Meanwhile—
Wack!!
The sharp sound of a slap echoed through the room.
The blow was so hard it sent the victim spiraling across the couch, landing hard and clutching their swollen cheek in pain.
"You reckless, stupid little brat! Do you realize what you've just done?"
The insult crashed down with the same force as the slap.
Catherine touched her throbbing cheek and turned to face the man who had struck her.
Her father stood before her, his face twisted with seething rage.
She had never expected him to be the one to deliver such a blow. She thought her beastly uncle would be the one to drag her into hell.
But Ezekiel only stood in the corner, watching the scene unfold with a cold, expressionless face.
Catherine whimpered, lowering her head in pain and humiliating defeat.
"I… I'm sorry…" Catherine croaked, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Sorry? Sorry?!" Evan roared at his daughter.
Catherine flinched.
"Is that all you have to say for yourself, you little brat? Unbelievable!" He ran a hand through his hair, trembling with frustration and fury.
"Do you even realize what you've done? You insulted the Crown Prince by looking down on his dance partner! Why couldn't you keep your childish jealousy in check? Why! Now all our plans could be ruined because of your foolishness! You damn brat! I wish I could beat the daylights out of you right now—for making us, and our kingdom, look like damn fools!"
Evan roared and lunged at Catherine, his hand raised to strike again.
Catherine recoiled, curling into herself, bracing for the impact—but…
"Enough."
The single word stopped Evan cold, his hand frozen mid-air before it could strike Catherine again.
With his arm still suspended, he turned to face his brother. Ezekiel stood tall, his voice having carried the one-word command.
Evan huffed, retreating his hand to his side. His stance loosened as he stepped back, putting distance between himself and his daughter.
Catherine shakily lifted her gaze. Her father now stood apart, no longer poised to hit her.
She brushed the tears from her cheeks, wincing at the lingering sting of the slap, before sitting up straight on the couch, her eyes still lowered.
"I… I'm sorry," she croaked again.
Evan only huffed, averting his gaze.
Ezekiel looked at his brother, then at his niece. He shook his head slowly before stepping out from the corner, moving to stand in the middle of the room.
"You both are foolish idiots," Ezekiel muttered.
Evan gasped, opening his mouth to retort—but Ezekiel's cold, sharp stare silenced him. Evan huffed, averting his gaze.
"The both of you are senseless, reckless numbskulls. Acting like foolish children. You…" Ezekiel turned to Catherine, his voice dripping with disdain. "You are nothing but an arrogant, selfish, jealous, reckless, and stupid brat! How can you expect to be the future Queen with such a rotten attitude? You are disgusting."
Catherine flinched at the insult, though she was relieved it wasn't another slap. Her uncle Ezekiel was infamous for his brutality, often worse than her father's. An insult meant he was being lenient—and that, strangely, was a relief.
"And you…" Ezekiel continued, his gaze shifting to Evan, "you are a senseless bull without restraint or limit. How dare you strike your own daughter, injuring her without a second thought! Have you forgotten that we need her fit and beautiful for this damn plan to work?"
Evan flinched.
"Tsk… you are shameless," Ezekiel snickered.
Evan sighed, his shoulders heavy, and averted his gaze in shame.
Ezekiel exhaled. "I can't believe Uncle made me work with such idiots," he muttered, striding toward the table. He uncorked a bottle of scotch, poured himself a glass, and took a long sip.
"So… what should we do now?" Evan asked, his voice uneasy. "It's clear they'll use this excuse to try and disqualify Catherine from the competition. We can't afford to let that happen, can we?"
Ezekiel remained silent for a moment, taking another deliberate sip before turning back to them.
"The first thing we do," he said, his tone sharp, "is get the situation under control."
He moved from the table, standing once more in the center of the room.
"It's obvious they want that girl to become Crown Princess. They want her to wear the crown. And that… is something we cannot allow."
