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Chapter 21
“No. I’ve come to the right place.”
I said this while pointing to a small sign written in elegant script.
“More Boutique.”
“Oh my, I see. But what shall we do? As you know, all our party dresses are handmade, so it’s a bit difficult to simply browse.”
…It’s not like I said I came just to browse?
To begin with, this world doesn’t even have ready-to-wear clothing shops. Who would come to a boutique just to look?
‘Ah. That’s it.’
Looking at the employee standing there in a boutique uniform with her chin lifted, I realized.
The faint sneer lingering around her lips.
A polite tone, yet an attitude that subtly looked down on the other person.
I’d seen it before.
Sometimes, when people work at luxury stores, they start thinking they themselves are luxury goods.
She must have judged at a glance, based on my appearance, that I couldn’t possibly afford the dresses here.
Instead of arguing back, I calmly pointed toward the carriage waiting by the road.
“…I’m here to pick up Lady Sophia Morgans’ clothes.”
The lavish carriage, boldly emblazoned with the Morgans family crest, was proof of identity enough.
Startled, the employee quickly straightened her posture, then scanned me again with a still-skeptical expression.
An outfit that looked neither like a maid’s nor quite like a noble’s.
“Um, then you are…?”
“I’m Aileen Morgans.”
The employee’s mouth fell open in shock.
She didn’t know that I was the daughter-in-law constantly mistreated by the family.
Even if she did know, now that she understood I was a count’s family member, she couldn’t possibly treat me the same way as before.
Sure enough.
Her expression flipped instantly, and with a completely different attitude she called out to me.
“Oh my! You should have said so earlier! Ho ho, Lady Morgans has such a frugal daughter-in-law!”
…So she was planning to just gloss things over like this.
I said nothing, only smiled faintly.
Let me say this again: I spent ten years working as a café employee.
Being in the same service industry, I understand better than anyone the hardships and bitterness of frontline staff.
I also know exactly how miserable it is to deal with awful customers.
So I wasn’t about to throw a tantrum like, ‘How dare you look down on me?!’
But I also wasn’t going to pull the classic, ‘Hmph. Do you know who I am? I’ll take everything from here to there, paid in full.’
That would only boost her sales record.
So, if one is a truly refined customer…
“Please call your manager.”
“P-Pardon?”
At my calm words, fear crept across the employee’s face.
Still smiling elegantly, I repeated my request.
“Please. Call a manager-level staff member. …Shall I say it three times?”
“Ah—yes! Y-Yes, understood!”
At last giving up on pretending not to hear, the employee rushed inside the shop.
Not long after, a woman with neatly brushed hair tied into a low bun came out.
“Welcome, ma’am.”
She was surprisingly young to be a manager.
Yet her face and demeanor carried an unmistakable air of refinement.
‘This is what truly makes someone a luxury.’
Not owning or selling luxury goods—but possessing grace in both presence and attitude.
I smiled softly and explained the situation to her in a cultured tone.
“Yes. May I go inside now? It’s been over five minutes since I got off my carriage, and I still haven’t been allowed into the shop.”
That should be more than enough for her to understand.
“Gasp… Th-that is, Manager…”
She glanced between my shabby outfit and the flustered employee beside me, and seemed to grasp the situation at once.
She immediately bowed deeply and apologized.
“I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience caused by our inadequate staff training, ma’am.”
Oh—clean, straightforward apology. No excuses.
“The employee in question will receive penalty points, and to prevent this from happening again, we will add customer-service protocols to our future training.”
And even a plan for corrective action.
A textbook example of a proper apology.
“Yes. Thank you for apologizing. Then I’ll forget about what upset me as well.”
When I replied lightly and smiled, she looked a bit surprised.
Most nobles have extremely strong pride.
Especially when they feel they’ve been slighted by a commoner, they usually make a fuss about insults to nobility.
And since this was a high-end boutique where even nobles found the prices burdensome, there were surely customers who seized such chances to make unreasonable demands or ask for discounts.
