Where is she?
Had she been avoiding me? Probably. But this seemed excessive. Duke Alaric's mansion was large, but not that large. Unless she'd developed the ability to teleport—which, given the absurdity of this world, wouldn't actually surprise me—she should have crossed my path at least once.
Can she just disappear conveniently now that she knows I know?
The thought was unsettling.
DING!
SHE'S BEEN PREPARING.
"Preparing for what?" I whispered.
THE GARDEN PARTY.
Oh. Of course .
Master Pemberton stepped back, looking relieved. "All finished, my lady! The dress will be ready by this evening. I'll have it delivered to your chambers before dinner."
He began gathering his supplies with the speed of a man escaping disaster.
"It will be magnificent, Lady Cruelton. Truly. The fabric, the cut, the detailing—you'll be the envy of every lady at the party." He bowed, a series of rapid, jerky motions that threatened to topple his slender frame. "Thank you for your patience. Thank you for your cooperation. Thank you for—"
I waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes. You're very grateful. Now go before I remember something else to complain about."
"Of course, my lady! Absolutely!"
He scurried out like his life depended on it.
DING!
HATRED POINTS +100
CURRENT BALANCE: 5,567
Silence settled over the dressing room. Rose began tidying the scattered pins and fabric scraps with methodical precision.
Five thousand points already. Not bad. But not nearly enough to survive what was coming. I needed more. Much more. And I needed them fast.
The system had been very clear about one thing: stagnation was death. If my balance dropped too low—or worse, stopped growing—I wouldn’t just lose privileges. I would lose protection. In this world, a powerless villainess didn’t get redemption. She got erased.
I watched her for a moment, then sighed.
"Rose."
"Yes, my lady?"
"Tell me about the Ashfords."
Her hands paused briefly, then resumed their work. "What would you like to know?"
"Everything." I moved to the window, looking out over the gardens. The roses were in full bloom, red and white and pink. Perfectly maintained. "Especially about the heir."
Captain Theodore Ashford. Beloved war hero whom everyone loses their brain cells for when mentioned.
Rose set down the pin cushion and folded her hands. "Dukedom Theodore Ashford is the eldest son and heir to the Ashford fortune. Twenty eight years of age. Educated at the finest institutions. Considered one of the most eligible bachelors in society."
"And his personality?"
Rose's lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close.
"Intense?"
"Very intense, my lady."
I raised an eyebrow. "And confident?"
"Also very confident."
"That's diplomat speak for 'insufferably arrogant,' isn't it?"
"I would never say such a thing about a nobleman." Her tone was perfectly neutral, which somehow made it more damning. "The Ashford family is old nobility," she continued. "Very prestigious. Very proud. They've served the crown for generations—military tradition runs in their blood."
"And Theodore?"
"Captain Theodore Ashford is the eldest son. Decorated war hero—fought in the Continental Campaign for five years. Returned six months ago with more medals than most men earn in a lifetime."
I leaned forward, interested. "What else?"
Rose's lips twitched—almost a smile. "He's considered quite the catch. Handsome. Wealthy. Accomplished. But—"
"But?"
"He's also considered... difficult."
Oh, this is going to be good.
I turned from the window, giving her my full attention. "Difficult how?"
"Proud. Arrogant, some say. He has very high standards and makes no secret of it." Rose's eyes glinted. "I've heard he once rejected three marriage proposals in one evening because he found the ladies 'insufficiently interesting.'"
I blinked. "He said that? Out loud?"
"Apparently." Rose folded her hands. "He's known for being blunt to the point of rudeness. Doesn't suffer fools. Doesn't engage in meaningless small talk. Many find him insufferable. Nevertheless many more find him charming."
"Huh." I sat back, processing this.
A war hero with a massive ego and no filter.
Men like that were predictable. Untouchable in their own minds. They never expected resistance—especially not from women they’d already dismissed. And nothing shattered pride faster than being made a spectacle by someone they underestimated.
Interesting.
"What about his family?" I asked. "His parents?"
"Duke and Duchess Ashford are hosting the party, of course. They're eager to see their son settle down—hence the garden party. It's essentially a matchmaking event, though they won't call it that."
"So they're parading eligible ladies in front of him?"
"Essentially, yes."
I thought about this. "And he's going along with it?"
"Reluctantly, from what I hear. But he's dutiful to his family, despite his pride."
Pride.
That was the key word.
Nothing brought hatred points like a powerful man embarrassed in public.
And a proud man? A war hero possibly with an ego the size of a continent?
If I played this right—if I somehow managed to publicly humiliate Captain Theodore Ashford at his own family's party—
The points would be astronomical.
I felt a smile beginning to form. A slow, calculating smile that probably would've earned me another hundred hatred points if Master Pemberton had still been in the room.
"Rose," I said pleasantly. "What would you say is the fastest way to earn someone's hatred?"
Rose finally met my eyes. There was something in her expression—concern, maybe. Or resignation.
"My lady..."
"Hypothetically speaking, of course."
She sighed, the kind of sigh that carried years of experience dealing with difficult nobility. "Hypothetically, my lady, there are few things that inspire hatred more quickly than public humiliation."
"Public humiliation," I repeated, just as I thought.
"Especially for someone who prides themselves on never losing."
"Someone like Captain Ashford, for instance?"
"Hypothetically."
"Of course. Hypothetically."
I could see it already. The garden party. The eligible ladies in their finest dresses. Theodore Ashford holding court like some kind of conquering hero. Everyone fawning. Everyone desperate for his attention.
And then me.
Beatrice Cruelton.
The villainess.
Ruining everything spectacularly.
Rose noticed. "My lady? You have that look."
"What look?"
"The look you get when you're planning something terrible."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." My smile widened. "I'm simply looking forward to the party."
Rose sighed. "Should I prepare extra handkerchiefs? For the inevitable tears you'll cause?"
"Three should be sufficient."
"I'll bring five."
"You know me so well, Rose.”