Chapter 127 – The Real Owner
‘That person…!’
The moment I saw the simple green suit, I immediately recognized him.
“Ah, I’m Antonel,” the young man said awkwardly as he stepped out of the doorway.
“Antonel?”
“I’m performing the pre-show,” he explained.
Alcent, who had been speaking loudly, blinked in surprise as if only just realizing who it was.
“Oh, it’s you.”
Onstage, Antonel had looked full of confidence.
But up close, even with his sturdy build, he kept his shoulders hunched like someone nervous and unsure.
“I really enjoyed your singing,” I said warmly.
To be honest, meeting him was far more pleasant than meeting Coachviel.
“Th-thank you!”
Antonel’s neck turned bright red.
His clothes looked outdated, but his bashful face made him seem even younger.
“I mean it. Your performance was the best part of tonight.”
When I showed interest, Alcent quickly introduced me.
“This is Her Grace, the Grand Duchess. Properly greet her.”
Antonel’s eyes widened, and he hurriedly knelt on one knee.
“Y-your Grace, it is an honor to meet you!”
It was clear he had no idea how to greet nobility.
Alcent, his face turning red, leaned down and whispered sharply, scolding him to stand up.
Behind us, Cecilia tried—and failed—to stifle her laughter.
I gave my maid a subtle look before turning back to Antonel.
“Why are you here, though?”
Even in the dim light, I could see the dust floating through the air.
Calling it a props room was generous—this place was nowhere near fit for people to rest in.
“I was just… taking a short break,” he said.
“Here?”
He gave an awkward smile instead of answering, and I could already guess what was going on.
‘So, even among the actors, there’s discrimination, huh?’
Maybe a no-name performer like him wasn’t allowed in the main waiting room.
Still, a dusty storage room? That seemed cruel.
He’d ruin his voice breathing this air.
But if I meddled, it might only make things worse for him, so I just nodded lightly.
“I see. Well, I really did enjoy your performance.”
“It’s an honor, Your Grace!” Antonel said, bowing repeatedly, his ears still red.
As we turned to leave, Cecilia sighed.
“How can an actor be that shy?”
Next to the smooth, flirty Coachviel, Antonel certainly looked timid.
“He’s obviously from the countryside,” Alcent added, clicking his tongue. “Most like him give up and go home before long.”
Somehow, that bothered me.
There was something about his nervousness that reminded me of myself when I first came to this place—out of place, uncertain, and overwhelmed.
‘I hope things go well for him,’ I thought as I silently cheered for the nameless singer and returned to the royal box.
The second act was well underway.
“…Maybe I drank too much,” the Marchioness muttered, standing up with flushed cheeks.
After gulping down champagne all evening, she could barely stand straight—clearly drunk.
Raphael, meanwhile, had long since fallen fast asleep.
“I’ll take her to the powder room,” Cecilia whispered to me and discreetly helped the Marchioness out.
‘Ugh, when will this end?’
I shifted restlessly in my seat, trying to focus, when a tall theater staff member entered the royal box.
“No more champagne,” I said, waving a hand before he could refill my glass.
“How are you enjoying the show?” he asked in a smooth, low voice.
He had to know I was the Grand Duchess—yet he spoke so casually.
I looked up at him, ready to respond politely… and froze.
‘…Wow. Handsome.’
That was my first thought.
Even under the faint stage lights that cast only soft shadows, his sharp features stood out clearly.
He smiled faintly and asked again, “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“…I am,” I replied curtly.
“I don’t think so.”
“…!”
Excuse me?
He didn’t seem intimidated at all.
In fact, his relaxed confidence suggested he wasn’t used to being turned down—by anyone.
There was no way this man was an ordinary staff member.
Maybe the director had sent one of his actors disguised as a waiter to gauge my reaction?
“Why do you think I’m not enjoying it?” I asked.
“What part didn’t you like?” he said, ignoring my question completely.
“The music? The stage? The actors?”
His perfectly shaped brows arched teasingly.
“You know, this orchestra is the best in Rondoris. And the set cost a fortune. Don’t tell me it’s Coachviel you don’t like? I’ve never met a lady who disliked him…”
“Then I guess I’m not a lady,” I said flatly.
If he wasn’t even pretending to act like staff, then I saw no reason to hide my thoughts either.
“Why didn’t I like it? The whole play’s a mess.”
