STLECM 02

CHAPTER 02

Etisha wasn’t afraid of her own honor being tarnished. She had already suffered countless humiliations at the hands of her family; she had no honor left to protect. But the Duke of Cayenne’s honor being tainted—that was a different matter.

Etisha took a step back.

“If you’re worried about becoming the subject of gossip, we can announce the engagement first.”

“…”

“You’ll also need time to explain things to your… mistress. I understand.”

“Miss Etisha.”

Cayenne approached the retreating Etisha.

He was still holding her hand—the left one, now adorned with a ring on the fourth finger.

“I told you clearly. You are now of Wintel.”

“…”

“The Duchess of Wintel. How and when to announce the marriage should be decided by none other than you.”

With that, Cayenne let go of her hand. Etisha lifted her hand and stared again at the ring on her finger.

It was the family ring symbolizing the House of Wintel.

“…Thank you. Truly, Your Grace.”

Etisha was deeply grateful to the Duke for respecting her wishes.

She had heard rumors: that the northern duke was a ruthless, cold-hearted war hero with a fearsome temper. But the Cayenne she saw was nothing like that.

‘Maybe he’s only treating me kindly because I’m going to be his duchess, even if only in name?’

She shook her head inwardly.

‘No, it’s probably because I’m dying. He must feel pity… or something like that.’

Whether it was respect for a false bride or mere sympathy, it didn’t matter.

Etisha had gotten everything she wanted. There was no need to try to understand Cayenne’s heart.

‘His mistress will be the one to know his heart. I just need to stay quiet like air until I die.’

Etisha firmed her resolve and answered him.

“Then… how about announcing the marriage two days after the Founding Festival ends?”

“The final day… That’s fine. Let’s do that.”

The negotiation was complete.

Etisha bowed to the Duke and left the balcony. Duke Cayenne remained there alone.

Back at the ballroom, all eyes turned to Etisha.

“Look, there she is. Finally showing up.”

“What could they have talked about, just the two of them? People are saying something about a bride-to-be…”

“Surely Lady Etisha Heinz isn’t going to marry the Duke of Wintel, is she?”

The murmurs of noble ladies hidden behind fans were loud enough for her to hear.

At this point, it felt like they wanted her to.

“If it were the other Heinz daughter, maybe. But Lady Etisha? Hmm…”

“Oh, right. I guess that was a silly thing to say. Still, it’s odd. Lady Larianne is late to the party, and it’s the first day of the festival. Is she not attending?”

“Yes, that’s strange. Lady Larianne never misses a party, and here’s Etisha instead, who never leaves the house. Something must be going on.”

The young ladies whispered endlessly, casting glances her way. Everyone seemed curious about Larianne’s whereabouts.

‘Of course they are. Larianne is the social scene’s infamous eccentric.’

She didn’t care about others’ opinions and pulled outrageous stunts with a mischievous smile. A child who refused to grow up.

‘And yet everyone loves her.’

Larianne had blazing red hair that drew attention wherever she went.

Etisha sometimes wondered if her sister’s confidence and arrogance stemmed from that fiery hair.

‘Mine, on the other hand, is a pale pink…’

On its own, Etisha’s hair had a lovely pink hue. But beside Larianne’s striking red, it always seemed dull in comparison.

But it was just hair color.

And yet their stepmother, Dorothea, and their father, the Baron Heinz, had discriminated against her for just that.

‘They said Larianne suited lavish dresses and jewelry because of her vibrant hair, while I didn’t deserve any because mine was too dull.’

Looking back now, it was laughable.

‘Whatever. I’m going to die soon—what does hair color matter? I don’t need dresses or jewelry anymore.’

Etisha quietly shook her head.

Just then, the ballroom doors swung open with a flourish, and trumpets blared to announce a noble’s arrival.

“Lady Larianne Heinz!”

Every gaze shifted at once.

Though merely the daughter of a baron, Larianne was a socialite of legend.

‘Last month, she reportedly set a countess’s tea table on fire. And last year, she tore up a prince’s beloved painting.’

All because of one reason—her outrageous behavior.

Larianne was a menace. An uncontrollable one.

She had always been that way, and adulthood hadn’t changed her. If she wanted something, she had to have it. If she didn’t like something, she had to destroy it.

