Chapter 10

　　…Huh?

　　You have got to be kidding me. Don’t make me lose my temper.

　　“Honestly,” the maid snipped. “I believe I told you not to.”

　　“You gave this to me yourself, and now you’re calling me a thief? What kind of boring, unoriginal, cliché tactic is this? Pulling stunts like this will make readers drop the novel, you know.”

　　I may be new here, but you’re an original character. You could at least be a little more entertaining, don’t you think?

　　I stared at her with an expression of pure boredom, and she marched toward me, looking completely baffled.

　　“When did I ever give you a dress like this? I gave you the tackiest, most unfashionable dress we had!”

　　“Wow, admitting it out loud? Now that’s tacky.”

　　Instead of cowering, I threw her own word back at her. The maid, clearly not expecting this reaction, stammered, “Th-that’s not the point right now!”

　　“It seems like a huge problem to me! Since you said ‘the tackiest,’ I assume there were other dresses available?”

　　“N-no…”

　　The moment she faltered, the fight was over. I already had her on the ropes.

　　I tilted my head, my expression relaxed. “Don’t cry. Just speak slowly and clearly.”

　　“Who said I was crying?!”

　　“Okay, okay. Just take it one step at a time. You can do it!”

　　I cupped a hand to my ear in an obnoxiously exaggerated gesture, showing her I was ready to listen intently.

　　The maid’s face turned from red to purple. Why? What was the big deal? I was just encouraging her.

　　“I’m not talking about anything else! You dared to steal Lady Isabella’s clothes!”

　　“So, you gave me a tacky, torn dress, but since I’m wearing a pretty one now, you assume I must have stolen it?”

　　“Don’t try to deny it.”

　　Seriously? That’s all she’s got?

　　“You seem to have misunderstood, miss,” I said, shrugging as I played dumb. “This is the same dress. If a tacky dress suddenly looks pretty, maybe it’s because the person wearing it makes it look good?”

　　I did a cute pose and shot her a cheeky wink.

　　The maid struggled to tear her eyes away from my display before speaking in a sharp voice. “Let’s see if you can say that in front of Lady Isabella!”

　　She grabbed my arm and began dragging me away. My small, thin body, malnourished from years in the orphanage, was hauled along helplessly.

　　“Ouch! That hurts!”

　　Tears pricked my eyes as she dragged me all the way to the third floor, toward Isabella’s room. Damn it, you’re going to pay for this.

　　“Lady Isabella, it’s Karen!” the maid announced, knocking on the door.

　　A voice from within granted her entry.

　　Karen threw the door open, stepped inside, and shoved me onto the carpet. My paper-thin body lost its balance and tipped forward.

　　Well, if I’m going down, I might as well go full Hollywood!

　　AAAAH!

　　The moment Karen’s hand left my arm, I screamed. I flew onto the plush carpet, somersaulted forward twice, used the momentum to roll once more, and crashed dramatically under a sofa.

　　UGH!

　　Nice. I was like a majestic flying squirrel.

　　Trembling, I pretended I couldn’t get up, my ears perked to gauge the room’s reaction. I heard shocked gasps from all around.

　　“Oh my!”

　　“Good heavens! Karen, what have you done?”

　　“N-no, I just lightly…”

　　“Ahem, Ahem! Oh dear!”

　　“Who did you just throw like that?”

　　“Throw?!”

　　Several pairs of hands carefully helped me to my feet as I groaned loudly.

　　Karen stood flustered under a barrage of accusatory glares. Her eyes, once triumphant, were now cowed.

　　“Don’t tell me… is this the person the Duke brought?” someone whispered.

　　All eyes shifted in one direction.

　　At the end of their gaze stood a girl my age, her expression hardened.

　　Isabella!

　　She was a vision, with beautiful red hair and a porcelain face, exuding a sharp, sophisticated aura.

　　But I’m sure she had mysterious, mint-colored hair in the family photo.

　　In the picture, Isabella’s hair had been the color of mint-flavored whipped cream on a cupcake. I had been surprised because it differed from the novel’s description, but I’d admired how pretty it was. Now, her hair was the fiery “red of the sunset” described in the book. Was the photo wrong?

　　I don’t know what’s going on, but she’s so pretty… I could stare at her all day.

　　I couldn’t tear my eyes away, but fearing I was staring, I forced myself to look down. I needed to appear as harmless as possible.

　　Once Isabella realized that the person who had just flown spectacularly across her floor was me, she quickly masked her shock and took command of the flustered maids.

　　“Sophie, go call the doctor. Maryl, help that child up and lay her on my bed. And Karen.”

　　Karen flinched at the sound of her name. “Y-yes!”

　　“Explain exactly what happened here.”

　　Wow. Those eyes. She’s only fifteen, but her charisma is off the charts.

