Chapter 69
“Would you believe me if I said it?”
“Would you believe it if I told you?”
Helene and Blaine spoke at the same time in response to Liriana’s words.
Their gazes locked.
Unlike Liriana, who had only just begun to experience the harshness of life, Helene and Blaine had lived through the very bottom of the bottom.
They had been falsely accused more times than they could count.
They knew better than anyone what it meant for no one to believe you.
No matter how much they tried to explain, people had already decided everything.
That’s when they learned the truth—what people wanted was not the culprit, but a scapegoat.
Eventually, they stopped making excuses, deciding it was better to at least preserve a shred of dignity.
Blaine, too, must have lived a life like that.
Though he didn’t speak, his silence suggested he was thinking the same.
“Wh–why though…? But this is the truth, isn’t it?” Liriana asked.
“Marisol would’ve been fully prepared when she plotted this. If we make the wrong move, the charges could pile up—not only stealing Lady Angelina’s belongings, but also bullying her attendants.”
“That’s…”
Liriana could hardly accept the grim reality.
“Ah, wait.”
Something came to Liriana’s mind. She pulled out her bag.
There was a faint mark of lipstick on it.
She hadn’t known where it came from, but after hearing Helene’s words, she realized it must have been when Marisol slipped the sapphire hairpin into her bag on the shelf, brushing it with her lips.
“This… this matches Marisol’s lipstick, doesn’t it?”
Marisol used a lip color rarely seen in the capital city of Repia.
Her stepmother once compared it to “strawberry milk.”
It was a new shade of lipstick that could only be bought in Herviante, a gift from Lady Angelina.
“It’s a limited color only sold in Herviante. Couldn’t this be proof?”
Blaine pulled out a portable magic stone lamp and shone it on the bag.
Helene studied the mark closely and nodded.
“Yes, this color definitely matches Marisol’s lipstick.”
“Then why can’t this be evidence? My stepmother said no two colors in the world are ever the same!”
Liriana remembered how delighted Helene had been when she first received Herviante cosmetics. Unlike Liriana, who didn’t care much for trends or fashion, Helene had marveled at their ability to create such diverse shades.
“…That’s true, but didn’t Lady Angelina give those cosmetics to all her attendants, including you? That means it won’t convince anyone else.”
Angelina had gifted Herviante cosmetics to all her maids.
That meant Liriana—and the others—could all be suspects.
And no one would believe Liriana, Helene’s ally.
“I suppose you’re right…”
Liriana sank with disappointment again.
Blaine remained silent, listening.
He had already believed Helene, but seeing this evidence convinced him even more that Marisol was the true culprit.
“Then… what if we called Marisol out and confronted her?” Liriana suggested, undeterred.
Even Blaine’s expression flickered with interest.
But Helene slowly shook her head.
That was impossible.
“To Marisol, Lady Angelina is like a god—her everything. She’d sooner die than say a word. She’ll never admit the truth.”
Helene knew well the depth of Marisol’s loyalty.
No matter what, Marisol would never betray Angelina.
Though she was grateful that Liriana and Blaine believed her, Helene knew this was a battle they couldn’t win.
With no way out of the situation, she bowed her head low.
“…I see. But I still think it’s a good idea.”
At those strange words, Helene lifted her head.
On Blaine’s lips was the faintest, but most certain smile.
Marisol could not sleep easily, troubled by unease.
Helene might have been locked away in the dungeon yesterday, but her trial was still to come.
Helene’s guilt needed to be confirmed quickly…
Never once had one of Marisol’s schemes failed.
True, the wrong person—Helene instead of Liriana—had been accused, but with no witnesses and no evidence, there was no way out for them.
In time, both the incident and her unease would fade.
Or so she thought—until she found the letter slipped under her door, and her anxiety consumed her completely.
[To Lady Marisol]
I know what you did.
If you don’t want the truth revealed, meet me at the tearoom Blue Rose on 12th Street in Repia.
It would be best not to make the mistake of failing to show up.
Marisol read the letter again and again, her uneasy eyes burning with fury as she crumpled it in her hands.
There couldn’t be any witnesses or evidence!
Could it be a trap?
She thought of ignoring it, but the unease gnawed at her.
Even the most innocent person, receiving such a letter, would likely go out of curiosity.
In the end, Marisol decided to go.
She arrived at the tearoom called Blue Rose, as the letter instructed.
It was mostly empty—likely because many new tearooms had opened nearby.
Who could it be?
No one seemed to be waiting for her—only three elderly women gossiping cheerfully at another table. So Marisol sat down.
After ordering coffee, a man sat across from her.
“Good day, Lady Marisol.”
She looked up.
The man’s face was familiar.
He was the chief steward of Herviante—the man who had worked with her for over ten years and had even come with her to the capital, Repia.
Relieved, Marisol exhaled.
“Peter, this isn’t funny. I serve Lady Angelina—I don’t have time for such nonsense. I’ll be leaving—”
“Her Ladyship Angelina sent me.”
At those words, Marisol sat back down.
But unlike usual, Peter’s face was cold and stern, and Marisol’s unease grew stronger.
“Yesterday, you slipped the sapphire hairpin into Lady Liriana’s bag, didn’t you?”
“…What? What are you talking about?”
Marisol feigned ignorance.
But Peter sighed deeply, as if warning her not to make things harder, and spoke again.
“This isn’t the time for cheap acting. Because of your crime, even Lady Angelina could be accused of being an accomplice.”
“Because of my crime… Lady Angelina, an accomplice…”
The words clouded Marisol’s judgment, and she forgot to keep acting.
“Why would Lady Angelina be blamed? This was my crime alone! Lady Angelina has done nothing wrong!”
She had always known that if her misdeeds were ever discovered, she would confess to acting alone.
That was the truth—Angelina had never ordered her to do anything.
Everything Marisol had done was to help Angelina, to make her happy, to see her smile.
So the mere suggestion that her actions could harm Lady Angelina was enough to shatter her reason.
“Lady Marisol, someone saw you put the sapphire hairpin into Liriana’s bag.”
“Th–that’s impossible…! I checked over and over—there was no one there!”
“I didn’t come here to hear excuses. That witness has been silenced for now, but it won’t last. If your crime is exposed, rumors will spread that Lady Angelina ordered it. Her Ladyship fears people will think she is unfit to be crown princess—or grand duchess.”
“…!”
Peter’s shocking words left Marisol speechless.
He was right—rumors could easily spread that Angelina was behind her.
Unlike in Herviante, here in the capital Repia, Angelina was admired, envied, and closely watched. It was only natural that jealous rivals would twist the story.
She should have waited, secured a stronger foundation before scheming.
Now she could only blame her own impatience.
Tears welled quickly in Marisol’s eyes as self-reproach consumed her.
