel too slowly lifted her gaze for the first time.
Her green eyes—dark, sunken with exhaustion—met mine.
Ah.
My heart dropped.
There it was again.
That tired, defeated look.
Eyes too weary to even resist the humiliation thrown at her.
Isabel’s expression as she looked at me was… heartbreaking.
This is wrong.
I clenched my teeth hard.
If I didn’t calm myself, I would start screaming.
Why does Isabel have to look like this?
I strode toward Marissa.
She looked increasingly unsettled as I approached.
Standing protectively in front of Isabel, I spoke sharply.
“Move your foot.”
“E-Elodie?”
“I said move your foot. Now.”
Intimidated, Marissa reflexively stepped back.
I sat down and carefully picked up the crushed doll dress.
My lower lip trembled as I inspected it.
My goodness.
Lace-trimmed sleeves.
A frilled hem.
Tiny pearl buttons aligned perfectly.
Stitches so fine they looked like real human clothing shrunken down.
It must have taken Isabel so much effort, so much affection.
“I don’t know why you’re fussing over a doll dress. I was simply trying to teach her dignity befitting a duchess—”
Marissa started her nonsense again.
I shot to my feet, staring straight into her eyes.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
Marissa stiffened.
Still, unwilling to back down, she tried to argue.
“You shouldn’t interfere. I was just teaching my daughter-in-law.”
“Teaching?”
I let out a disbelieving laugh.
“Is stepping on something precious that she worked hard to make… teaching?”
“…”
Marissa’s mouth clamped shut—for a moment.
“Elodie, dear,” she scolded, frowning.
“Why must you butt into everything? This has nothing to do with you.”
Oh?
Is that how she wants to play this?
I smirked.
“What if it is my business?”
“What?”
“I asked Sister-in-law to make this doll dress for me.”
Silence fell.
“…”
“…”
Marissa looked as if she’d been struck.
Isabel blinked and stared at me, surprise stirring in her once-dull eyes.
“I don’t see how making doll clothes is undignified. Needlework is part of a lady’s education.”
“That’s not—!”
Her protest was too slow.
I locked eyes with her and said,
“And if you call this ‘education,’ where you trample on something someone worked so hard to make…”
My voice turned icy.
“Is that dignified behavior?”
“What did you say?”
Marissa’s eyes widened.
I didn’t flinch.
“If your behavior is truly what counts as dignified, then I’ll act exactly the same way you taught me—from now on, in society.”
“What nonsense—!”
“Oh, Brother will be so pleased, I’m sure. Don’t you think so?”
I intentionally mentioned the one person Marissa feared the most: David.
Her face flushed red, then pale.
“I—I’m done here!”
She spun around.
“I can’t talk to you! Making a big scene over a silly doll dress—how childish!”
And she stomped away furiously, her footsteps loud and angry.
Sure, run away while trying to look dignified.
I glared at her retreating figure, but soon stopped.
Because Isabel had caught my attention.
…Isabel?
I fiddled awkwardly with the doll dress, glancing sideways.
Isabel looked… deep in thought. Almost troubled.
…Oh no.
Did I mess up somehow?!
