villainess chapter 7

She tried to hide the tremor in her voice, masking her nervousness with a pretense of shyness as she subtly asked her sister, “Could we, perhaps, switch soups?”

Flora tilted her head at her younger sister’s unexpected request. “Hmm? Switch our soups?” she echoed, her voice laced with puzzlement.

Vivian’s eyes darted around, searching for a plausible excuse. A slightly embarrassing but workable explanation came to mind. “Well… your bowl seems to have fewer carrots,” she mumbled, her voice trailing off despite her internal pep talk that the embarrassment would be fleeting. A twenty-two-year-old asking to swap soups—Vivian sighed inwardly. It was the sort of thing that would be teased mercilessly if overheard, but thankfully, she currently appeared to be a sweet twelve-year-old.

“Oh, is that so? Our Vivian still doesn’t like carrots? That’s alright, but you need to eat a variety of foods. Oh, you’re so cute,” Flora chuckled softly, gently chiding her sister, oblivious to her true feelings.

Oh, whatever. Vivian decided to embrace boldness, just for today. She looked at Flora with the same puppy-dog eyes she often used in childhood when asking for favors, her bright gaze slightly lowered. Then, feigning nonchalance, she tried again. “Even so… could we please switch, just this once, Flora?”

“Oh, Vivian. I can’t refuse when you look at me so sweetly. Alright, I promise, just this once.”

“Hee hee. Thank you.”

Flora shook her head slightly as if she couldn’t help herself, her gaze softening as she looked at Vivian. Her eyes, full of adoration for her sister, finally conceded to the request. With a gesture, a servant approached and swapped the soup bowls.

Vivian stared at the soup now before her, taking a deep breath. Just this once should be fine. Though her face was directed at the soup, her eyes flickered upwards, checking their mother’s expression.

Just as her slightly trembling hand lifted the spoon to take a sip, a small fissure appeared in the Duchess’s calm smile. “Vivian?” she called, her voice low and urgent.

“Yes, Mother?” Vivian paused, feigning composure as she placed the spoon back down, lifting her head and offering her mother a gentle smile.

Christine clicked her tongue, watching her daughter’s innocent expression. She then raised her hand to summon a servant. “No, bring Vivian a new bowl of soup. Without any carrots at all.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The servant removed the swapped soup entirely. The Duchess, witnessing this, sighed involuntarily.

Vivian breathed a sigh of relief. Having escaped the precarious situation, a sudden wave of hunger washed over her.

The Duke, observing the scene, smiled and spoke. “Vivian, you’ve graduated from the Academy, and you still dislike carrots?”

“Cough—ah, unfortunately, yes, Your Highness.” Vivian nearly choked on her juice, caught off guard by the Duke’s unexpected question. In truth, her picky eating habits had vanished at the Academy. Driven by her competitive spirit, she had spent every waking moment in classrooms and the library, even sacrificing sleep. To save time, she’d developed the habit of shoveling food into her mouth indiscriminately. Picking out carrots had become a luxury she couldn’t afford.

A belated wave of embarrassment flushed her cheeks.

Hugo, who had been looking at his youngest daughter with amusement, spoke again, this time with a hint of playful reproach. “It’s alright. It’s just a vegetable. And you can call me Father. A few years at the Academy, and our relationship has become so formal.”

If any of the royal family or nobility had witnessed this scene, they would have been aghast. Outside the manor, he was a man of unwavering composure and stern authority. While the Grand Duke Grey might subdue his enemies physically, Duke Beaufort dominated with his presence and words. Yet, unlike other nobles, he was incredibly affectionate and warm towards his family, especially his children. Perhaps that was why Flora, before her mother’s relentless torment, had been as bright as sunshine. Just like now.

“Yes, Father.” Vivian’s warm, light brown eyes trembled. She had missed this warmth desperately, achingly, over the past few years.

Max, observing her, cast a curious sidelong glance.

***

A few days later, in the afternoon, Flora and Vivian sat together in a private reception room of a high-end dress shop, there to be fitted for their debutante ball gowns. Several dress designs lay on the table. Flowing designs in pastel colors seemed perfectly suited to Flora.

Clink. Beside the designs, a plate of carrot cake with cream cheese frosting, warm milk, and steaming hot tea was placed. Emma, the boutique owner and designer, spoke politely. “Your Highness, I’ve prepared a few designs based on your previous instructions. Please let me know which dresses you like, and we’ll assist you with the fitting.”

Vivian, who had been humming while looking at the sketches, glanced at the cake plate and felt a pang of awkwardness. It hadn’t been long since she’d played the role of a little girl who hated carrots and demanded to switch soups. Of all things, carrot cake. How embarrassing.