Chapter 2 – The Morning After

The following morning, Diana calmly expressed her decision to her mother:

“Mother, since you insist, I will meet the Young Duke. But please don’t expect too much.”

Although she had requested no high expectations, Helena’s face lit up with joy.

“Really? You’ve thought this through well, Diana!”

Diana awkwardly took her mother’s hand as she praised her decision, but the wider Helena’s smile, the more uneasy Diana felt inside.

I’m sorry, Mother. But I will never marry Ian Crawford.

She swallowed the unspoken words, feeling guilty but unable to voice them. She understood her mother’s anxiety over her possibly remaining unmarried forever—but her fiancé was him: the villain who laundered royal funds, betrayed his childhood friend, even severed another’s arm to silence them. She planned to keep up appearances but avoid any close interaction by all means.

Helena cluelessly whisked her daughter off to the dressmaker:

“This back really shows! The perfume is strong… Isn’t it too much?”
“Oh, nonsense! Bold, beautiful dresses suit youth. Don’t worry—look stunning!”

Looking back, that turned out to be a mistake.

Diana, unable to resist her mother’s excitement, ended up buying a deep-rosy perfume, a flashy gown, and accentuating shoes that emphasized her ankles.

On the day of the party:

Okay. Just stick to the plan.

Diana took a deep breath in the carriage.

I’ve done well so far — don’t be afraid.

She had avoided every opportunity to physically cross paths with the villain. She wouldn’t look too familiar when his name came up—but privately, she knew more than anyone: his psychological state, his future plans, even what his tomorrow might hold.

But no pretending like I know things.

“You think I don’t know what you did last summer?” That was a trap many possessed people fall into. When you peer into the abyss, the abyss stares back. Pretending to know everything about him could be fatal. He’s the villain—this is his turf.

And no tiger pits, either.

Entering the villain’s lair or signing a premature engagement contract might seem clever in fiction, but typically the tiger tears apart anything entering its den. Contracts are paper-thin excuses in fairy-tale illusions.

Diana’s strategy: low contact. Polite conversation only, more silence than words, so she wouldn’t be underestimated.

By the time she gathered these thoughts, the Valentine Marquis’s garden party had already begun.

“Good day, Lady Ines. Thank you for inviting us.”
“Welcome, Diana. And Helena, of course.”

Lady Ines, the hostess, was a social acquaintance who greeted them warmly.

“Many will think an angel walked into the party today.”
“You’re too kind. I hope you’ve been well?”
“As usual, dear. Please come inside.”

The garden party was bigger than expected, with the central courtyard and indoor lounge open for guests to rest between dances.

My ankles already hurt…

As Diana tried to discreetly shift her weight, murmurs arose near the entrance.

“The Grand Duchess of Crawford has arrived.”
“Oh? Duchess! Welcome.”

The moment she heard Crawford, Diana felt a chill down her spine. Her gaze locked with someone standing at a distance.

An older woman with streaks of gray hair—Monica Crawford—approached with deliberate steps.

“It’s been a while, Helena. I seem to have arrived late.”
“Not at all. Welcome, Grand Duchess. It’s been half a year since I saw you at Anoc Castle. How have you been?”
“Only aging day by day,” she replied with a hint of cynicism.

Helena responded with a friendly laugh in return. The conversation warmed up when Monica gestured:

“And this must be Miss Diana?”
“Welcome, Miss Monica Crawford. I am Diana Wellington.”

Diana lifted her dress slightly and curtsied. The Grand Duchess gave a slight chuckle.

“Oh, I may not remember—but we met when you were very young.”
“Is that so? I apologize for forgetting.”
“That was before I’d officially returned to Crawford House. Kids grow up fast, and young ladies become lovely—hard to keep track.”
“You still look very young yourself.”
“Tamper it, Helena—both of us are aging.”

Although their banter sounded lighthearted, the tone conveyed warmth. Just then Monica lowered her gaze.

“Where is Ian? He said he’d arrive first—now he’s nowhere to be found.”
“Weren’t you two supposed to come together?”
“Court duties kept him busy. He said he’d come separately, but I lost track of him.”

Helena offered condolences and congratulations, but Monica’s expression remained critical:

“He was just appointed Grand Chancellor—many things to handle? He seems more carefree than ever…”

Before Helena could respond, a voice cut in behind.

“Ian.”

Diana turned sharply and froze—face to face with him.

Ian Crawford—the aura like a towering old cathedral, commanding all who looked up at him. A high-bridged nose like a spire, a refined jawline, dark hair with a hint of blue—groomed immaculately. The result: far more mature and ascetic than his age suggested.

Most striking were his eyes: blood-red, like a pomegranate. She’d expected them to be creepy—but in person, they seemed almost beautiful. Now she understood why the original Diana fell in love at first sight.

Is this man really the villain?

He began to smile politely, and everything changed.

No mistake—he’s the narrow-eyed villain.

The longer he smiled, the thinner his eyes became. Soon, his lids nearly closed into slits.

He was the epic villain-type—everything calculated, chilling in its elegance.

“You didn’t arrive early and come find me,” he chided.
“I’m sorry. I stopped to greet someone I knew, and that delayed me,” she stammered.
“Hmph. Stop the lame excuses and just apologize,” his voice cool.

Thankfully, Ian Crawford’s public image was a gentleman to everyone.

When Monica poked him with her fan, he let out a playful pained expression.

“My apologies for being late, Lady Grand Duchess. I am Ian Crawford.”

A polite gentleman with a social mask—still in place, for now.

“Good afternoon, Young Duke Crawford.”

Stay calm—don’t let fear show.

Diana introduced herself resolutely, hoping to survive:

“I’m Diana Wellington. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’d heard Lady Diana was exceptionally beautiful—but seeing you in person surpasses that.”

As she listened to his words, Diana realized something:

Villains aren’t amateur performers. Not only does he effortlessly flatter strangers, but he delivers praise naturally—even if it’s fake.

Whether sincere or false, Ian’s behavior wasn’t simple.

Perhaps narrow-eyed villains are highly trained service professionals—fully capable of emotional labor for the sake of reputation.

He carried out his duties with cold efficiency—but underneath lay something darker.