"Yes… but how? It's clear Daniel is interested in that girl and will never let us near her. So what are we going to do?" Evan asked.
"Relax, brother. I already have everything under control. Right now, all you need to do is keep your brat under control—so she doesn't ruin more of our plans."
At the mention of her, Catherine lifted her eyes briefly to her father and uncle before lowering her head again in shame.
Ezekiel shook his head, sighing as he walked toward the window. "I'll make sure this mess doesn't spill over. Uncle is already counting on me to fix things, and I don't plan on letting him down anytime soon. So you'd better do as I say… otherwise…" He turned, his gaze piercing them both. "Don't blame me for becoming heartless… mmm."
Both Catherine and Evan swallowed hard, nodding in fearful silence.
"Mmm… good. Now go settle in at the villa. Put that cheek on ice—I don't want to see any marks at the presentation assembly tomorrow. Got it?"
Catherine nodded. "Yes, Uncle."
With those words, she rose from the couch, bowed to him, and whispered, "Goodnight."
Ezekiel only hummed, taking another sip from his glass.
Catherine glanced briefly at her father, who gave her a small nod, before she turned and walked out of the room.
"And you? What are you still waiting for? Don't you also need to go to the family manor and settle in?" Ezekiel asked.
"Yes… I'm going," Evan replied. "Although I don't understand why you won't let me stay at your house, Brother. You know that manor is old, run-down, and small. Why can't you let me live with you in your grand mansion? It's not like I'd be a bother. Besides, I heard Blake moved out a long time ago. You don't have anyone at home… so why don't you want me there?"
Ezekiel looked at his brother, his expression hard. "The same reason I haven't attended the family Thanksgiving dinner for years, Brother. And you know why. That's the reason I can't share the same space with you—even if you are my blood."
"Oh, come now, Zeke. You're still hung up on that? It was twenty years ago, for Pete's sake! Can't you just let it go?" Evan growled.
"Never!" Ezekiel snapped. "Because of that, my son and I are like strangers today. And I will never let it go. So instead of trying to bullshit me with fake brotherly concern, why don't you just get your ass out of here before I really lose my temper—which your bratty child already riled, but is contained… for now."
Evan looked at his brother, shook his head, and sighed. "Fine. I'm leaving. Clearly, there's no point in trying to reason with you or plead for anything. Goodnight, Brother."
With those words, he walked out of the room.
"Asshole," Ezekiel muttered as soon as the door closed. He took a long sip of his scotch before turning to stare out the window.
Just then, his phone buzzed with a message.
He pulled it from his pocket, glanced at the screen—and smirked. He typed a quick reply, set the phone on the desk, and returned to the window.
"Looks like the kid wasn't joking after all. But I must say… my curiosity is piqued. Lovers Rose, huh? I wonder what charm she used to tame the dragon. Perhaps it's time we… get acquainted." Ezekiel smiled, his gaze flicking from the phone to the star-strewn sky outside.
On the desk, the phone's screen glowed with an image: Ariel and Daniel, caught in a moment at the marketplace near the rice cake booth—almost sharing a kiss.
.....
Meanwhile, back at the ball—
Ariel still couldn't believe her eyes. She blinked more than once, trying to make sure she wasn't dreaming.
Standing before her was a young woman, about her age. She had long, wavy black hair, deep black eyes, rosy lips, and a delicate flat nose.
She was beautiful in her own quiet, delicate way.
The young woman looked at Ariel with a shock-stricken expression of recognition, but quickly composed herself, hiding her awe.
Ariel felt the same jolt of recognition—but just as swiftly masked it, unwilling to expose herself.
She cleared her throat and replied in a sweet voice, "Yes, Miss. Can I help you?"
The woman continued to stare, silent, as though trying to decide if the person before her was a ghost.
Ariel shifted uncomfortably, irritation flickering beneath her composure. If she had known this was coming, she would have prepared herself instead of being caught off guard.