At first, everyone scolded her. Now? They didn’t even bother.

They just accepted it.

She’s Larianne Heinz. That’s just how she is. Some even looked forward to her next scandal like fans awaiting a performance.

‘If I did half of that, I’d be immediately condemned…’

Some people, no matter what wrongs they commit, are impossible to hate. Larianne was exactly that.

When she smiled mischievously and winked, most people fell under her spell. They lost control and were swept up in her whims.

And Larianne was beautiful. Not just “pretty”—stunningly, devastatingly beautiful.

Even Etisha, who had suffered endless cruelty from her, sometimes caught herself feeling drawn to her sister.

‘Today too… she’s stunning.’

Larianne marched through the wide open doors, stomping her way in—clearly furious.

Her brilliant red hair flew behind her, and her black dress billowed with every step. Her lips were tightly pressed together, gleaming with tension.

She ignored all the stares, brushed past a crowd of nobles trying to greet her, and scanned the room. Her eyes found Etisha in an instant.

“TISHA!”

Her shout echoed through the hall.

Had any other young lady shouted like that at a party, she would’ve been instantly criticized for being uncouth—but as always, Larianne was the exception.

The eccentric of the social world had called her younger sister’s nickname, and now everyone’s attention shifted again to Etisha. Curiosity lit up their faces.

“Etisha Heinz! How dare you take my party invitation without asking!”

“Lari…”

“Because of you, I’m late to the Founding Festival! And on the first day! Take responsibility!”

Larianne was throwing a tantrum.

The invitation was addressed to the Heinz family as a whole, so technically, it wasn’t even hers alone. Etisha had just come using the family’s invitation.

Etisha parted her lips and retorted.

“I came with the invitation sent to the Heinz household. I didn’t steal yours.”

But, as always, logic didn’t work on Larianne.

“What’s the Heinz family’s is mine!”

She shouted, gripping Etisha’s arm harshly. Her nails dug into her skin, and it hurt.

“You’re a Heinz too, right? So you’re mine too. Why don’t you get that yet?”

Her eyes glinted with possessiveness. Etisha endured the twisted look without flinching.

‘If she likes something, she has to have it. If she doesn’t, she destroys it.’

Etisha grasped Larianne’s wrist, trying to pry it off.

“Let go.”

But Larianne only clung tighter, like a snare tightening.

“You’re mine. So do what I say. I told you never to leave the room. Why are you here at the Founding Festival, of all places, when you’ve never cared before? I told you to stay locked up and wait!”

“…”

“I bring you toys so you’re not bored, I sing for you—what more do you want? Is it because I didn’t play dolls with you? Huh?”

Larianne accused her.

Etisha was disgusted.

The toys were always castoffs—things Larianne had gotten tired of. She never bought anything herself; everything came from others. Once she’d had enough, she tossed them to Etisha like hand-me-downs.

And the singing? Larianne’s singing was nothing short of torture. Etisha, sensitive to sound, used to love singing more than anything. She was good at it—unlike Larianne. And Larianne had taken even that from her.

As for playing dolls…

“You? Play dolls? You can’t. You’re scared. I might have another episode, right?”

Because “playing dolls” meant turning Etisha into a literal doll.

Brushing her hair, dressing her up, applying makeup.

And then never letting her show that made-up self to anyone. One time, Etisha had tried to show their parents—Larianne cut her hair off with scissors.

Ever since, she would dump water on Etisha’s head after every makeover, ruining her hair and makeup so no one could see.

“Yeah! I’m scared! So go back to the mansion! Stay locked up, like I said!”

Larianne scratched at Etisha’s arm, her breath ragged with fury.

“Tisha, just do as I say. Go home! Why are you just standing there like an idiot?”

Normally, this would be the part where Etisha gave in.

She was obedient. Timid and weak-willed, unable to say anything even when treated like this.

But not today. Etisha had changed.

“No. I’m not going back.”

She finally wrenched her arm free. There were light scratches, but they didn’t bother her. She’d been hit worse before.

“I’m going to this party. If you don’t like it, you go home.”

“W-what?”

“You didn’t hear me? I said go home. I’m coming here every day until the festival ends. What you do is your problem.”

Etisha pushed past Larianne and turned away. She never wanted to see that wretchedly beautiful face again.