Chapter 57: Chapter 57

“No, nothing’s wrong!”

The most suspicious phrase in the world: “Nothing’s wrong.”

Even though I meant it, my sister’s brow furrowed deeper.

“Sure, nothing’s wrong.”

“...”

“With your chin trembling like that? No problems at all, huh?”

“Wait, sis! Don’t grab my chin! I’ll tell you the truth!”

She stopped her hand, but my brain was already spinning.

Should I really be honest about this?

‘My fiancé creates all these perfect moments, only to make it clear he has no feelings for me.’

If I say that, won’t she just laugh at me?

But as I hesitated, her hand pressed firmly on my chin again.

“Well? Aren’t you going to answer?”

“Uh, um, it’s just that—!”

Do I have the right to remain silent?

In 21st-century Korea, maybe. Here? Especially not in front of Natalie.

In the end, I decided to share an abridged version of the story, starting from the hunting competition.

I told her how the mood had been so nice one evening that I felt a little flutter, only for that moment to shatter when even holding hands with him felt devoid of any genuine emotion.

“And then, when he sent me the monster he hunted, I started to hope again... but when I visited him during his recovery, he treated me with nothing but cold politeness, like I was just some acquaintance. It’s... confusing.”

“...”

“Now that I’ve said it out loud, I sound ridiculous. I knew this engagement was devoid of feelings from the start.”

Hearing it made me feel embarrassed all over again.

I’ve always known his only redeeming quality is his face. I also know he has someone else he likes. What was I even expecting?

“Well, that’s it! Nothing too serious, right?”

I tried to laugh it off, cheeks flushing red as I tried to salvage the situation.

Natalie would probably mock me for this, wouldn’t she?

She’s someone who gets a dopamine rush from a man’s face, money, or charm. To her, me yearning for something as intangible as affection must seem hilarious.

As expected, she bowed her head, pressing both hands against her forehead.

…But when she slowly looked up, her expression wasn’t mocking—it was furious.

Why?

A long sigh escaped her lips, like a volcano releasing steam just before an eruption.

“Doris. Are you saying, you... you actually like him?”

“...”

No! Absolutely not!

The words surged to the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them just in time.

I’m Doris Redfield, the dutiful fiancée who’s devoted to her betrothed. That’s who I’m supposed to be.

“I, uh... well…”

I just had to say one line.

‘I love Prince Tristan.’

...But that lie wouldn’t come out.

Love? If anything, every time I see him, I feel like committing treason.

So I opted for a more diplomatic response.

“Well, isn’t that obvious? I’ve always been consistent about my feelings.”

“...”

“If you absolutely need an answer—”

“No, no, no!”

Natalie flinched like a cat startled by a cucumber, shaking her head furiously.

“I don’t want to hear anything that’ll ruin my appetite. You don’t have to say another word.”

“Yes, sis.”

Thank goodness. I avoided a forced confession.

I really don’t like him. I was just a little bitter and disappointed, that’s all.

The conversation circled back. Natalie tilted her head and remarked, “I’ve always known that guy was insufferable.”

“Can you stick to one title? I won’t report you.”

“He was unbearable at the hunting competition, but from what you said about how he treated you during his recovery, he’s worse than I thought.”

“How many times are you going to say ‘that guy’?”

“Don’t you agree? Even enemies treat a visiting guest with courtesy. But a fiancé acting like a stranger? That’s too much.”

I didn’t respond, but my silence spoke volumes.

“For the past few months, he visited you, sent you gifts... I thought he was finally starting to act human. But then he suddenly goes cold? Ah!”

Natalie clapped her hands, as if the answer had hit her.

“He must be sulking!”

“Sulking? I didn’t do anything wrong, though.”

“Remember that light blue dress he gave you? Have you worn it yet?”

“No, not once.”

“When you receive a gift from a romantic partner, it’s polite to wear it at least once. But you didn’t wear it to the hunting competition or his recovery visit. He might see that as you rejecting his gift.”

Natalie made... a logical point.

If that’s the reason, then I can understand Tristan’s behavior. Even a normal person would feel slighted, let alone a prince with a sky-high ego.

But—

“It’s not like I deliberately avoided wearing it...”

“I know it didn’t fit. But do you think Tristan would understand if you explained that?”

“...No.”

There’s nothing wrong with gaining a little weight. I know that in my head. But whether society accepts that is another story entirely.

And if I told Tristan the whole truth, could I expect him to react kindly?

Not a chance. Knowing his preference for willow-thin beauties, he’d probably say something horrible.

Natalie sighed again and said, “Doris, I hate to say this to my own sister, but... do you want to try dieting?”

“...”

I couldn’t answer immediately.

