Episode 22
Mielle stepped forward and addressed the quarreling group with utmost courtesy.
“I deeply apologize for the disturbance. I am an employee of this boutique. As a token of apology, may we invite you inside for some tea? Perhaps we can speak more comfortably there.”
“Oh? Yes, that would be fine—if it’s not too much trouble.”
Sylvia quickly nodded in agreement with Mielle’s proposal. The group exchanged glances, weighing the offer, when Sylvia’s husband—who had been silent until now—suddenly cut in with a rough, hostile tone.
“Who told you to butt in? Mielle, keep your mouth shut and stay out of this.”
“But, I only meant—”
“What? ‘But’ what? You little brat. I’m practically the master of this place, and some lowly shopgirl dares to talk back?”
Before anyone could stop him, he turned his scorn directly on Mielle. Sylvia stared at her husband in dismay, utterly at a loss.
“If you think yourself the master, then surely you should know your priorities.”
Mielle’s calm rebuke came with a look of sheer contempt.
Enraged, Hanson stormed forward, seized Mielle by the collar, and raised his fist high.
‘Looks like I’ll have to use it here, after all.’
The crowd was thick, but since all eyes were fixed on the commotion, if she was careful, no one would notice.
The moment Hanson grabbed Mielle, Dalia’s hand slipped into her sleeve, searching for the pocket watch hidden there. Just before she could flip open the cover to stop time, Khalid appeared out of nowhere from among the murmuring onlookers. He caught her wrist, halting her.
“Don’t.”
He whispered it at her ear. Dalia’s eyes flew wide.
“You…?”
‘Where did he come from so suddenly? And that other time too… Does he know what I’m about to do?’
She turned to him in startled confusion, but Khalid had already stepped past her, striding toward Hanson.
“You again. I let it slide once, but you just don’t learn, do you?”
With that, Khalid seized Hanson by the collar and, with a single effortless lift, plucked him away from Mielle. In the blink of an eye, Hanson was dangling in the air, slack-jawed, as though reality had deserted him.
“Khalid!”
“So, what do you say? Should I just put him away for good?”
Put him where? Dalia couldn’t even begin to imagine, but she shook her head quickly.
“Put him down.”
At her word, Khalid loosened his grip, dropping Hanson unceremoniously to the ground. Hanson landed in a coughing, sputtering heap.
Sylvia, her face drained of color, turned to Dalia and bowed deeply.
“My husband has behaved disgracefully toward you as well, madam. I truly… I sincerely apologize on his behalf.”
She sounded practiced—too practiced. It was clear this was not the first time she had been forced to clean up after him.
Dalia let out a slow breath. One more piece of the puzzle had fallen into place: why the boutique had failed, and why Sylvia had later been branded the villain.
“Yes, he was quite rude. A husband may hawk his wares if he wishes, but laying hands on passersby is unacceptable. See that it never happens again. No one else should have to suffer from his misconduct.”
“Of course. I will see to it.”
Sylvia bowed again and again. Hanson opened his mouth to retort—but then his gaze met Khalid’s. Whatever he saw there drained the fight out of him. With a stiff nod, he muttered hoarsely,
“…I apologize.”
It was the first apology to ever pass his lips. After that, he pressed his mouth shut, leaving Sylvia to bow once more.
“He isn’t truly a bad man… but with the shop struggling as it is, sometimes he becomes… unreasonable. I will give him a stern warning. I am so sorry. And—thank you, for still coming to Zephyros despite all this.”
With Sylvia’s repeated apologies, the once-irate customers finally softened and excused themselves.
“Let’s go,” Dalia said.
“Madam, about your appointment…” Sylvia asked hesitantly, cheeks tinged with embarrassment.
“If you’ve changed your mind, of course we can cancel. But should you entrust us with the work, I promise—you won’t regret it.”
Her voice trembled, yet her sincerity shone through. Dalia could see her determination to push Mielle’s designs forward. She sighed softly.
