"Oh, my God!"
"So these are all my outfits for today?"
August 12, 2007, was a Sunday.
The sun shone brightly over Britain that day. Not a cloud could be seen in the deep blue sky, and the seamless meeting of sea and sky was wonderfully refreshing. But—
Isabella had barely gotten out of bed and stretched while admiring the beautiful scenery when the OOTDs prepared by her stylist left her speechless.
It wasn't that her stylist had chosen strange clothes for her. In fact, after learning that Isabella would be going out today, the woman had stayed up all night, racking her brain to put together several outfits that were both attractive and appropriate for the occasion.
The problem was—
How should she put it?
An example would probably explain it best.
The first outfit her stylist had prepared centered on a pure black dress.
The dress was extremely long, with a hem that reached all the way to the ankles.
Even without putting it on, Isabella could sense an air of mystery from its smooth, gauze-like fabric. The dress itself was already exquisite, and when combined with her flawless figure—
The result would be beauty itself!
But beside the dress, wrapped around the mannequin's arms and shoulders, was a long, fluffy black shawl that resembled a fox's tail and looked incredibly soft.
Honestly—
There was nothing inherently wrong with pairing a black dress with a black shawl.
But it was August!
Britain might not be as hot in August as the equatorial regions, but it was still August!
So she was supposed to wear fur in summer?
Seriously!
The moment Isabella saw this OOTD, her mind went completely blank.
And the outfit wasn't even finished yet.
After all, no outfit could consist of only an upper half without anything for the lower half.
As for the lower half—
In addition to a pair of black pointed-toe kitten heels, there was also a pair of pantyhose in a shade close to her skin tone.
Yes.
When preparing Isabella's outfit for the day, her stylist had not only chosen a full-length dress that reached her ankles;
she had also chosen pantyhose to go with it.
Just looking at the combination—
Isabella already felt as though she was about to suffer heatstroke!
But, even then, it still wasn't over!
Because sitting on the mannequin's head was an enormous formal hat.
If she had to describe it, the hat appeared only slightly smaller than the one Rose wore in Titanic!
Once she took all of that in, Isabella felt as though sweat was pouring from every inch of her body.
This outfit was simply too—
Too—
Too—
"Darling, don't you think this outfit is going to cook me alive?"
She pinched the fabric of the dress and examined it. To prevent any accidental exposure, the dress had even been deliberately reinforced.
The material looked light but felt surprisingly heavy, leaving Isabella unsure whether to laugh or cry as she turned toward her stylist.
Faced with such a blunt question, the stylist shrugged and spread her hands. "Yeah, darling, of course I know you'll feel hot dressed like this, but there's actually a pair of gloves over there too—"
As she spoke, the female stylist pointed behind Isabella.
On the dressing-room table lay a pair of black satin gloves long enough to cover the elbows.
They were clearly meant to accompany the dress.
The discovery made the corner of Isabella's mouth twitch. Before she could complain, the stylist continued, "Isa, you might not like this combination, but this is the simplest outfit you can wear to today's event."
"Today's dress code requires morning dress, and women generally have to wear either a dress or a skirt, paired with a blazer, short jacket, shawl, or cashmere wrap."
"And no matter what kind of skirt or dress you choose, you have to wear pantyhose."
"Women are also required to wear a hat or headpiece with a solid base measuring at least four inches."
"Of course, the event guide you showed me says that women are also allowed to wear trousers, but if you insist on wearing them—"
"Catherine? Catherine?"
Perhaps she wanted to give Isabella a direct comparison.
Halfway through her explanation, the stylist suddenly called out Isabella's older sister's name.
"What? What is it?"
Hearing someone familiar call her, the person outside Isabella's dressing room opened the door a crack.
A moment later, Catherine poked her head inside.
When she saw her younger sister still standing there in her pajamas, hands in her pockets and stiff as a wooden post, the young woman immediately understood why the stylist had called her. She entered with a smile and proudly displayed her dashing outfit to Isabella.
Catherine was currently wearing a black riding ensemble.
The fitted women's jacket outlined her figure, giving her a remarkably sharp and capable appearance.
But the most eye-catching part of the outfit was the pair of leather boots reaching her knees.
Although the black boots were exquisitely made, no matter how Isabella looked at them, they seemed—
Suffocatingly hot.
"Tch, are you hot?"
Isabella clicked her tongue.
Her sister's OOTD made her want to laugh.
"It's fine indoors because there's air conditioning, but outside—"
Catherine drew out her words and shook her head. "Without air conditioning, I'll definitely be sweating nonstop."
"Also, even indoors, I already want to kick these riding boots off because—"
As she spoke, Catherine darted over to her younger sister.
Holding onto Isabella for support, she lifted one foot and pulled off a boot. The fragrant aroma that visibly seemed to rise into the air—
Made Isabella roll her eyes furiously!
