The reaction was immediate.

Camille glared, biting her lower lip against her front teeth – much like Louise did just before she yelled shut up.

But either way, there was no reason for Isabelle to feel intimidated.

“If you’re so curious, I’ll come to your quarters myself. I’ll tell you everything-what Arnaud and I threw at each other during our fight, what we said in the heat of the moment.”

“It all sounds completely irrelevant to me.”

“Whether that’s denial or avoidance, I don’t know. It could be both.”

Isabelle was unmistakably mocking her. She even let her gaze sweep over Camille’s small frame, as if to belittle her from on high – an act followed by a short, sharp laugh that pierced the air.

Camille no longer looked the least bit innocent.

“In the East, they say that jealousy is one of the seven deadly sins. Should a respectable woman like Madame really indulge in such things?”

“I was never jealous. I was cautious. Any woman would be if a woman of unknown status was attached to her husband as a mistress. Especially if she knew that woman didn’t even love him – how could she let her guard down?”

“I have given up nothing, unlike Madame, who broke off her engagement and played with His Majesty. I love Lord Arnaud a hundred times more than you ever did.”

“You call that love?”

Isabelle asked with a hand to her lips, bending slightly at the waist-for Camille’s petite height-so she could ask it up close.

Camille, faced with Isabelle’s newfound boldness, seemed to be looking for another way to embarrass herself.

With a look that was somewhere between a glare and an upward glance, she looked Isabelle over from head to toe.

“Ah!”

And then, without warning, she pulled Isabelle’s hair.

Caught off guard by the sudden attack, Isabelle had no choice but to be pulled toward her.

In the moment of confusion, Camille brought her lips close to Isabelle’s ear.

“You-what do you think?”

“Mario.”

Camille and Mario were far more in sync than Isabelle had ever expected.

When Mario rushed over and put a hand over Isabelle’s mouth, and when he kicked her thigh to stop her from struggling, Isabelle had the same thought-*They really are in perfect sync.* But it didn’t take long for her to realize how wrong she had been.

For she saw Marie being threatened nearby.

They had planned this from the beginning.

Marie looked Isabelle straight in the eye and shook her head.

It wasn’t easy – her small face was almost swallowed by the hand that covered it – but she gave Isabelle a clear signal.

Just as she realized what the signal meant, her hair was pulled back. It was Camille.

Arnaud still hadn’t come out.

And Camille whispered.

“If I don’t love him… what can you do?”

“……”

“Why the hell are you throwing a fit now, after living so quietly all this time?”

Camille’s lips curled in satisfaction.

At that moment, Isabelle’s fear turned into a single, overwhelming urge to sew that smug mouth shut.

It was the most intense wave of hostility she had ever felt.

“Urgh!”

And so she kicked Mario right in the gr*in.

She used the heel of her foot – no doubt the pain was immense.

Mario crumpled to the ground with a groan.

Next up was Camille.

Camille couldn’t even scream like a man.

All she could do was put her hands over her mouth in shock.

And as Mario writhed on the floor in silent agony, the door suddenly burst open with a loud *thud*.

“What in the world is all that noise – what the…?”

“Lord Arnaud, please help me!”

It was Arnaud who stepped through the open door.

He had charged forward, eyes fixed on the doorway in front of him, but hesitated slightly as he almost tripped over someone sprawled on the floor – clearly taken aback.

Isabelle, without a word, began to distance herself from the two.

“L-Lady Isabelle attacked my servant!”

Camille cried, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and accusation.

“I admit it was bold of me to tell her not to target Mario, but I never thought she’d lash out the moment she saw him! And at a man who ran to her so willingly, no less!”

It was a performance, and a very theatrical one at that.

Isabelle, who had just finished reassuring Marie, slowly turned her head toward Camille – unsure whether she’d just heard the shrill barking of a dog or the screams of a slaughtered animal.

“Are you seriously saying I made a move on your servant, Camille?”

“I didn’t dare say it before, but… it happened more than once. When the gardener you were playing with got bored, you even sent love letters to Mario.”

To Isabelle’s disbelief, such vile words had actually come out of someone’s mouth. So she really can bark, she thought with cold amusement.

But instead of reacting with shock, Isabelle simply narrowed her eyes and stared at Camille. The moment their eyes met, Camille burst into tears.

“I only said it because I was worried about how much it would hurt Lord Arnaud, but I never thought she would lash out like that… Sob… It’s true!”

Unaware of where her husband’s gaze really lay, Camille continued her performance – tearful and trembling. There was no surprise in his eyes, only contempt. How long had she listened to those pitiful, whining sobs?

“Mario, is it true?”

With his right hand on his hip, Arnaud looked back and forth between the two women, then finally lowered his gaze to the floor.

