IBGM 8

chapter 8

Shekh Dress Shop (2)

The moment Rebellina’s eyes met Belarus’s was no coincidence. Belarus had stepped into the Shekh Dress Shop fully aware that this was a place Rebellina frequented.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“How wonderful for you! To receive so many expensive dresses as gifts—your lover must be incredibly wealthy to adore you like that.”

“My dear would do anything for me.”

The corners of Belarus’s lips lifted. Her narrowed gaze toward Rebellina was laced with mockery. Rebellina noticed, but with so many eyes in the shop, she chose to ignore it rather than cause a scene.

She twitched slightly, took a steady breath, and was about to walk past—

when Belarus glanced at her and spoke to the attendant.

“No matter how old a promise is, he breaks it for me.”

What? Is she insane?

It was clearly directed at her. Rebellina stopped in her tracks. Noticing this, Belarus raised a hand and idly twisted a strand of her hair.

Rebellina felt a surge of anger—so intense she wanted to rip out every strand of that pink hair slipping through Belarus’s fingers. But she remained composed and observed the situation. The attendant beside Belarus, oblivious to the tension, spoke again.

“Really? He must love you dearly, miss.”

“Of course. He said he’d live only for me for the rest of his life.”

“How amazing. I’m so envious.”

The attendant’s chatter faded into the background. Rebellina let out a hollow laugh.

Live for her forever? Has he lost his mind?

It had only been two days since the broken engagement. And already their relationship had progressed to the point of “forever”?

Rebellina became certain—there had been something going on between them even before the engagement was called off. Sparks seemed to flash in her eyes, her golden irises blazing with anger.

Watching the confrontation unfold, Brua’s eyes widened. Having run the dress shop through countless trials, she immediately sensed this was a crucial moment. She had to choose—stand with Belarus or with Rebellina.

Suddenly, Brua bowed deeply before Rebellina.

“I was so distracted that I forgot to thank you properly. My apologies.”

“For what thanks?”

“You’ve honored us with your presence. It’s only right that I express my gratitude.”

As the owner of the renowned Shekh Dress Shop bent at the waist, the attention of the noble ladies in the room shifted toward them.

Despite the sudden apology, Rebellina responded calmly. Brua wasn’t the type to act without reason. At the very least, she knew Brua’s actions wouldn’t harm her.

“It’s only natural to visit when it’s Shekh’s clothing.”

“Lady Asilius wears Shekh’s designs better than anyone.”

“You flatter me.”

“Oh my, you’re too modest.”

Smiling, Brua leaned closer and whispered—though her voice was soft, everyone in the shop could hear.

“This dress is being specially made for you, Lady Asilius. Even the slightest error is unacceptable, so we’ll need to take your measurements again. As a shop that specializes in custom garments, we cannot allow an ill-fitting piece to leave our hands.”

“Custom garments here are famous for their perfect fit.”

“Of course. Ready-made clothes are nice, but custom pieces are something else entirely, aren’t they?”

Rebellina’s gaze shifted to Belarus. The proud expression she had been holding crumbled instantly as her face flushed bright red. After all, the expensive, flashy dresses she had been bragging about were all ready-made.

At Shekh Dress Shop, custom-made pieces were far more prestigious than ready-made ones. Nearly all the noble ladies present had ordered custom garments.

The ladies, who owned dresses made by ordinary designers rather than the head designer, stared at Belarus. Realizing that the dresses she had boasted about weren’t custom-made, they began whispering behind their fans.

“So they’re all ready-made.”

“He’ll break promises for her, but not buy her custom dresses, it seems.”

“Well, she’s only a baron’s daughter. Why would he buy her custom pieces?”

“She was making such a fuss… and it’s nothing special after all. Hoho.”

“Maybe he’s just playing with her before discarding her.”

At that remark, Belarus gripped her skirt, her shoulders trembling. Brua watched with a cold smile. Only a select few could wear garments designed by Brua, the head designer—and Belarus was not among them.

Not even Inferno, the imperial prince, could easily interfere with this shop. It was cherished by the princess and the empress; any interference would inevitably reach them.

Rebellina, watching Belarus’s humiliation, didn’t bother hiding her scorn. Belarus clenched her teeth.

“If it’s designed by the head designer, I can trust it.”

“I’ll make sure it fits you perfectly.”

“Of course. Clothes that don’t fit can one day tighten around your neck.”

“Indeed.”

“Just like people who covet what isn’t theirs.”

“Oh my, are there such people?”

With Brua playing along, Belarus could endure no more and hurriedly began to gather her things. Ignoring the attendant’s confusion, she insisted on having the dresses packed immediately.

With no maid accompanying her, the attendant had to carry the boxes to her carriage.

“I’ll have tea another time.”

“I’ll keep the Golden Tips reserved just for you, my lady.”

“I’m grateful for your kindness in preparing such tea for me.”

“Oh my, how gracious of you. Golden Tips is a tea meant for someone of your refinement. It suits you perfectly. It will be waiting for you next time as well.”

“The tea may remain, but the people might change. You should manage who comes and goes more carefully.”

“Oh my, people like that cannot come and go freely here. Perhaps once in a while—but that’s all.”

Brua’s whisper, pointed toward Belarus, was loud enough for everyone to hear. All eyes turned to her.

As Belarus’s face turned a furious red, Rebellina lifted her chin—her posture clearly declaring, I am not the same as you. Belarus trembled with rage.

The other noble ladies, already displeased with a mere baron’s daughter flaunting expensive gifts from her lover, giggled and whispered among themselves. As they mocked her—wondering who her lover even was, perhaps some rich merchant—Rebellina exited the shop under Brua’s escort.

Ha… seriously.

Even after leaving, her mind was far from at ease. Rebellina was certain that once news of her broken engagement spread, the object of ridicule would shift—from Belarus to herself.

Why do I have to worry about this?

In the Prinante Empire, where there were no ducal daughters, Rebellina was the highest-ranking unmarried woman after the princess. And yet, she had nearly been reduced to a laughingstock by a mere baron’s daughter. If Brua hadn’t acted swiftly, the one being mocked wouldn’t have been Belarus—it would have been her.

Her engagement to Inferno had not yet been officially annulled. Officially, she was still the prince’s fiancée. And yet Belarus had dared to openly challenge her.

Rebellina ground her teeth.

Belarus wasn’t even the prince’s fiancée yet—let alone the crown princess. And she was already acting like this. Once the annulment was announced and she appeared at a banquet as the new fiancée, it was obvious what kind of spectacle she would make.

Was it all a lie?

Belarus—the angelic noble lady, praised for her beauty and gentle nature, admired by all in high society.

To think it had all been an act.

Rebellina clicked her tongue at Inferno’s stupidity for being fooled—then anger surged again.

Beautiful? Kind? Innocent? Where?!

As she boarded the carriage back to the marquisate, she slammed her fist against the seat, swallowing the curses she couldn’t voice aloud.

The moment she arrived, she stormed toward the study with terrifying force. The household staff, who had begun to greet her, quickly fell silent at the sight of her expression.

Sitting at her desk, she picked up a pen. There was no need for a long letter.

[Please visit me at your earliest convenience.]

That one line was enough. Her anger was so intense that the ink slightly smudged, yet it only added to the fierce elegance of her handwriting.

Rebellina handed the letter to Sandy, who had been waiting outside, ordering it to be delivered to Sileste at No. 235. Sandy departed immediately.

“Just you wait.”

Her low, ominous murmur echoed through the quiet study.