"Catherine! What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you holding onto me while taking off your boots?"
Isabella roared.
"Oh, Isa, didn't you want to know whether wearing trousers would be hot? I'm only satisfying your curiosity."
A smug expression appeared on Catherine's face after her prank succeeded.
"Motherfucker, you're completely insane! Get away from me!"
Isabella tried to shove her sister aside with a look of disgust.
"Oh, Isa, what you just said really breaks my heart! I was clearly trying to help you make a decision faster, yet you insult me?
This is... this is... oh, wait, you just insulted Mom too! I'm definitely telling her when she gets back!"
Catherine refused to let go. She clung tightly to her younger sister's arm, apparently determined to battle it out with her.
After Catherine caused such a scene, Isabella ultimately chose the dress.
She ate a simple breakfast.
Changed clothes quickly.
Then called in her makeup artist to prepare her face.
At around ten o'clock, once she was ready to leave, Isabella departed the house alongside her older sister.
They headed west toward Ascot Racecourse.
That was right.
The main reason Isabella was dressed so formally today was that she was going to watch a race at Britain's largest racecourse.
Since Ascot Racecourse was a royal property, even the Windsor Enclosure, which was open to the general public, encouraged visitors to attend in appropriate daytime attire. The Queen Anne Enclosure and the Royal Enclosure were even stricter. Dressing properly was merely the minimum requirement for the former, while the latter operated by invitation only. Without a recommendation from someone who had attended the Royal Enclosure for at least four consecutive years, a person would not even have the opportunity to apply. Therefore, until the old order collapsed, following the existing rules of the game was unavoidable.
As for why Isabella, who normally had no interest in horse racing, had chosen to attend today?
The answer was simple!
Someone had invited her.
"Oh, the two Miss Haywoods, you both look absolutely beautiful today!"
"If I had to describe you, you look like two roses from the Tudor era five hundred years ago."
"Miss Isabella, in my eyes, you are the red rose symbolizing the House of Lancaster! Even if you merely stand there, the entire world will be overwhelmed by your charm! Miss Catherine, you resemble the white rose symbolizing the House of York. Your valiant appearance gives people the impression that you would remain standing no matter how fierce the wind and rain became!"
The moment they arrived at Ascot Racecourse, Barclays chief executive John Varley, who had invited Isabella to watch the races, immediately came forward to greet them. His Shakespearean praise made both women beam with delight, but at the same time—
"Oh, Mr. Varley, you're giving us far too much credit." Catherine shook her head. "Both the House of Lancaster and the House of York are synonymous with greatness. Comparing the two of us to them, you're truly thinking far too highly of us."
"We've already felt the warmth of your welcome. As for the comparison, please take it back."
"But I'm telling the truth!" John Varley insisted, shaking his head.
At the same time, he asked Isabella for her opinion. "What do you think, Miss Isabella?"
"Mr. Varley, I think the only true part of what you just said is that we're beautiful."
Isabella smiled.
Her stubborn refusal to accept the compliment made John Varley burst out laughing!
He waved a hand, signaling that the subject was over and there was no need for anyone to dwell on it.
Then he gestured for them to enter and led the two sisters into the racecourse.
That was right.
The person who had invited Isabella to watch the races was Barclays chief executive John Varley, whom she had met only once before.
Moreover, John Varley's invitation had not reached Isabella until noon the previous day.
On the surface, the invitation had come very suddenly. In the European and American continents, people generally did not invite someone today to attend an event tomorrow. Such an invitation would be considered rather presumptuous in the West.
But—
Both Isabella and Catherine knew perfectly well why the invitation had come so abruptly.
Had Isabella not crushed Facebook in less than twelve hours;
had Isabella not buried a company valued at ten billion dollars beneath a tidal wave of public opinion in less than twelve hours;
had Isabella's first display of power not already bordered on a global monopoly,
why would John Varley, the son-in-law and public representative of an old aristocratic family, have suddenly invited her to watch the races?
Right?
As for whether their guess was correct—
The busiest period at Ascot Racecourse was actually in June.
Every June, the royal family held the Royal Ascot Gold Cup there.
Since the event was established in 1807, every British monarch had made an appearance at the Gold Cup.
Many monarchs had even entered horses of their own.
However, as of 2025, only one reigning monarch had ever lifted the championship trophy.
That was the old lady in 2013.
Her horse, Estimate, won the race that year.
At the time, the old lady in the stands had smiled so happily that she even jumped into the air, looking nothing like an eighty-seven-year-old woman.
Outside of June, the level of activity at Ascot Racecourse was roughly the same throughout the rest of the year.
The event held here in August was called the Shergar Cup.
It was named after the legendary racehorse Shergar.
