“Do you regret it?”

A deflated sigh followed the concise question.

“I do regret it.”

The smile on his face looked as though he was on the verge of tears.

“Always. Every moment. I regret it.”

“I see.”

Roselia let out a small sigh.

‘Idiot. Fool. Moron.’

She couldn’t contain the fire spreading inside her.

“So what? You let her go with your own hands—you can’t reach her. More than that, you shouldn’t.”

She deliberately chose harsh, cutting words.

He might feel hurt, but she figured it was better to make him snap out of it all at once rather than offer a half-hearted consolation.

“Regretting it, blaming yourself like a fool—it doesn’t change anything.”

Clinging to the past, wallowing in regret, tormenting yourself, and then foolishly trying to go back.

Those were all things she had already learned through painful experience.

“It hurts because you’re right.”

“It hurts? Then that’s a relief.”

“You’re cold.”

“You trying to copy the way I talk now?”

“You started it.”

No use arguing.

Roselia shook her head as she looked at Alexis, who wore a mischievous smile.

“…After the pain, the wound will heal.”

Blue eyes, unreadable in expression, turned toward her.

She knew he was curious, but Roselia continued speaking as though she were oblivious.

“At the very least, you can preserve your last shred of pride.”

What remained for her, in place of the heart that had burned away to ash without a trace, was just that—pride.

“Alex. I can’t help you sort out your emotions. I don’t have the knack for it. But if you ever need me, just call.”

“I thought you weren’t free.”

“As long as you don’t take me lightly, I can make time for you.”

It wasn’t a beautifully wrapped sentiment, but the sincerity inside it was clear enough.

Alexis’ lips curved into a long smile.

***

Beyond the clinking wine glasses, his laughter glimmered, blending seamlessly with the elegant chandeliers in the banquet hall.

Subtle expressions hidden behind ornate fans flitted about, sizing one another up.

“Hm. That’s quite a resentful face you’ve got there.”

A nasal voice, laced with amusement, reached her, followed by an observant gaze.

Cornelia’s light brown eyes turned toward Roselia, who was clinging closely to her side.

“What did that expression just now mean? Let’s see…”

“Stop it.”

Even though she had drawn a line and stepped back, Roselia’s curiosity didn’t wane.

Her red eyes, similar to Carlisle’s, sparkled mischievously.

“Do you regret it?”

“Rosie.”

“For refusing the emperor’s hand and coming with me instead?”

“It’s not like that.”

Cornelia shook her head, and Roselia’s words immediately followed.

“Yeah. Of course not. It shouldn’t be. If you say you regret it now, I’d be upset, you know?”

“Rosie. Cut it out and look ahead.”

Cornelia’s words made Roselia’s lips curl upward.

She looked like a child engrossed in playing detective.

“Over there. Are those noble ladies hovering around Emperor Carlisle like hyenas, waiting for an opening, bothering you?”

Roselia pointed toward a group of women dressed to the nines, hiding their faces with fans.

While Cornelia hesitated, thinking over how to respond, Roselia clapped her hands.

“Oh! My goodness!”

Whether she was right or not, she seemed delighted to have found a thread to unravel her curiosity.

Her voice rang with confidence.

“Cornelia Olsen, are you jealous?”

‘Don’t say it. Don’t even speak.’

Cornelia turned her head forward without affirming or denying it.

It was obvious what would happen if she reacted.

Roselia shrugged.

A strange smile crept onto her face.

“See, you should’ve just agreed to be his partner. If it were me, I’d be too nervous not to leave a clear mark—like, ‘he’s mine, don’t even think about it.’ No need to tiptoe around anymore, right?”

“Even without marking territory, everyone in the Roman Empire knows Carlisle is my man.”

“…What?”

“And I’m definitely not tiptoeing.”

Roselia’s face scrunched up.

“Wow—so annoying.”

She stood there dumbfounded for a moment, mouth slightly open, then quickly came to and started grumbling again.

“But I can’t even argue, because you’re right.”

‘Heh.’

Cornelia let out a faint laugh and turned her head to scan the banquet hall.

She caught fleeting glances—some discreet, some obvious—and read a spectrum of emotions in them.

It didn’t matter. Whatever others whispered about her relationship with Carlisle, it didn’t affect her in the slightest.

‘My man.’

The moment she claimed Carlisle as hers, memories of the acts they had shared came flooding back.

Since their reunion, they had exchanged overwhelming love—through words, through actions.

Primal, unabashed expressions of passion that made her cheeks burn.

What remained after it all was a deep sense of reassurance.

So no, the mere presence of women hovering around him wasn’t enough to make her doubt his heart.

“Hm… And you expect me not to be curious?”

“About what?”

