Deborah Seymour, the renowned daughter of Duke Seymour, one of the most powerful aristocrats on the continent, was known for being a troublemaker and carrying the label of a ‘villainess’. When she appeared at the party, the once lively hall fell into silence.
“What’s going on with that makeup?”
“She’s even worse than the rumors.”
To most, Lady Deborah was like the embodiment of an evil witch from children’s fairy tales. Her eyes were sharp, accentuated by heavy eye makeup, and her lips were always painted a luscious red. Though her skin was pale, her hair—which was never adorned with accessories—was a stark contrast of dark purple. Yes, if witches truly existed, they would undoubtedly look like her.
While the other noble ladies were wearing pastel dresses with corsets to match the spring, Deborah appeared in an unconventional dress, causing some ladies to sigh under the cover of their fans.
No one would disagree that the outfit suited her well. She was a woman of impressive beauty—with looks that could bewitch people—only adding to her fantastical image.
Lady Deborah stood proudly in front of Baron Marco and pulled out her fan.
Thwack.
In one smooth motion, she slapped his right cheek with unbelievable force. It caused him to fall flat on the floor. The chilling sound resounded throughout the hall.
“Huh…?”
“Oh my god.”
Weak-hearted ladies felt faint after witnessing such a shocking sight. Baron Marco’s face showed bewilderment, but then humiliation. He stood up. “L-lady Deborah, just why did you do this?”
“My hand slipped.” She answered expressionlessly before raising her hand and slapping his cheek as if swatting a fly. “This time I sprained my wrist.”
Her indifferent tone shook the mustached man to his core. “W-why are you doing this, Lady Deborah?”
She slowly parted her lips to answer, “I told you. My hand slipped. By the way, your face is oily. Wipe it off.” Saying this, she pulled out a handkerchief and threw it at the Baron. Without a shred of remorse, she turned around and walked away.
The hall was silent enough to hear a pin drop.
Oh my goodness.
Just who invited that terrifying woman to this party?
Everyone was taken aback by the scene that had just taken place, but there wasn’t a single aristocrat who stood up and rebuked her. Instead, they gossiped behind her back as they were scared of the consequences of a confrontation.
She was the only daughter of Duke Seymour, a man as merciless as she. The possible aftermath was too scary and no one dared offend her. Whether the timing was good or bad is arguable, but just then a waltz began to play and the rigid crowd began moving once more.
Not having received a single request to dance, Deborah Seymour walked to the champagne table and then threw a glass back. After emptying two more in the same manner, she folded her arms with an arrogant expression. The meaning behind this pose was clear—she knew she couldn’t be dressed down by anyone here.
In the end, it was Madam Ripley Felice—known for her big heart—who wasn’t able to stand her behavior. Madam Ripley moved towards Deborah slowly, thinking of how to properly dispense her advice. “Lady Deborah, I have something to say.” She decided on a simple approach as Deborah continued to fan herself.
She looked at the older woman with a cold expression.
Upon closer inspection, Madam Ripley saw a two-headed snake design embroidered on Deborah’s fan.
Ugh, scary…!
Madam Ripley managed to hold back a scream of terror. Most ladies would embroider a flower or bird, but this one carried a fan with snakes on it. Come to think of it, wasn’t a two-headed snake the crest of House Seymour? Is this a warning against those who would chastise or insult the members of the esteemed Seymour family?
“Speak.”
Deborah’s tone was as cold as ice. It was enough to make the older woman tremble in palpable fear. “I…” In the face of her blood-red eyes, Madam Ripley was horrified to the point where she gulped without realizing it. “L-lady Deborah…drinking too much isn’t good for one’s health.”
“…”
“I’m simply worried about your health. You understand, don’t you? T-that’ll be all. Please enjoy the rest of the party.” Madam Ripley abruptly ended their conversation and quickly walked away.
…What? That made me nervous.
Deborah sighed as soon as Madam Ripley was out of sight. The hand she’d been using to fan herself was lined in a cold sweat.
That was quite a scare.
She drank another glass of champagne to suppress her strain. In fact, Deborah Seymour was quite timid despite her notoriety. Well, more precisely, Yoon Do-hee, who had possessed Deborah Seymour’s body, was timid.
I can’t let all my effort go to waste. I won’t be able to live peacefully if my secret is revealed.
She bit her red lips tightly.
You don’t have to feel guilty. That Baron is a terrible man who should be beaten.
Baron Marco, whom she had slapped across the face with her fan, was not only a philanderer but an abusive husband who broke the leg of his pregnant wife by pushing her down a flight of stairs.
Good, it’s all going as planned.
Observing the expressions across the room from her vantage point, Deborah was satisfied that her terrible reputation was once again maintained.
I’m going to keep living my luxurious and peaceful life as a wicked woman.
She refused to be viewed as a pushover she vowed, clenching her fist tightly.
