#30.
“Then, Miss Emilia, please carry out your assigned mission faithfully.”
Without consulting her at all, the butler who had boldly knocked on the door bowed before Hera.
As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he left her there alone and climbed up to the coachman’s seat.
Startled, Hera raised her voice.
“W-Where are you going?”
“The master ordered me to take you to the Loranga estate and return immediately.”
“What about me? How am I supposed to get back home?”
“You may borrow the Duke’s carriage to return.”
“What?!”
It was already humiliating enough to be an unwelcome guest, and now she had to humble herself further and ask to borrow a carriage?
Even if he was a servant of Ober Tolyn, shouldn’t he show a shred of sympathy for her situation? But he, showing no emotion whatsoever, simply tugged on the reins.
“Have a good evening.”
Leaving behind a useless farewell, he leisurely rode back to the Tolyn estate.
“This is insane. Absolutely insane.”
She muttered to herself, trying to deny reality, but what came in return was the creaking sound of the main gate opening.
With a spine-chilling screech, the rusty iron gate opened, and a rough-looking man—presumably the gatekeeper—shouted.
“Hey, you! You’re late! Brazenly knocking at the door like that!”
He had mistaken Hera for a prostitute.
Because every woman who visited this mansion today was one.
Glancing up and down at Hera, whose robe partly covered her face, the man spoke with irritation.
“Why didn’t you just come with your friends earlier instead of showing up alone and bothering everyone? Do you know how damn hard this gate is to open?”
“N-No, I’m—”
“Save it, just get inside already!”
The man thrust out his large hand and pulled her toward the mansion.
His strength was overwhelming—resisting didn’t even cross her mind. All Hera could do was brace her feet not to fall over.
From the first floor of the Loranga mansion, a soft glow leaked from the grand hall.
Hera’s heart felt like it might leap out of her chest at the thought that Marriott might be inside.
“Don’t just stand there like a statue! Move!”
“O-Okay, but please let go of me…”
The man shoved Hera forward and yanked her arm roughly.
His grip was as rough as his appearance.
Just as Hera twisted her body uncomfortably to express her unease, a familiar voice called out from the mansion’s entrance.
“Huh? Miss Emilia?”
“Sir Poy.”
Marriott’s escort knight, Hendrick Poy, had recognized Hera.
The man instantly realized from Hendrick’s reaction that she wasn’t just some prostitute and hastily let go of her, bowing before Hendrick and fleeing the scene.
Under normal circumstances, Hendrick might have asked if anything had happened to her—but now, he was completely speechless.
The sudden sight of Hera at this hour left him stunned.
“W-What are you doing… here… huh?”
His hands flew to his cheeks, mouth agape as if he’d seen a ghost.
He stammered so much that it wasn’t even a proper sentence.
“Uh… w-would you like to… come in?”
He couldn’t leave a lady standing outside, so Hendrick gestured toward the mansion’s door.
But his face clearly showed he wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do.
“…Thank you.”
Hera felt the same.
She sincerely hoped Hendrick would just turn her away—but he was far too kind for that.
Their mutual concern for appearances only made things worse.
Hendrick watched Hera’s back anxiously as she entered the house.
“Is this really okay…”
***
It was like a red-light district transplanted into a mansion.
Hera had never visited such a seedy place before, but the lewd party unfolding before her eyes reminded her of a brothel.
There were too many discarded bottles to count, and the stench of drunken bodies was repulsive.
On top of that, the mix of musty herbs and sickly-sweet cheap perfume made Hera nauseous.
What disturbed her most were the arrogant voices of the men, the flirtatious giggles of the prostitutes, and the obscene sounds of flesh smacking.
With all the unpleasant sounds and smells assaulting her, it was hard for Hera to remain sane.
Hendrick followed behind her and nervously pointed to one corner of the hall.
There sat Marriott, sprawled out on a long sofa.
He held a drink in his hand, and across from him sat a man so drunk he was swaying in place.
The man’s shirt was practically off, his face and neck covered in red marks.
Marriott was enjoying his time drinking with this man—until he spotted Hera.
“…What the hell is that?”
He nearly dropped his glass in shock.
That’s how surprised Marriott was.
Among the entangled mess of men and women, Hera was utterly out of place.
She looked like a mismatched patch on a torn garment—completely incompatible with her surroundings.
Not a single part of her blended in.
“She was lingering outside… I thought maybe you had an appointment or something…”
Hendrick, shuffling awkwardly toward Marriott, tried to explain.
Marriott couldn’t tear his eyes away from the alien presence standing by the door until Hendrick spoke.
When Hendrick nervously muttered his explanation, Marriott snapped at him with a sharp voice.
“Hendrick Poy!”
“Calling me by my full name won’t scare me anymore! I’m nineteen now!”
Apparently realizing his mistake, Hendrick shouted back before grabbing the drunk man by the collar and dragging him away.
The drunken man staggered along, following Hendrick’s lead.
Hendrick didn’t look back—he quickly distanced himself from Marriott, almost as if giving him space to talk freely with Emilia Tolyn.
“That brat…”
Marriott had been treating him kindly, but now the boy was getting out of hand.
Though he wasn’t even drunk yet, Marriott felt a headache forming.
It was because of Hendrick’s reckless actions and this woman from the Tolyn family, who kept showing up.
‘Did she know something was going to happen today, and that’s why she came here?’
There was a reason this depraved gathering had continued for two weeks.
Today was the day of her first act of revenge.
If her plan went awry, who knew when she’d get another chance.
Marriott held back her rising irritation, desperately wanting to kick out this uninvited guest from the Tolyn house.
But if she caused a scene and killed the mood, everything would be ruined.
The entire point of tonight’s party was for everyone to get so drunk they passed out.
“This is driving me insane.”
As she massaged her temples, Marriott saw Hera slowly walking toward her.
Though she had pulled her hood down low to hide her identity, her graceful steps and silky pink hair couldn’t be disguised.
It was obvious she didn’t belong here.
“I’m supposed to ask why she came, but I really don’t want to.”
Hera came to a stop in front of Marriott and lowered her hood, revealing her face for the first time in a while.
Marriott remained seated on the sofa, resting her chin on her hand, pretending not to be fazed—but inside, she was nervous.
Up close, the Tolyn lady’s presence felt completely out of place in this vulgar setting, and it made Marriott feel guilty just looking at her.
She glanced at Hera, then quickly looked away.
While walking across the hall toward Marriott, Hera had carefully prepared what she wanted to say.
In fact, she had considered saying nothing and simply asking to borrow a carriage to return to the Tolyn estate.
But the moment she stepped into the hall, anger suddenly welled up.
Especially at the sight of Marriott’s half-unbuttoned shirt—it annoyed her for no reason.
She was already an unwanted guest, and borrowing the Duke’s carriage shamelessly would only make her look worse.
So doing something even more offensive probably wouldn’t change anyone’s opinion.
“I came because I was concerned about the continuous vulgar parties being held here—so unbecoming of a Duke’s dignity.”
Her tone was formal and rigid, the words pouring from her lips like stones.
Marriott, who had turned her eyes away, slowly looked up at Hera.
“Concerned? Did you just say concerned?”
The word “concerned” left Marriott speechless.
