“…What?”

Clonay froze for a moment at the chilling gaze.

The yellow eyes she had thought resembled warm sunlight were now so cold that they made her bones ache. It was a look filled with contempt and hatred, far beyond mere hostility or wariness.

Her eyes blinked rapidly, unable to keep up with the sudden shift in atmosphere.

“Do you think you are in a position to judge me and the Duke of Evuteren?”

“Heavens, I never meant it that way. I was only saying that you two—”

“And yet, again.”

Aveline cut off Clonay’s voice as if she were snipping it away with scissors.

She had no interest in Clonay Huster’s true feelings. No matter what she said, Aveline would have found a way to take issue with it. That was the whole reason she had come here today, after all.

All Aveline had been waiting for was a suitable excuse. An excuse to publicly humiliate Clonay Huster on the spot.

Her goal was to uproot her completely so that she would never dare show her face anywhere again—to rid herself of that bothersome presence once and for all.

As the commotion grew, people’s attention gradually focused on them. However, they only murmured from a distance; no one dared to intervene.

Clonay felt an indescribable sense of shame as Aveline clicked her tongue at her like she was disciplining a wayward child, right in front of everyone.

She had no idea where Aveline’s anger stemmed from, but regardless of the reason, she knew this treatment was unjust.

“It seems the Lady no longer wishes to converse with me. In that case, I will take my leave.”

Without waiting for permission, Clonay abruptly rose to her feet. It was far from ladylike behavior, but they were now even considering that Aveline had been the first to act rudely.

“Lady Croeta. I was taught that the higher one’s status, the more generous one should be to those below them. I hope your grace extends to others.”

Her voice was steady, devoid of any trace of mockery. It sounded as if she were offering genuine advice for Aveline’s sake.

And that was what ignited an unquenchable fire in Aveline’s chest.

How dare she? After harboring feelings for another woman’s man, she had the audacity to offer advice?

There was no way Aveline wouldn’t recognize that look—those eyes filled with ridiculous sorrow, that insolently forlorn expression. How many times had she seen women gaze at Kazerre like that?

Clonay Huster was just another weed that Aveline needed to trample underfoot. She had to make sure she would never dare to grow again.

For that, Aveline was willing to do anything.

There was nothing she feared. The only thing she could lose was Kazerre Evuteren, and if it meant protecting him, she was more than willing to become a villain.

If she could eliminate every woman who dared to linger around him, she would gladly set herself ablaze as an offering.

‘If that’s what it takes to keep you by my side.’

Aveline slowly rose to her feet.

At that moment, just as Clonay was lowering and then raising her head to bid farewell—

A sharp, jarring sound shattered the harmony of the orchestra’s melody, and Clonay’s head snapped to the side.

She trembled, her lips slightly parted in shock at the sudden slap.

“W-What is this…?”

“Your head was held too high.”

Smack!

A second ruthless slap swallowed up Clonay’s protest.

The finely raised ladies gasped, covering their mouths with both hands. Though they were well aware of Aveline’s cruelty, this was the first time she had outright resorted to violence.

The air around her was so chillingly menacing that no one dared to intervene, let alone approach.

The Countess of Gruner, who had rushed over upon noticing the commotion, was no exception. Even as she witnessed her niece being assaulted before her very eyes, she could do nothing but stomp her feet in helpless distress.

“Your eyes were too low.”

Smack!

At the third resounding slap, Clonay finally lost her balance and collapsed to the ground.

Her neatly brushed hair became disheveled, her deep green eyes dulled and emptied of life, and her once-fair cheek swelled a vivid red, beyond what any powder could conceal.

A satisfied smile finally graced her lips as Aveline looked down at Clonay, who sat crumpled in disgrace.

Her right hand ached from repeatedly striking her, but compared to the exhilarating sense of triumph, the pain was insignificant.

“At last, you’ve found a proper eye level befitting you.”

“Ugh…”

“You may even be grateful to me—I have taught you how to respect your superiors properly.”

With a gentle tone, Aveline added this piece of advice before slipping off her right-hand glove and tossing it aside. As if shedding something filthy.

