Chapter 89
The timing wasn’t right, and it was a shame, but that didn’t mean I could avoid the tea party. In a situation where I had no certainty, I couldn’t risk bringing up anything about holy power carelessly.
That was the very reason why I excluded the matter of holy power entirely from this plan. As I stepped down from the carriage, I quickly organized my thoughts.
The Arpin mansion was as flawless as ever.
Its white stone walls bore not a trace of soot, and the vines climbing them bloomed with soft white flowers, as though blessed by holy power.
The path to the front gate was neatly paved with marble tiles, and on either side, the gardens overflowed with blooming red roses.
Still the same awful taste.
It was exactly what I had felt the first time I possessed Liviere’s body.
The Arpin mansion exuded an air so sacred and dignified, it was fit to be called a temple—worthy of its noble bloodline.
The white outer walls, the climbing vines, the quiet white blossoms nestled in between… and then, splashed like paint across the center of it all, those roses. They didn’t harmonize.
Instead, they drew attention away, making the original beauty seem almost garish.
And roses shouldn’t even be blooming this early in the season.
It was obvious—Liviere had arranged it all deliberately, as if to say, Look at me. I couldn’t even laugh at the brazenness.
So this means the fight has already begun.
As I gazed up at the all-too-familiar Arpin mansion, I felt my emotions settle into a cold calm.
What was once a warm, tender place now loomed like a tiger’s den, its maw open, waiting for me.
Even the maid who came to greet me was a stranger. Guided by her, I walked forward and quietly watched as the mansion’s doors swung open.
And then I drew a slow breath. I would no longer cling to memories of when I had possessed this body.
This time, I was not walking in as Liviere, the mistress of the house, but as Erdian.
And somehow, my steps felt lighter than expected.
Gentle sunlight spilled warmly across the terrace that connected to the indoors.
The mansion’s rear garden felt even more serene and elegant than I remembered.
Under the long, stretched awnings, a variety of tea sets and carefully prepared desserts were neatly laid out. Everything—the terrace, the garden, the arrangements—gleamed with understated luxury.
“Oh my! It feels just like a garden party!”
One invited noblewoman exclaimed as she admired the decorated surroundings.
The smiles and claps of the other guests showed clearly enough—this gathering Liviere had arranged was already a resounding success.
It could have been called a garden party by scale, but she had chosen the word tea party to keep the number of guests strictly limited.
Liviere knew perfectly well the joy people felt at being chosen. Even if the event wasn’t large, the fact that they had been personally invited by the wielder of holy power turned it into a gathering for the “blessed few.”
And when the setting itself was this lavish?
It would make anyone feel like they’d truly become someone special.
Every person craves that sense of being special. Even if they don’t admit it, no one dislikes being treated as such.
With just the emotion of being chosen, people’s goodwill could be swayed—and Liviere knew this all too well.
In the end, this tea party was the perfect stage she had set. I’d expected as much, but… she had prepared even more thoroughly than I imagined.
Still, the fact that it’s held between indoors and outdoors works to my advantage too.
To find out where Jena was, I had to confirm the inside of the mansion. With this kind of setting, slipping inside for a moment wouldn’t seem odd. No one would think twice.
Of course, this too could be another of Liviere’s traps—but on this point, I had no choice.
As the scent of tea and sweet desserts wafted through the air, a hush began to fall over the guests. Their gazes turned, almost in unison, in one direction.
“Is that… the Lady Matriarch?”
With that whispered murmur, a maid guided a dignified woman into the garden.
Her white hair was neatly arranged beneath a black veil: the Duchess Beate Schern.
Though she had suffered tragedy, she had never once been caught in scandal. She was the very image of a noblewoman’s ideal. She bore the greatest wealth of the South, yet her dress spoke of restraint, her elegance displayed only in the silver brooch she wore.
Her very presence commanded respect. The atmosphere shifted instantly, sobered. The crowd, moments ago entranced by Liviere’s stage, quieted as one.
And at her side, holding tightly to her hand, was a small, delicate girl.
That child must be Schern’s heir, Aisha…
Her hair was neatly tied back with a black ribbon, her wide-brimmed hat pressed low as she walked shyly forward.
She looked to be about eight years old. Overwhelmed by all the stares, the little girl hid slightly behind the duchess.
Then, as if she had been waiting for this exact moment, Liviere appeared suddenly, accompanied by her maids, to greet the duchess.
“Welcome, Duchess. With the Schern family’s presence, today’s tea party shines all the brighter.”
“You flatter me, Lady Arpin.”
The duchess’s reply was, as expected, composed.
Her manner was not ostentatious, yet it carried a poise that outshone all others.
Beate Schern.
She was the great noblewoman who controlled half of the South’s fertile lands, a figure so influential in society that they called her the “Matriarch.”
“And this lovely child must be Aisha?”
“Yes. Her body is still frail, but she is quite clever. She loves to read—I couldn’t be more delighted.”
“That will make studying for her inheritance far less tedious. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Aisha.”
Looking nervous, Aisha carefully lifted her skirts and bowed.
“I am Aisha Schern. It is an honor to meet the wielder of holy power.”
Her greeting was both adorable and impeccably polite. Liviere laughed softly, charmed.
Though a little shy, Aisha held herself with perfect grace—just what one would expect from a child raised under the tutelage of Duchess Beate, the matriarch every lady in society longed to learn from.
Perhaps because of this unexpected arrival of such an important guest, a strange current passed among the noblewomen and young ladies.
Today, everyone had come hoping to win the favor of the wielder of holy power. But with the matriarch here, no one could decide whom they should approach first.
Still, the awkwardness didn’t last long. After exchanging pleasantries with the duchess, Liviere slowly moved toward the garden.
Her silk dress, light as sunlight, swayed gracefully in the breeze.
“Today, I’ve invited only those with whom I share a truly special bond. It may have felt sudden, but you can all rest assured.”
Her smile was serene as she looked across the gathered guests, from terrace to garden.
“I hope this will be a freer, more comfortable time for everyone. Formal tea parties can be tiresome, can’t they? Just for today, please relax—enjoy the desserts and the tea.”
At her words, the young ladies giggled behind their hands, while the noblewomen let their shoulders ease, visibly more at ease.
A tea party hosted by the wielder of holy power—some must have hesitated to attend, suspecting hidden motives, but in the end they could not refuse. Now, their unease was gradually melting under Liviere’s graceful speech.
I sat at the terrace, sipping my tea, making sure to appear as relaxed as possible. As expected, no one came to greet me—or even approached near.
So this is what it feels like… to be shunned.
I hadn’t come to mingle anyway, but I couldn’t deny the sting.
It was fine. All of it was fine—except for the way they whispered and snickered while glancing my way. That was… disgusting.
Was this Liviere’s plan too?
It felt like everything, even the smallest detail, was her design. I forced myself to ignore it, biding my time for a chance to slip inside.
Meanwhile, the guests had split into groups, some gathered around Liviere, others around the duchess.
Occasionally I felt the flicker of glances, but no one dared to speak to me—not with Liviere present.
And who could blame them? In this setting, Liviere and I were… the ex-fiancée and the current fiancée of Khalid. An awkwardness no words could smooth over.
But there are always exceptions.
“…Hello. Would it be all right if I sat here?”
It was a child’s voice—high and clear. A girl with twin braids, her wide-brimmed hat set aside, stood before me.
Her speech was politely noble, but her sweet features and bright, youthful tone belonged unmistakably to an eight-year-old.