“A mess?” He frowned slightly, as though I’d insulted his personal work.
“What part, exactly?”
“You’re rather curious for a waiter,” I said, turning my head away.
But he leaned closer.
The soft golden strands of his hair fell forward gracefully.
“Please, tell me. I’d really like to know.”
He smiled with effortless charm—clearly used to using his looks to get what he wanted.
‘Hmph. That won’t work on me.’
After all, I saw Loic’s face every day. Nothing could top that.
“If you’re that curious, ask the director yourself instead of fishing for answers like this,” I said coolly.
On stage, Coachviel was in the middle of an overly dramatic death scene, singing through fake blood.
“For the record, I just missed an important part because of you.”
Just then, Norton peeked in through the doorway, probably wondering why the staff was taking so long.
When he saw the man leaning too close, his voice boomed.
“You there! What are you doing?”
“I was just leaving,” the man said smoothly, smiling politely.
Before he exited, he glanced my way and murmured,
“You weren’t really watching anyway.”
How infuriating.
Even after Norton confirmed everything was fine, I couldn’t shake off the uneasy feeling as I forced myself to sit through the rest of the opera.
The seemingly endless play finally ended with the male lead, Coachviel, dying—followed by the heroine, unable to bear her grief, taking her own life.
“Your Grace, the director asked if he could see you for a moment before you leave,” Alcent said cautiously.
I turned and saw the Marchioness clinging drunkenly to a knight while another carried a sleeping Raphael.
Cecilia, who had been stuck managing them all evening, looked utterly exhausted.
“Shall I tell him to arrange another meeting later?” Alcent asked.
Why the sudden invitation?
Maybe he wanted to apologize for sending that “staff” to test me earlier.
It was unexpected, but I was curious about that mysterious man’s true identity, so I agreed.
I told Cecilia to escort the Marchioness and Raphael home first, then followed Alcent toward the VIP room.
When we arrived, Samuel, the director, was waiting outside—looking nervous and fidgety.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
Upon seeing me, he wrung his hands nervously.
“Your Grace… I must confess something.”
“Confess?”
After hesitating for a long time, he shut his eyes and spoke.
“The truth is… I am not the director of the Cariso Troupe.”
“What?”
Beside me, Alcent’s eyes widened in shock.
“I swear, I didn’t mean to deceive anyone!” Samuel said quickly.
“I act merely as the representative. Technically speaking, you could say I’m the director’s agent.”
“So there’s another director?”
“Yes. The true director wishes to remain anonymous, so I handle all public affairs in his stead.”
While Alcent looked offended, I found myself intrigued instead.
“So, the one who asked to meet me… is the real director?”
“I’m terribly sorry,” Samuel said, bowing deeply.
“But yes—he insisted on meeting Your Grace personally.”
“How dare he—” Alcent began angrily, but Samuel quickly raised a hand to stop him.
“He… wishes to meet Her Grace alone.”
“That’s not happening,” said Norton firmly from behind us.
“We can’t allow Her Grace to be alone with someone whose identity is unknown.”
“Then reveal who he is,” I said to Samuel.
“If I’m to meet him, I want to know who I’m meeting.”
“It would be better if you heard it directly from him—”
“I don’t like surprises,” I interrupted sharply.
“If I’m expected to tolerate such rudeness, I at least deserve to know who this person is. Otherwise, I’m leaving.”
“I—I understand!” Samuel blurted, flustered.
As I turned to go, he rushed forward and whispered quietly near my ear.
‘Just as I thought.’
I sighed softly and looked at Norton.
“Norton, wait for me out here.”
“I can’t allow that, Your Grace,” he said uneasily. “We haven’t even checked the room—”
“If something happens, I’ll scream,” I said dryly.
Norton hesitated, lips tightening, but finally stepped back.
When I nodded, Samuel opened the door himself.
“I’ll be right outside,” Norton said, worry clear in his voice.
I entered the room.
Click.
The door closed behind me.
Someone was standing near the balcony, back turned toward me.
Shoulder-length golden hair shimmered faintly under the lamplight—it looked familiar.
Then, slowly, the figure turned.
He smiled brightly, the corners of his eyes curving gently.
It was the same “staff member” who had entered the royal box earlier.
I recalled what Samuel had whispered to me moments ago.
‘He’s Prince Lucion of Rondoris.’
Standing before me was the younger brother of Princess Felianes—Prince Lucion himself.
