← The fallen count's daughter enters into a contract engagement with the cold-hearted duke.If there was anywhere the retoucher's hand had yet to reach, it would perhaps be the light in Karen de Monterosa's eyes.
She stood in one corner of the ballroom wearing a dress with white lace layered upon itself—a spot where sunlight poured down far too intensely to be called benevolent. Beneath a ceiling hung with dozens of golden chandeliers, some three hundred nobles danced, laughed, and whispered. Their voices drifted like bubbles in water before bursting irregularly.
"...The Monterosa family?"
"Ah, yes. That young lady."
"And it's already her third season."
Karen did not bring the champagne glass in her hand to her lips. The scent of alcohol clouds the mind. Clouding the mind means revealing weakness, and weakness in society means death.
Her mother Isabella was still somewhere conversing with middle-aged ladies. Karen heard her mother's voice—low, soft, dangerous. Isabella de Monterosa had been playing the most difficult role in society for the past three years: maintaining dignity while performing the mirage of a dying house.
Karen's dress trembled slightly. It was not she who had moved. It could have been the air current in the ballroom, or perhaps the faint vibration from someone laughing in her direction.
"Do you think that young lady actually dances sincerely?"
"No. That's ballet."
Voices flowed and ebbed. Karen pretended not to hear them. Or rather, she did hear them. She precisely sensed where each voice came from. The woman in the rose-colored dress near the left pillar. The man in the gray suit on the right balcony. Both were people she had met two years ago. They had greeted her then.
They did not now.
"Karen."
Violeta's voice rang out from behind Karen. Violeta de Santos, draped in silver ornaments over her white dress, was Karen's only ally. As a baron's daughter, she could enjoy the leisure of society, yet for some reason she remained beside the young lady of a fallen house. And strange things are often the most trustworthy.
Karen turned her head. The movement was graceful. Assuming someone was watching, she was always graceful.
"Isn't it rather obvious?"
Violeta's lips curved slightly upward. It was not genuine laughter but laughter as a tool. They had both learned the same thing. The aesthetics of society.
"Obvious what?"
"How they see you."
Karen tilted her champagne glass. She did not drink. It was enough to appear to drink.
"How do you think they see me?"
"..."
Violeta fell silent. Her black eyes scanned Karen's face. It was the expression of someone seeing something incomprehensible.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes. The weather is particularly nice today."
Karen's answer did not match Violeta's question. But Violeta did not ask further. She knew Karen was seeing something. Things she herself could not see.
In the center of the ballroom, the orchestra began a new piece. The violin's introduction was high and sharp. The dancing couples stepped back a few paces, then moved forward again. Their movements were not mechanical. They seemed to genuinely enjoy themselves.
Karen watched them.
——They know they are alive.
The thought passed through Karen's brain. Cold and precise.
Isabella appeared. Karen's mother was walking toward Karen and Violeta alongside two other noble ladies. Her face remained elegant. But Karen knew how tightly the muscles near her mother's neck were drawn.
"There you are, Karen."
Isabella's voice was warm. Warm to excess. Karen knew it was a signal.
"Mother. I apologize for the late greeting."
Karen curtsied. Her skirt traced a perfect arc. She had calculated the angle of that arc. Too low would appear servile, too shallow would appear rude.
The women beside Isabella looked at Karen. Their eyes sparkled. But it was not the sparkle of goodwill. It was like the eyes of someone examining merchandise at a market.
"This is Karen, the young lady of the Monterosa family," Isabella introduced. There was pride in her voice. Not false pride, but the kind that seemed to come from genuine belief.
"Ah, yes. I've heard. She's quite beautiful."
"Beautiful, but..."
The next words did not come. But Karen, Isabella, and Violeta all knew what they would have been.
_Beautiful, but it hardly matters now._
Karen smiled. That smile was not made merely by the movement of her mouth muscles. The corners of her eyes, her cheekbones, the overall tension of her face all participated in it. People would think it a genuine smile.