But I was satisfied with a proper apology and simply went inside.
The employee who had ignored me was called away, and the manager herself seemed to take charge of me.
“You’ve come to retrieve the Countess Morgans’ dress. …You mean the party dress you left with us last time, correct?”
Just as I thought.
There was indeed a dress that Sophia had left here for alterations.
Given her usual extravagance—and with an imperial palace party coming up—it was only natural.
If not, I had planned to say my mother-in-law must have been mistaken.
Despite my shabby appearance, she treated me with utmost courtesy.
“We’ll prepare some warm tea for you. Would you mind waiting here briefly while we bring the dress?”
“Yes, thank you.”
I answered calmly, sipping the tea as I looked around.
All throughout the shop were dazzling dresses I’d never even glimpsed in my previous life.
‘Wow… it really feels like I’m inside a romance-fantasy world straight out of a novel…’
There was even a similar boutique scene in The Saintess and Her Three Men.
“A very cliché scene, too…”
It was the episode where the second male lead, Taeyon Roderick, appeared.
When the heroine was being ignored by noblewomen in a luxury boutique, he suddenly showed up from nowhere, golden hair shining.
Then he dramatically raised a hand and said—
‘From here to there. Pack everything up.’
No—actually, not that line.
As I said, Taeyon Roderick was written as a character who had nothing but money.
What he said was—
“This entire street of shops. I’ll buy it.”
“…Pardon?”
“From here. To there.”
…He bought the shops.
All of them, on that luxury street.
Then, as everyone watched in shock, he handed over all the ownership deeds to the heroine.
“…A story from another world. Nothing to do with me.”
I sighed as if complaining.
I’d clearly entered a romance-fantasy world—so why was my genre like this?
If it were a genre, it was a trashy melodrama; if it were a fairy tale, it was Cinderella.
Constantly bullied by my stepmother—no, my mother-in-law—wearing old dresses and living in the attic.
As I swallowed my resentment in silence, the manager approached, having finished packing the dress.
“I’ve instructed them to load the dress into your carriage. And, if you don’t mind…”
She handed me a small scarf.
“It was made from the leftover fabric after completing the dress. As an apology for our employee’s rudeness, we’d like to offer this as a gift. Would that be alright?”
“Wow, it’s beautiful.”
At my honest response, she smiled warmly and deftly folded the scarf, tying it around my waist.
The unsightly tea stain was instantly hidden.
When I glanced at the nearby mirror, my old dress looked remarkably brighter with just that one scarf.
For something made from leftover fabric, the craftsmanship was exceptional.
…Somehow, I felt like I knew who this woman was.
“Thank you. May I ask your name?”
At my cautious question, she replied with a smile.
“Ah, my name is Savanna.”
Just as I thought!
I cheered inwardly.
Having read the original story, I knew.
Savanna.
In about three years, she would open the most famous boutique on this atelier street.
Even nobles and royals would desperately vie to own her dresses.
Of course, that wasn’t the only reason she was important to me right now.
‘She’s the one who’ll take me to the fairy godmother.’
“Is there anything else you need, Viscountess Morgans?”
At Savanna’s polite question, I took out the jewel box I’d brought in my dress pocket.
“Would it be possible to sell just one necklace?”
High-end boutiques like this used real gemstones for jewelry and dress decorations, so they were connected to jewelers as well.
As expected—
“Ah, of course.”
Savanna readily agreed and examined the box.
“It’s a diamond.”
Like a true luxury boutique professional, she seemed to have some skill in appraising gems.
“It’s quite fine quality. It appears to be from Roderick Jewelers. …Though the size is a bit small.”
“That’s right.”
As I nodded, Savanna asked carefully,
“If you have Roderick Jewelers’ certificate, you should be able to get a fair price anywhere.”
Why sell it through a boutique instead of a regular jeweler?
“There are circumstances that make it impossible for me to sell it at an ordinary jewelry shop.”
I answered bluntly, without dodging the question.
“…My husband, who’s having an affair, gave it to me.”