“Well, I get that the emperor’s amazing. And I know you two are going to get married, but…”

Roselia leaned in close to Cornelia and murmured.

“I just wonder why there’s still no news.”

“News?”

The serious look on her face and the low tone of her voice were completely at odds with Roselia’s usual personality.

Cornelia’s neat eyebrows twitched.

“I mean the invitation! The one with the wedding date.”

“Ah.”

As she spoke, emotion seemed to seep into her voice—she was more excited than usual.

“You’re so sure of yourself. Then why on earth are you both hesitating to get married?”

She could feel the eyes around them turning in their direction.

Instead of answering, Cornelia glanced briefly at the fan in her hand.

The ornate fan, adorned with a rose symbolizing Popland, was neatly folded in her hand.

It was often used to cover one’s mouth when speaking in whispers, but in her case now, it was completely useless.

“Do I look like I’m hesitating?”

“You’re saying you’re not?”

Roselia’s lips twitched upward.

“Aunt and Brother Adrian are on your side. The Marquis too. He hasn’t said it outright, but he’s basically given his blessing, hasn’t he? Is there anyone in the Olsen marquisate who would stop you? Doesn’t seem like it to me.”

She looked genuinely curious. Her eyes burned with the determination to pry open Cornelia’s thoughts.

“Everyone who needs to know already knows the Roman emperor likes you—just like you said. People also know things between you two are sticky and… clingy.”

A dry laugh escaped Cornelia’s lips.

‘Sticky, fine—but clingy?’

The choice of words to describe her relationship with Carlisle was blunt enough to stir mixed feelings.

“I mean, that’s just what people in Roman society are saying.”

Roselia added hastily, as if trying to defend herself.

Cornelia’s lips curved upward. Her clear, light brown eyes drifted toward the center of the ballroom.

His black curls gleamed under the glittering chandeliers.

Like a sleek black panther, Carlisle’s very silhouette radiated sensual and masculine charm.

He was, truly, indescribably attractive.

“Cori? Are you even listening to me?”

“I’m listening.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

The gaze brushing her cheek was quite sharp.

Cornelia gave Roselia a sidelong glance and called over a passing servant to pick up a glass of wine.

Then, from the two glasses, she handed one over.

Roselia’s eyebrows shot up.

She seemed to be trying to figure out what it meant.

“Cori. I’m just asking to be sure… This isn’t because of Alex, is it?”

Her conclusion, after much thought, was the wrong one.

When Cornelia’s expression turned stern and serious, Roselia immediately backed off from what she was about to say.

“If it’s not, then it’s not. But why react like that when I mention Alex?”

“Rosie.”

“Alright, alright. Got it.”

Roselia grabbed the wine glass from Cornelia’s hand and knocked it back in one go.

‘That’s got a pretty high alcohol content, actually.’

“That’s not water. Take it easy. You’ll get drunk.”

“I know. I’m not thirsty—this is just preventive.”

‘Preventive?’

Cornelia frowned slightly. Roselia raised the hand holding the wine glass and pointed straight ahead.

“There’s a reason. But this time, Cori, you might be the one who needs to drink.”

“What?”

“To keep from getting pissed off when you see that.”

A delicate body, wrapped in a beautiful cream-colored dress, turned around.

In the direction Roselia pointed stood Carlisle, surrounded by members of the Council.

Cornelia’s face hardened.

Even someone completely clueless could clearly see her atmosphere had gone cold.

Noticing this, Roselia took a new wine glass from a passing servant.

The red liquid swayed behind the clear and transparent glass.

“So, the power struggle has finally begun?”

The wine glass spun precariously between her slender fingers.

“Is being pushed out with age something to be proud of? What’s the big deal about the Council, anyway? They’re going to lose no matter what, so why do they have to interfere with everything?”

Though she wore an amused expression and smiled, Roselia’s sharply pointed thoughts slipped out unchecked from her twitching lips.

Disdain flickered across her face.

“It’s not even desperation. No matter how great power and money are, I don’t ever want to grow old like that.”

A crisp laugh scattered into the air.

After her words, a brief silence followed.

Cornelia, who had been coldly watching Carlisle and the Council members around him, slowly opened her mouth.

“Rosie.”

“Hmm?”

“You said you were curious why I’m putting off the wedding, right?”

“I did.”

Roselia nodded reflexively.

“I’m waiting.”

“Waiting? For what?”

“For time to finish wrapping things up in the most presentable way.”

“Wrapping up?”

Roselia tilted her head.

“For example… trimming away useless trash, things like that.”

“Trash? What do you mean?”

“Once the packaging is done nicely, you don’t need the trash anymore. Right?”

Roselia’s red eyes narrowed as she looked into Cornelia’s light brown eyes, which glimmered with a strange light—not just at the meaning of her words, but at something deeper beneath them.