Since reincarnating, the one joy I’ve had is eating desserts without worrying about money.

It’s been wonderful these past few months.

But it seems my carefree eating habits need to come to an end.

“...I’ll do it. Between Mother’s glares and the fact that I should wear that dress at least once, I guess I have no choice.”

“Good. I’ll do everything I can to help, so trust me.”

Natalie pulled me into a hug, patting my shoulder. Then, in a low, growling voice, she muttered, “Forcing my sister to starve... Tristan will pay for this someday.”

I didn’t say I was starving, though.

There were plenty of things I could nitpick about her comment, but instinct told me there were more important things to focus on.

So instead, I silently reached for another snack on the table and stuffed my mouth with it.

***

July is peaceful compared to the adrenaline- and dopamine-filled frenzy of June’s hunting competition.

Friends and lovers gather in the shade to share tea or wine. Those longing for lively events can browse flyers to decide between summer festivals, charity concerts, or the usual options like theater or horse racing.

If it were up to me? I’d spend my time reading a book in the shade, overlooking a beautiful garden, with a soft breeze keeping me company. It’s the perfect chance to enjoy the European-style vacation I couldn’t afford in my previous life!

…That’s what I should be doing.

Instead, I’m in the palace. Specifically, in a music room with a lovely view of a garden.@@novelbin@@

The hired music instructor’s voice rings out, still annoyingly full of energy.

“Alright, ladies, one more time! Just hold your notes for four beats on the 34th measure!”

Easy to say.

But for ladies like me, who have absolutely no relationship with singing, holding a note is a fantasy. We manage the first pitch, but after that, it’s a cacophony of sounds that don’t resemble “mi” or “sol” but some unholy middle ground instead.

The song wandered aimlessly before collapsing into an unsalvageable heap.

I’ve already lost count of how many times we’ve failed. The middle-aged instructor, her hair styled like soft-serve ice cream, rubbed her forehead.

“Ladies... you’ve all learned piano, haven’t you?”

Everyone nodded. Piano is a basic skill for noblewomen.

“Singing isn’t that hard. It’s just like playing the piano, except you use your own body as the instrument.”

We said we learned piano; we never said it was easy.

Judging by the sour expressions around me, everyone was thinking the same thing.

The instructor looked genuinely puzzled, like a professor wondering why their students can’t solve calculus after learning basic addition.

“Alright, one more time. Just one last time!”

This was the third time she’d told that particular lie.

Thankfully, the palace’s enchanted stone walls kept the temperature cool. Otherwise, this much practice on a hot summer day might have led to a full-blown rebellion.

It wasn’t until several ladies were utterly drained that the instructor finally called it a day, shaking her head as she did.

“There are less than three weeks left until the charity concert. I sincerely hope none of you disgrace your families... though I know most of you didn’t volunteer for this.”

Exactly. None of us were here by choice. Nobility doesn’t grant immunity from being drafted into this nonsense.

A few days ago, Percival sent letters to every noble family, announcing his plans for a charity concert and requesting names of participating ladies.

Normally, events like this are organized by the Crown Princess, so the moment the Second Prince sent those letters, the veterans of high society must’ve sensed the red flags. Clearly, this event wasn’t a high-priority affair.

But ignoring a prince’s request was out of the question.

So, each household sent their most docile daughters—the youngest, in most cases.

When we first arrived, these girls had eyes as wide and innocent as Shih Tzus. Now, as the instructor left, they leaned against the walls, their exhausted expressions a far cry from their earlier naivety.

“This is so hard. My sister said charity concert songs were supposed to be simple…”

“Right? And yet here we are, singing something as complicated as opera…”

Their breathless complaints were almost pitiful.

Quietly slipping out, I called over a passing maid.

“Is there no refreshment prepared for the music room?”

If someone gathers a group of people, even in a commoner’s home, the least they’d do is serve water. In the palace, such courtesy should be mandatory.

But clearly, that kind of common sense was beyond Percival’s grasp.

The maid blushed, lowering her head. “No, miss... there isn’t.”

You don’t need to feel embarrassed; it’s not your fault.

Internally cursing Percival a hundred times over, I pressed a silver coin into her hand.

“There’s no other reservation for the music room next, is there? If not, could you prepare simple refreshments for everyone here?”

“Oh, of course! Thank you so much!” The maid’s eyes sparkled as she took the coin.

Before long, a trolley loaded with refreshments rolled into the music room.

The sight of dewy lemonade glasses made the ladies gasp.

“Oh my, did His Highness Percival send these?”

Let them think that. It doesn’t bother me.

But the maid, clearly unwilling to let that jerk take the credit, shot me a pleading look.