“They’re big spenders, I hear. Last time they completely cleared the place out.”

“Don’t they only have two sons? The Countess isn’t around anymore, is she?”

“They brought the woman who’ll soon be entering their household. I heard the staff talking about jewelry boxes earlier.”

“The future Countess, then. Wonder how much they’re giving as a betrothal gift? I heard the Berkshire family has quite valuable assets.”

“No, I caught a glimpse earlier—it’s the second son. But I’m sure they’ll provide generously regardless.”

Clara nearly dropped her towel.

If it was the second son of the Berkshire family, that would be Dylan. He brought a woman with him? That can’t be right… How could he look at me that way if he had another woman?

Clara pretended not to have heard their conversation and stood up, making a show of browsing through dresses.

But none of the numerous elaborate dresses before her registered in her vision. Only the conversation she’d overheard kept echoing in her ears.

‘This won’t do. Should I check?’

Clara observed the staff’s movements. They were all carrying dresses in and out of one particular area.

It was a place hidden by red velvet curtains, preventing anyone from seeing inside. It seemed to be reserved for VIP guests.

“Hmm…… I don’t like this one either, hmm, nor this one.”

Clara muttered to herself, pretending to look at dresses while gradually moving toward the VIP area.

The shop had only four staff members, all looking busy. She could feel them occasionally glancing at her, but it seemed merely to check if she needed anything—a routine gesture. They wouldn’t approach unless called.

Now only five steps remained to the red curtain. An inexplicable anxiety arose.

Just then.

“Ah, yes, I’ll do that.”

A voice came from behind the curtain. It sounded like a female employee, and then……

“Give me that one too.”

Clara doubted her ears for a moment. The man’s voice was too familiar.

“I like this one too. I’m fine with it, but what do you think, Dylan?”

This time a gentle voice, a woman’s.

Dylan? Clara unconsciously held her breath and rolled her eyes. Her hands, which had been mindlessly browsing through dresses, stopped.

“It looks good. It suits you. Give us that one too.”

Hearing it a second time confirmed it. It was definitely Dylan.

Clara stared at the red curtain, frozen in place.

Who is that woman? Who is she to call him by name so familiarly? Is Dylan planning to marry her, as those noblewomen said? Then what was all that talk about getting engaged with me……

Suddenly, with a swoosh, the red velvet curtain was pulled aside.

“Oh, you startled me!”

A shop employee with neatly tied hair exclaimed upon seeing Clara as she emerged. Clara, equally startled, stepped back.

But she had clearly seen it.

Through the briefly opened curtain, she saw Dylan smiling and a brown-haired woman beside him. The woman’s hand was resting on Dylan’s shoulder as he sat. And their faces were…… moving closer together.

Anyone could see they were lovers.

“Do you need anything?”

The employee was holding an extremely elegant jewelry box. The jewelry box placed on a red cushion was a custom. It was one of the gifts a man gives to a woman when proposing.

Those two were lovers preparing for marriage. The jewelry box the employee was holding was a betrothal gift.

“No, no.”

Her heart raced with shock.

Normally, she would have opened the curtain and shouted at Dylan. But now she just wanted to leave this place quickly. Clara answered in a small voice and turned around.

Yes, a perfectly normal man like that, who was so good at s*x, wouldn’t be single—that must have been a lie. Come to think of it, he only mentioned interviews and wanting to get engaged at the beginning, but gradually stopped saying such things. It always felt like he was hiding something……

Clara walked away with a pale face. Her irregular, shaky gait looked almost precarious.

“Are you feeling unwell…… Are you alright?”

It was the employee who had brought her the towel earlier.

“I’m fine, just a bit dizzy…… I’ll come back another time.”

Clara wanted to leave the dress shop quickly. It felt like only then would the image of Dylan and the woman, etched into her mind, disappear.

“Take this umbrella with you.”

The employee held out an umbrella.

“Thank you.”

Clara took it. But this time, the employee hesitated, offering her a handkerchief.

“Are you…… really alright?”

“What?”

Clara was confused for a moment before finally realizing tears were streaming down her cheeks.

⁕⁕⁕

The next day, the sun was shining and the weather was beautiful, but Clara didn’t go to the riding grounds. She lay in bed with the blanket pulled over her.