“My mind hasn’t changed. Let’s go inside and settle the deposit first.”
“Thank you. Truly, thank you.”
“Thank you!” Mielle echoed, nearly breathless with relief.
Meanwhile, the man who had caused the scene in the first place was nowhere to be seen—Hanson had already slunk away.
Dalia had planned to use her own settlement fund to pay for the dress, but Khalid insisted she allow him to cover the expense instead.
The truth was, from the very moment Dalia had tried on her first gown, Khalid had already decided to find her something better. The fabrics here, though elegant, were still a tier or two below those supplied to the royal family or prepared for his own estate.
But he had no wish to hurt her feelings by pointing that out now.
When she signed the order, Dalia spoke quietly.
“I’d prefer to share my address only with Mielle, the designer handling my fittings. It’s not that I mistrust you, Madam Sylvia, but after everything today…”
Because of Hanson, she dared not leave such personal information with the shop or with Sylvia’s household. She even wrote Khalid’s name on the order form instead of her own, to prevent the viscount from tracing her.
Sylvia understood immediately.
“Of course. Mielle will be responsible for all the fittings, so it’s best that way. Mielle, give the lady your contact information at once.”
“Yes, ma’am. Here, I’ll write it down.”
Both women accompanied them all the way to the front gate, bowing and thanking them until they were gone.
Yet just beyond the door, Hanson was loitering. He scurried up, bowed awkwardly at Khalid, then quickly dragged Sylvia back inside.
Dalia and Khalid exchanged a look. On guard, they lingered outside to listen.
As expected, raised voices soon erupted within. With a subtle exertion of power, Khalid amplified the sound for them. Hanson was grilling Sylvia: How many sales? How many orders? He scoffed openly at Mielle’s designs.
“….”
Disgusting, yes. But at least he wasn’t striking her. For now, that was enough reason for them to walk away.
Originally, Dalia had planned to tour a few more shops in Amad City, buying supplies and planting seeds of acquaintance. But the unsettling incident had soured her mood. She decided to return directly to the estate.
Still, her thoughts remained unsettled.
She could now see the roots of the story she already knew: Mielle’s meteoric rise, Sylvia’s infamy as the villain.
‘But that husband… He’s full of resentment, but not bold enough to truly harm Mielle. So where did things really go wrong?’
Mielle, once a nobody, would become a celebrated designer overnight. The Crown Prince, famous for elevating talented commoners, would back her.
The scandal had been far too great for one petty man like Hanson to cause alone.
At the time of Dalia’s death, the Crown Prince was still basking in unmatched popularity as the heir apparent. She had never once seen him in person, yet his reputation had been impossible to ignore.
Whenever rumors of his private indiscretions arose, reporters and politicians alike were crushed under the fury of his devoted commoner followers.
‘Something doesn’t add up. Hanson’s faults are obvious—but perhaps someone used them? Or maybe things unfolded naturally, just as I remember from the future. I need to find out.’
She didn’t necessarily need to. She could simply use her knowledge of the future to her advantage.
Her long-term plan was to settle in the capital, seize power untouchable by the viscount, and inherit her family name. Simply monopolizing Mielle’s upcoming fashions for a season or two would be enough to make a splash in society—and that alone would serve her greater ambitions.
‘Still… if Sylvia isn’t truly a bad person, I’d rather not see her disgraced and left to rot on the streets.’
Across from her, Khalid had been watching her thoughtful silence. When she met his eyes, he gave her a serene smile.
“That husband of the shopkeeper,” he said calmly.
“Yes? You were surprised too, weren’t you?”
“Should I kill him?”
“Yes. …Wait—what?”
Dalia blinked, certain she had misheard.
“What did you just say?”
“I asked if I should kill him.”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“….”
She was struck speechless. His face was so mild, his voice so casual, that she had no idea how to even begin responding.
“That man is no good for you—or for the shop.”