"Mmm… Miss? Are you okay?" she asked again, hoping to snap the woman out of her daze.
It worked.
"Huh?" the woman asked, startled.
"I asked if you're alright. You've just been standing there, staring at me without saying anything—after you called me…" Ariel replied.
"What? Oh. Oh, I'm so sorry, Lady Ariel. Forgive me. It's just… you look like someone…" She paused. "Someone from my past. Someone I used to know."
Ariel raised a brow. "Oh really? Is that so? Was she someone important or special to you?"
The woman stared at her intently, then blinked and shook her head. "Yes… yes, she was very special. Very important to me. But anyway… please forgive my rude manners. I'm sorry."
Ariel smiled softly. "It's okay… I understand. There's no need to apologize."
The woman returned the smile. "Oh, thank you. But truly, I shouldn't have been rude. Oh—where are my manners? I haven't even introduced myself." She stepped closer.
"I am Lady Monica Florencia Dinkley, from the fief of Fortshire. It's a pleasure to meet you, my lady." She curtseyed gracefully.
Ariel's smile faltered as a memory surged unbidden into her mind—
The same woman, much younger, perhaps six years old, wearing a floral yellow dress with a crown of flowers upon her head. "My name is Lady Monica Florencia Dinkley. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Anastasia Roseline Sinclair." She had curtseyed with a bright, innocent smile.
"It's a pleasure to meet you too, Monica. I can tell you and I are going to be best friends." A younger voice—her own—echoed excitedly as the two girls shook hands and giggled together.
Ariel felt tears sting her eyes at the memory. They fell uninvited, slipping down her cheeks.
"Oh, my lady… are you okay?" Monica asked, her voice filled with concern.
Ariel quickly wiped away her tears. "Yes, I'm fine. Please excuse me. It was nice to meet you."
Without another word, she lifted the hem of her dress and turned to leave the room.
"But, my lady…" Monica called after her, but Ariel had already slipped through the crowd and exited the ballroom.
"That was strange…" Monica muttered.
"You're telling me."
A deep, husky voice echoed beside her. Monica turned to see her brother, Aaron, standing at her side.
"Haa…" she gasped. "Seriously, Aaron, you scared me. How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that? And where is your wife? Why isn't she here with you?"
Aaron growled, taking a sip of wine from his glass. "Don't ask me that. You know how Leticia is. She didn't want to come because she's always brawling with that lady you were just talking to. They get under each other's skin every time. And honestly, I'm glad she didn't come. Otherwise, she would've been roasted like that woman from Draskia. Who knew the Crown Prince already had a favorite? This is going to be a problem."
"What? Are you losing faith in me so soon, Brother? The competition has only just started, and you're already predicting I'm doomed to fail. How… typical," Monica said sharply.
"Seriously, I'm not saying you'll lose. I'm just warning you to be careful. That woman is a beauty… almost like you-know-who. And if you're not careful, she might have a better chance of winning this thing." Aaron replied.
Monica looked at her brother, shook her head, and sighed. "I can't believe she looks almost exactly like her. It's as if… she rose from the dead and came back."
Aaron shifted uncomfortably at his sister's words.
"Don't lose your focus, Monica. Even if she looks like her, that doesn't mean she is her. That woman is gone and never coming back. Right now, you need to focus on winning this competition. That woman is not your friend—she's your enemy. So don't let me catch you trying to befriend her again, otherwise…"
"Okay, fine. I've had enough of your prim lectures since we left home. Urrgh… I'd better go settle in at the villa and get some rest for tomorrow. Goodnight." Monica turned and walked away without waiting for Aaron's reply.
Aaron snorted as he watched her disappear into the crowd.
His gaze drifted toward the ballroom exit, remembering the sight of Lady Ariel rushing out moments earlier.
"Tsk… if you were still alive, Anastasia… I bet you would've been at least a bit more beautiful than her, wouldn't you?" he whispered, before turning away and mingling with the guests.