The pristine white lace glove, now stained with a smudge of red, fell conspicuously before Clonay’s eyes.

Her pupils wavered violently as she stared at it in a daze.

Something inside her, which had barely been holding on, suddenly crumbled.

And something else, which had been simmering beneath the surface, began to boil over.

From the moment Clonay first saw Aveline, the source of that incessantly bubbling tension became clear—it was hatred.

Clonay despised Aveline Croeta. She loathed the woman who had claimed that beautiful man.

The anger ignited by merciless violence spread uncontrollably in an instant.

And Aveline readily faced Clonay’s blazing resentment. The pitiful melancholy stripped away, revealing raw hostility, which felt utterly satisfying.

So, in the end, she was no different from all the other foolish women who overstepped their bounds. Aveline was almost relieved.

“D-Duke…?”

At that moment, someone murmured in a cracked voice. Aveline, who somehow managed to discern the words, turned her head.

Kazerre was walking into the garden.

His face was hardened with fury, and his gaze was fixed on her.

“……”

A heavy silence fell over the garden, pressing down on everyone’s shoulders. No one dared to utter a word.

Kazerre Evuteren was known to be taciturn but composed and well-mannered. To the noblewomen of high society, this was an unshakable truth.

Yet now, seeing the oppressive aura radiating from him as if he could crush everything in his path, they realized how naïve that belief had been.

At last, they understood why he was called the Iron-Blooded Duke.

“Kazerre.”

The only person unfazed was Aveline Croeta, who greeted him in the same sweet voice as always.

Kazerre strode toward Aveline. Turning fully toward him, she whispered his name once more in delight.

“Kaze…”

But Kazerre passed her by without a single reaction to her voice.

As if he hadn’t even registered her existence.

The faint breeze he stirred as he walked past tickled Aveline’s skin. Her eyes blinked slowly, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

Kazerre’s steps led him directly to Clonay, who was still collapsed on the ground. Without hesitation, he knelt on one knee to meet her eye level.

“Are you all right?”

“I… ah… ow…”

Clonay reflexively tried to answer that she was fine, but the moment she opened her mouth, a sharp pain stopped her.

She hesitated, bringing her trembling fingers to her lips. A few drops of blood stained her fingertips.

“Use this.”

Kazerre, without pause, offered her his handkerchief.

Clonay took it with shaking hands and pressed it to her lips. The white fabric bloomed with red, like the petals of a flower.

Watching her with a slight grimace, Kazerre then extended his hand to her.

“Your hand.”

Dazed, Clonay placed her hand over his firm palm, and he gently lifted her to her feet. His strength was cautious, tender.

From ruthless violence to sudden salvation—Clonay, dazed from the whiplash of it all, could not tear her gaze away from his violet eyes, which held nothing but her reflection.

Once again, she was struck by how perfect Kazerre Evuteren was. It was enough to make her believe, even for a fleeting moment, that all her past hardships had been to lead her to him.

“…I apologize.”

Kazerre’s voice was low and heavy with sorrow.

Perhaps he had come rushing here—his dark hair was disheveled, casting shadows over his face.

Clonay felt an overwhelming urge to reassure him, to hold him close. If anyone should be apologizing, it was Aveline Croeta.

She was not one to resent divine will, even as a noble of the Mazengarve Empire. But just this once, she found herself cursing the god who had destined such a woman for him.

Kazerre, his brows furrowed, struggled to look away from Clonay. But after a moment, he finally turned his head.

His sunken eyes soon landed on Marchioness Bourville.

“I apologize for disturbing the party.”

“Oh, n-no, Your Grace.”

Marchioness Bourville hastily lowered her head.

Kazerre gave a brief nod before glancing at Clonay once more.

The wounds on her face—every single one—were as good as his own doing. The weight of guilt pressed down on him.

But in this ruined party, the only thing he could do now was swiftly remove the cause of this disaster. Kazerre barely managed to turn his body.

At last, the figure of Aveline Croeta, whom he had ignored all this time, entered his field of vision.