Mario scrambled to his feet. Normally he was only a little shorter than Arnaud, but hunched over in pain, he looked considerably smaller now.

It had been a while since he’d been kicked – yet he was still clinging to life.

He was a far cry from the man who had clamped his hand over her mouth so tightly that she couldn’t even breathe.

For Isabelle, watching her was surreal.

It was like seeing a beggar who had spent the day crawling through the streets suddenly stand upright in the middle of a glittering gambling hall that very night.

Or like seeing a few coins sticking out of the pocket of a man who was now standing upright – coins she herself had once pressed into his hand.

“Let me ask you again. Did you really receive a letter from Isabelle?”

“It can’t be a lie.”

At the same time, Mario shook his arms and smoothed out the creases in his waistcoat.

To act so distracted in front of Monsieur-how impertinent.

Even if Arnaud was stuck in an abandoned building, he was still Jalbert. He had not been stripped of his rank – why Henri had made such a decision remained unknown – and as such he still deserved to be called Monsieur.

Nevertheless, Mario’s arrogance exceeded all bounds.

Arnaud was fully aware of this. His clenched fists with bulging veins seemed ready to swing at any moment.

Isabelle watched his expression nervously, feeling uneasy.

“This…”

Contrary to expectation, there was not a single vein bulging in his neck. Only the whites of his eyes were reddened as he struggled to catch his shallow, agitated breath.

Far from being angry, he looked as if he could collapse with a single scream.

Seeing him like that, it was instinctive to rush to his side. Isabelle shook off Marie, who was clinging to her arm, and ran to him.

Her carefully braided hair was now a disheveled mess, resembling a pile of dust. Wearing a white robe, she rolled on the floor and her body was just as disheveled.

“Arnaud, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. There’s nothing to hold onto.”

Though Arnaud refused Isabelle’s support, his body leaned more and more toward her.

Without saying a word, Isabelle wrapped her arms around his waist. But as his strength waned, she couldn’t fully support his weight, and the two of them naturally leaned against the door.

As if to catch his breath, Arnaud buried his face in her shoulder, only to turn it toward Isabelle moments later.

Although he hastily tried to push down her disheveled hair, his eyes acted faster than his hands.

He stared in stunned disbelief as he cradled Isabelle’s small, pale face in his hands.

“What is this, Eli, Isabelle, what in the world has happened to you?”

“I’m fine. Just sit back and relax.”

Knowing he wouldn’t listen, Isabelle forced his hand away from her face and placed it on her shoulder.

She could only do this because she was one of the tallest in Châteaubienne.

Turning her head, she saw Mario’s forehead, furrowed with a lack of caution. Behind him, Camille still covered her face with her palm, though her green irises peeking through her index and middle fingers were obvious enough for Isabelle not to be fooled.

“You said you got a letter from me, didn’t you, Mario?”

“You would know better, since you wrote it.”

“Then bring it to me. I know my own handwriting better than anyone.”

Mario laughed silently, his expression similar to Camille’s, which filled Isabelle with utter hostility. He acted as if he had everything in the palm of his hand.

“You ordered it burned as soon as you received it, didn’t you?”

“Then bring me the remaining ashes.”

“They’ve already been scattered, so it’s impossible to get them back.”

As their voices rose, someone emerged from the still unlocked left door of the dining room. Judging by the small shadow, it was a child.

“Um, um… Monsieur Guizère asked if we should prepare the meal a little later…”

The child did not step out completely, only leaning forward. They clung to the doorframe, mumbling hesitantly, only to retreat behind the door as soon as attention turned to them.

“Well, you came at the right time.”

But Mario seemed unwilling to let the servant go quietly.

The child refused to approach despite Mario’s gestures – it was clear he were frightened.

Perhaps feeling ignored, Mario used more force than necessary to pull the child out.

The servant was very young indeed; there was only one face that looked so youthful. It was indeed the servant who had delivered Eleonore’s letter. His flushed cheeks were unmistakable.

“You delivered Madame’s letter, didn’t you?”

“Yes…?”

Such moments were long gone.

The child trembled as he stared at the fabric of his confiscated robe. He looked no more than ten years old; it was a good thing he hadn’t burst into tears.

“You delivered her yourself, didn’t you, addressing her as Lady Isabelle!”

Mario went so far as to pat the child’s head repeatedly. The little head, which no one would dare even think of caressing, was shaken mercilessly.

It was clear what the child’s reaction would be. But it was only a child.

Unable to hold back any longer, Isabelle moved toward them, and the servant, also unable to hold back, finally replied.

“What could a child have done wrong, Mario?”

“No, Madame wouldn’t have done anything like that!”