　　Her flashing golden eyes didn’t just share her father’s coloring; they held the same intensity. They were a perfect copy of Ivan’s.

　　I stopped Sophie as she headed for the door. “I-I’m fine…”

　　I know how to take a fall, after all.

　　Of course, contrary to my calm inner thoughts, I was limping for effect.

　　At my polite refusal, Isabella fixed me with a gaze that could command armies. “What is your name?”

　　“It’s Fredia.”

　　“Fredia. I do not believe my maid should ever dare to throw a person my father brought to this house. I am responsible for failing to train her properly. So please, lie quietly on the bed so the doctor can confirm you are truly unharmed.”

　　I glanced at Karen, who was biting her lip, a look of “this wasn’t supposed to happen” etched on her face.

　　“But I really am fine.”

　　Isabella cut me off firmly. “It doesn’t matter if you’re fine. This is a command, not a request.”

　　She snapped her fingers at the maid hovering between us, signaling her to move. The maid hurriedly guided me to the bed and helped me lie down.

　　“Alright…” I answered, thoroughly intimidated by her oppressive stare.

　　Probably best to just lie down quietly.

　　Is she really the detestable, Cinderella-stepsister type of mediocre villain? No way.

　　I couldn’t remember the specifics of Isabella’s evil deeds against the original heroine. I only recalled that the heroine suffered at her hands a few times, building up her rage until she finally got her satisfying revenge in one glorious burst. I’d thought Isabella was just a plot device to showcase the heroine’s “girl crush” charm—someone who couldn’t hold a candle to her.

　　Honestly, I’d figured that no matter how wicked a fifteen-year-old could be, I—a twenty-one-year-old in my second life—wouldn’t be easily pushed around. I had planned to just pretend to be bullied while keeping a low profile.

　　But she’s scarier than I thought. If I go up against her, will I even survive?

　　The ducal family’s physician arrived shortly. I kept my mouth shut and lay quietly for the examination so as not to offend Isabella.

　　Only after the doctor confirmed I had no injuries did Isabella seem to relax. She turned to interrogate the terrified Karen.

　　“Now, Karen. Speak.”

　　“W-well…” Karen hesitated, unsure how to refer to me, before finally blurting out, “She stole your dress, My Lady! I was only bringing her to you. I absolutely did not push her that hard!”

　　You hurt me emotionally. I’m so faint, so fragile…

　　Isabella looked at me as I put on my most delicate expression.

　　“Stole a dress? Fredia, is that true?”

　　Is she actually asking for my side of the story, or is this just a formality?

　　Either Isabella was pulling the strings, or Karen was acting on her own to prove her loyalty.

　　Keeping in mind that this was the villainess who had tormented the heroine, I prepared to answer, focusing only on the irrefutable facts.

　　“How could I have stolen your dress, my lady? You were in your room the whole time, were you not? If I had entered, surely you would have known.”

　　“But I never gave you that dress!” Karen insisted, pointing a rigid finger at the dress I was wearing—a gesture that made her disbelief in my sewing skills perfectly clear.

　　I addressed the maid directly, who was now pleading with Isabella, her face a mask of indignation. “Look again. It’s the torn dress you gave me, isn’t it? The one you called the most tacky, out-of-fashion rag you’d ever seen, Miss Maid?”

　　Karen flinched, her eyes darting toward Isabella.

　　Huh.

　　In ‘The Suspicious Duchess’, the original story implied Isabella had ordered it… but seeing Karen unable to deny my words, her anxious expression suggested otherwise.

　　Could it be that the war between the heroine and Isabella started with a simple misunderstanding?

　　I decided to press Karen further to be sure. My voice was methodical as I continued. “You told me to mend and wear it myself because the mansion was short-handed. I realized the Ducal family’s financial situation must be difficult when you told me to wash my face with ice-cold water because firewood was scarce.”

　　Karen’s eyes widened, clearly shocked that I would bring that up.

　　I maintained a placid expression. “So I thought I should mend this torn, tacky dress as beautifully as possible. I was only trying my best because I believed it would save face for the Duke who brought me here, but…”

　　As my words painted a picture of a destitute Duke, Karen began to stammer. “M-Miss! Th-this is all a misunderstanding! How could I dare insult the Ducal house like that!”

　　But Isabella, who had been slowly examining my dress, spoke with merciless clarity. “Your skills are excellent, Fredia. I can tell by the decoration on the neckline. That is a dress I threw away years ago.”

　　“Th-that’s…”

　　With Isabella’s swift admission, all the color drained from Karen’s face.

　　Now it was my turn to be bewildered.

　　Did Karen really act on her own? Did the heroine just assume Isabella ordered everything Karen did?

　　I felt like I was in a game where the ending changed based on the player’s choices. My thoughts were beginning to spiral when Isabella let out a soft chuckle.

　　“By the way, Fredia. It seems your eloquence is just as excellent as your dexterity.”

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