"Thank you. The ball is truly beautiful."
"Yes. It's been decorated wonderfully this year."
The conversation flowed that way. Nothing meaningful was said. But that is the nature of society conversation. Karen knew. This was a test. And she had passed it. At least on the surface.
Isabella and the women left. Karen was alone again—only beside Violeta.
"You've changed something," Violeta said again.
"What?"
"I'm not sure. Just... as if you're seeing the entire ballroom."
Karen looked at Violeta. This friend truly had excellent powers of observation. But she had not reached the truth.
Karen was not seeing the entire ballroom. She was seeing how the ballroom worked.
——The way those pillars divide sight. The position and acoustics of that balcony. The progression of the orchestra's score. The rules of movement in those dancing couples.
Everything was a system. And systems have gaps.
"Violeta."
"Yes?"
"Do you... understand what I'm trying to do?"
Violeta was silent for a long time. And then, very slowly, she nodded.
"How could I not? You're trying to save your house."
"How did you...?"
"You're too transparent. Especially your eyes."
Violeta's hand grasped Karen's arm. It was a gesture of friendship. Or of solidarity.
"But Karen. This is dangerous. Very dangerous."
"I know."
"Even so?"
Karen looked at the ballroom again. The golden light from the chandeliers made everything sparkle. But beneath that sparkle were cold things. Calculations. Lies.
"Even so... I have to do something."
As those words left her mouth, the flow of gazes at one end of the ballroom changed abruptly. As if a magnet were drawing all iron toward it.
Karen felt it. And to confirm the feeling, she slowly turned her head.
The door opened.
And standing there was—
——
A man in a long black suit. His face was not clearly visible due to the distance. But that did not matter. The way people breathed was enough.
A duke had entered.
Violeta's hand gripped Karen's arm more tightly.
"That's..."
"I know."
Karen's voice was calm. But her heart beat precisely, regularly. Like a metronome.
Everything in the ballroom stopped. Or rather, it recalibrated. The dancing couples stepped back slightly. The voices of those speaking lowered. The orchestra continued playing the same piece, but the music had become background now.
The duke walked in slowly. Each of his steps was deliberate. The kind of deliberation that came from knowing oneself to be the object of attention, yet accepting it as natural.
——Is that man in some advantageous position?
Karen's mind worked rapidly. She tried to read something from the duke's appearance. But the distance was too great.
And in that moment, the duke stopped.
His gaze turned toward one end of the ballroom. Precisely, toward a woman in a white lace dress.
——Me?
Karen felt herself breathing. That was a mistake. Breathing must not be visible.
Violeta looked at Karen. Her face was full of surprise.
The duke moved again. This time in a different direction. He was walking toward Isabella.
——Ah. So he has no interest in me.
Karen felt relief. Or rather, she thought she should feel relief. But the tips of her fingers still gripped the champagne glass tightly.
And everything in the ballroom began to move again. As if that man had been holding down a pause button.
Isabella welcomed the Duke. Every eye in the ballroom followed them.
"Your Grace, it is an honor to meet you."
Her mother's voice was perfect. The pitch, the elegance, the subtle tremor of respect. Karen knew what lay hidden behind her mother's tone. Desperation. But no one else could hear it.
The Duke took Isabella's hand. His gesture was precise. So precise that his intention showed through instead. This was not habit but calculation.
Karen remained standing beside Violetta. At one end of the ballroom.
"Countess Monterosa."
She heard the Duke's voice for the first time. Low and cold. And devoid of any emotion. But that made it seem more dangerous. The absence of emotion meant everything was rational.
"How kind of you to remember our family."
Isabella laughed. But it was not a laugh. It was the expression of someone taking an interview.
Karen's fingers traced the rim of her champagne glass. Why had the Duke sought out her mother? The Monterosa family was already a nearly forgotten name in society. Economic crisis, political isolation, social stigma. Everything had converged. It had only worsened since Father's death three years ago.
