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Chapter 3:
The Seat of Lies
The Duke’s hardened gaze fixed on Eila.
“But since this girl is no longer my blood, that seat now belongs to Rosia.”
Rosia’s eyes widened in feigned shock.
“I—I’m sorry! I didn’t mean anything by it! I never intended to take Miss Eila’s seat…”
Her shoulders trembled, as if horrified she’d inconvenienced Eila.
Callios softened his tone for her.
“This seat was never Eila’s. It’s yours. You’re the true daughter of House Blanche.”
Despite his reassurance, Rosia fidgeted, casting “guilty” glances at Eila—who saw right through it.
‘Playing the innocent, huh? You knew exactly what you were doing.’
In the original, Eila had been shattered by Callios’s cruelty.
Flashback (Original Timeline):
“Move, Eila.”
Eila’s eyes flew open. “F-Father…?”
“I am no longer your father.”
His icy words drained the color from her face.
“But this has always been my seat! Why should I give it to some stranger—”
“Still in denial? Rosia is the only daughter of House Blanche now.”
“…”
“Your name will soon be struck from the family registry. You’ll be a commoner. Know your place.”
Eila understood Callios all too well.
A noble to his core, he could discard even a beloved daughter if she became useless.
‘Now that he knows I’m not his blood, he’s already cut me off.’
In the novel, Eila had resisted, clinging to the seat, hoping it would keep her in the family—only to earn their contempt.
But this time, before Callios could reprimand her, Eila stood—eyes glistening with carefully measured tears.
“Sit here, Rosia.”
“M-Miss Eila…?”
“This is your rightful place. I almost forgot… I’m not a Blanche anymore.”
Rosia’s smile stiffened.
‘You expected me to fight, didn’t you?’
That would’ve made it easier for Rosia to play the victim.
But Eila guided her to the seat with gentle hands, then took the lowest position at the table.
Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt.
‘Watching their dumbstruck faces is almost fun.’
The Puppet Show
The meal began in suffocating silence.
Rosia poked listlessly at her food until Cedric sliced his steak for her.
“Rosia, try this.”
“Thank you, Brother Cedric.”
“Just ‘Brother’ is fine.”
“Yes… Brother.”
He sighed. “You’re too thin. What hardships did you endure?”
“I’m just glad I suffered them.” Her smile was saintly. “Because of me, Miss Eila grew up loved.”
“How can you be so selfless?”
“I’m strong. But Eila… she wouldn’t have survived my life.”
Meanwhile, Eila chewed her steak vigorously.
‘Gotta stock up. This snake won’t tire easily.’
Her “heartlessness” made Rosia seem even more pitiable, and soon Gerard joined in doting on her.
“Rosia, drink something too.”
“You’re all so kind…”
“This is your birthright.”
The family, enchanted by Rosia’s magic, had already embraced her—all except Irene, the Duchess.
She alone kept glancing at Eila.
“Are you alright?”
Eila smiled. “I’m fine, Mother. Don’t worry.”
“But Eila—”
Rosia cut in, voice dripping with false sweetness:
“Mother, may we go dress-shopping after this? I’ve always dreamed of eating cake with you.”
Irene froze.
Unlike the others, her instincts resisted Rosia’s magic.
‘She knows.’
Eila’s throat tightened.
‘In the original, Mother never accepted Rosia—not even at the end.’
Rosia pressed on, lips quivering:
“Growing up in the slums… I never had this. Having a mother now is… wonderful.”
Cedric nudged Irene. “Mother, spend some time with her.”
Gerard grinned. “I’ll carry your bags!”
Eila’s grip on her fork tightened.
‘This is where it starts.’
In the novel, Irene’s refusal to indulge Rosia became the first crack in the family—leading to disaster.
“Mother, why do you keep hurting Rosia? She’s your real daughter!”
“We’re so disappointed in you!”