She’d lived her life without shedding tears, yet here she was, crying over some playboy. She’d cried while they were intimate too, but that was from pleasure, and now……

“Hic, huuung……”

She felt upset. Sadness kept washing over her. Clara buried her face in her pillow and cried.

Even when he first looked at me at the riding grounds, he was creepily looking at my body…… Ah, that’s what it was. That’s what it was all along. I was the only one being sincere. That’s what he meant by not giving completely. He never intended to go all the way with me. He was planning to switch to another woman.

From the beginning, all that nonsense about interviews was just to get my body. Not realizing this, she had misunderstood his hesitation as patience for her. She had occasionally found her own suspicions frustrating, felt sorry for not giving him a definitive answer sooner, and even felt indebted to him.

Clara felt like a fool.

“Child, are you sick? Why are you still in bed?”

It was Countess Brock. Concerned about her daughter, who lived by a strict routine but had come home early yesterday and remained shut in her room even after sunrise, she had come to check on her.

“I’m fine, nothing hurts.”

Clara answered from under the blanket.

“Really? Then why won’t you show your face to your mother?”

Countess Brock pulled back the blanket.

“I told you I’m not sick, really.”

An unexpected tug-of-war broke out. Clara tried to keep the blanket, while Countess Brock tried to remove it.

But the winner was predetermined. Countess Brock couldn’t overpower her daughter, who rode horses and exercised regularly.

“What’s wrong? Why are you crying like this?”

Countess Brock sighed as she spoke.

“I’m not crying.”

“Don’t try to fool me. You only stay under the blanket when you’re crying.”

“……”

Clara sniffled.

“Is it because of that man?”

The rounded bundle of blankets visibly flinched.

“My daughter has grown up so much. Crying over a man after being rejected.”

Countess Brock said with an amused voice.

“I wasn’t rejected! We weren’t even engaged to begin with!”

Clara poked her face out from under the blanket to protest.

“Right, you weren’t engaged. So cry just for today, and smile again tomorrow. There are plenty of men in the world.”

Countess Brock wiped her daughter’s tear-stained cheeks with a smile.

“That was my plan. I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

Though Clara responded this way, honestly, she didn’t think she would be fine tomorrow. The tender image of Dylan and that woman kept flashing through her mind, followed by anger at herself for fleeing without confronting them.

Yet even if she could turn back time, she felt she would do exactly the same thing again. That made her feel worse—still harboring lingering feelings for a man who had already chosen another woman.

“What happened, exactly?”

Countess Brock probed once more.

“……I don’t know, I don’t even want to talk about it.”

Clara shed a few more tears in her mother’s arms.

⁕⁕⁕

She thought she would be fine. She hoped she would be fine. Horseback riding, which she had done for ten years, should be more important than a man she’d been intimate with for less than three months.

But Clara couldn’t bring herself to enter the riding grounds. Without even getting out of the carriage, she looked at Willingham Riding Grounds through the window. Memories of her time with him there flooded back. Especially the lewd acts they’d committed in the changing room, which filled her mind.

Besides, what if she ran into Dylan? In her head, she thought she could just slap him and say, “You! Playing with me while planning to marry another woman?”

But another part of her felt she wouldn’t be able to do that. Tears were already welling up again.

Unable to enter the riding grounds, Clara turned the carriage around and headed for the mansion where her friend, who had returned from traveling, would be.

Yes, let’s not question why he did it or what his intentions were. We weren’t engaged anyway. Just pretend nothing happened, act like nothing occurred, and I’ll be fine in about a week. Maybe I shouldn’t go to the riding grounds until then?

Ah, I miss my Nyx. No, since Dylan is the owner, maybe I should change riding grounds? But would Nyx have a hard time if I changed? There are few people who take care of horses as devotedly as Philip…… What should I do?

If she didn’t change riding grounds, she wasn’t sure she could focus on riding. Clara couldn’t easily make a decision. She just kept regretting ever listening to that strange interview talk in the first place.

Clara was plagued by these thoughts until she arrived at Olivia’s house.

“My goodness, Clara. What’s wrong with your eyes? What happened?”