Yet the Duke had come directly.
'What does he want?'
Karen's mind raced. What reason could the Duke have to take interest in the Monterosa family? Money? No. The Duke's house was already wealthy. A political alliance? Monterosa had already lost its influence. Then what?
The conversation between the Duke and Isabella continued. But Karen was not listening to the words. She was following the Duke's eyes.
His gaze moved.
It swept across the ballroom. As if searching for something. Karen anticipated where that gaze would go. And she calculated exactly when it would pass over her.
The gaze shifted.
And it landed precisely on Karen's face.
For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Karen's breathing became shallow. It was a mistake. But it could not be undone. The Duke's eyes were looking at her. And it was not mere observation. It was a question.
'Who are you?'
Karen checked if she was smiling. She had to. A woman who met the Duke's eyes at a ball had to smile with confidence. Otherwise, weakness showed. Weakness was prey.
But Karen's smile was formal. The kind of smile society women wore. A smile that meant nothing.
The Duke's expression did not change. But his eyes moved. Very subtly. Karen did not miss it.
'How interesting.'
That was what the Duke's eyes were saying.
The next moment, his gaze shifted elsewhere. To Isabella. And he began speaking again. But Karen did not hear his words.
She was still remembering the Duke's eyes.
Violetta pinched Karen's arm lightly.
"Karen, something's wrong with you. Your face is pale."
"I'm fine."
Karen's voice was normal. But her hand still gripped the champagne glass tightly.
The atmosphere of the ballroom had changed. With the Duke's arrival, people's breathing altered. Some stood straighter, others seemed to shrink. It was instinctive. The law of the jungle manifested in the body first.
The Duke ended his conversation with Isabella. And he began moving across the ballroom. People automatically made way for him.
'Where is he going?'
Karen's eyes followed the Duke. He was heading toward the opposite side of the ballroom. There stood... a man. A man of similar age to the Duke.
'Who is that person?'
Violetta murmured in a low voice.
"Lucian de Castellano. The Duke's older brother."
Karen answered. The information was already in her head. The structure of the Castellano ducal house. Lucian, the legitimate heir, and Adrian, the second son. And the curse of the ducal house.
The Duke—Adrian—stopped before Lucian.
The two men's eyes met.
It was not a greeting. It was a confrontation. Karen could feel it. Everyone in the ballroom could feel it.
"Brother, you've shown up."
Lucian spoke. His smile was cold.
"Older brother. I trust you have been well."
Adrian's voice was even colder. Karen heard something in that voice. Hostility. But it was well hidden. Buried beneath the manner of high society.
Lucian burst into laughter.
"Appearing at an official gathering. You seem to be in good spirits these days. Do you have some new plan, perhaps?"
"Hardly. You are doing quite well enough on your own."
Adrian's eyes scanned Lucian's face. As if searching for something.
Karen observed the scene. The conversation between the two men was outwardly polite, but something flowed beneath it. Hatred? No. It was more complex. Competition and dependence, and some kind of secret.
'What are those two doing?'
Violetta leaned toward Karen.
"I'm not sure. But it's dangerous."
Karen murmured.
At that moment, Adrian's gaze moved. His eyes began to sweep across the ballroom. And his gaze passed over Karen once more.
This time, it lingered longer.
Karen's fingers froze. She prepared to smile as before. But Adrian's eyes were already moving elsewhere.
'What is that man?'
Karen's heart raced. It was not fear. It was curiosity.
Everything in the ballroom was swirling around Adrian. People's gazes, people's movements, people's breath. Everything revolved around him.
And Karen felt it.
'That man wants something.'
She did not yet know what it was, but it was clear. Every movement of Adrian's, every word, every glance was directed toward something.
Karen set down her champagne glass.
'Am I that something?'
Or was it someone else?
In any case, it seemed the game had begun.