Since Isabella knew very little about horse racing, she merely enjoyed the spectacle after entering the venue;
Catherine had learned a little equestrianism in the past, but after their worthless father kicked the bucket, she had abandoned it;
therefore, after wandering around for a while, the thing the two sisters were most familiar with doing was something everyone understood: betting!
Each of them chose a horse that caught her eye;
placing a modest bet of one hundred thousand pounds was enough to qualify them as beginners;
and after placing their bets, they entered the lounge and waited for the race to begin—
"Oh, Isa, we're in luck! Come, come, let me introduce you. This is a good friend of mine—"
The main event of the day—
Had begun!
Before they entered the lounge, while they were still wandering around the racecourse, John Varley had been a competent guide, but he had not spoken particularly much. The entire tour and all his explanations had revolved around Isabella and Catherine.
Whatever the sisters showed interest in, John Varley explained.
But after entering the lounge, he seemed to become a different person. Brimming with enthusiasm, he seized control of the tour and began introducing the Haywood sisters to everyone he knew inside the venue.
If that had been all, it would not have proven that Isabella and Catherine's judgment was correct.
After all, the lounge they were in was not open to the public.
Since it served only prominent members of society, it was perfectly normal for John Varley to encounter acquaintances there and introduce them enthusiastically.
But what if every person John Varley introduced to them held a noble title?
What if even the least distinguished among them stood to inherit a hereditary title in the future?
Anyone who understood what a hereditary title represented already knew what that meant, right?
The circle formed by these people was the real Britain!
Only families that had survived for at least three to five hundred years could be called administrators of Earth!
Honestly, even though Isabella had mentally prepared herself to peer upon Cthulhu before coming here, when she actually found herself surrounded by a group of Cthulhus, her heart still stirred with excitement,
not only because the people before her were major players in Earth's highest-ranked division,
but also because it had taken her only eight years to reach the edge of that highest-ranked division.
That was right.
Even though Isabella possessed self-awareness;
even though she knew she was still far from truly entering the highest-ranked division;
how could you ever become an Elder God without first gazing upon one?
It was just like playing basketball.
How could there ever be a second step if you never took the first?
Admittedly, after taking that step, the referee might call you for traveling, but—
what if the referee suddenly went blind and failed to notice your eighteen-step walk?
Wouldn't you have profited enormously?
Right?
Because Isabella longed for freedom (fine, she liked power and was done pretending), she found conversing with everyone fairly comfortable, at least from her perspective.
Of course, that might also have been because nobody discussed anything meaningful and merely exchanged smiling greetings.
However, just as Isabella thought that today's glimpse into the hidden world would end amid these pleasant exchanges—
"Oh, Your Grace, I never expected to see you here today!"
"Your Grace, you're at the racecourse today?"
"Your Grace, have you come to supervise today's proceedings? Your presence has truly brought honor to the Shergar Cup!"
"—"
"—"
Just as the Shergar Cup was about to begin, a sudden commotion erupted throughout the lounge.
Looking in the direction of the noise, Isabella saw a man in his sixties or seventies standing at the entrance. He wore a tailcoat, held a black umbrella, and carried an enormous belly. The moment they saw him, almost everyone, no, not almost, every single person, rose to their feet!
Although Isabella could not study every person's face, a few quick glances were enough for her to notice that everyone seemed visibly excited upon seeing the old man. And that—
made Isabella want to laugh.
It was not that the behavior of the others was amusing.
She knew that being a duke was extremely impressive, but—
she had no idea who he was!
Her gaze quickly darted toward John Varley—
Perhaps the gap between John Varley's father-in-law and this man was simply too vast, because John Varley showed no intention of introducing the old man to Isabella. He merely stared at him with an excited expression.
She carefully nudged her older sister—
But how could Catherine, who spent all day at home raising animals, possibly know who he was?
So the two sisters could only stare blankly at each other.
This realization made Isabella sigh inwardly.
The duke before them looked like one of the top one hundred players on Earth.
To encounter someone like this without knowing who he was?
Honestly—
it was a real shame.
While Isabella lamented this fact inwardly, the elderly duke responded warmly to everyone's greetings.
He shook hands with the people on one side;
nodded to those on the other;
his easygoing manner resembled that of a senior leader inspecting the workplace.
And when he gradually made his way over to Isabella—
"Good afternoon, Your Grace."
John Varley immediately bowed.
"Oh, John, there's no need to be so formal."
The old man waved his hand, patted John Varley on the shoulder, and pulled him upright.
At the same time, he smiled and asked, "Is Baron Pease doing well? If I remember correctly, he suffered a little heatstroke because of the weather during Royal Ascot in June. How has his recovery been?"
"Oh, my father-in-law recovered after resting at home for a few days. Thank you for your concern, Your Grace."
John Varley replied with an ingratiating smile.
As though being remembered by the old man was an extraordinary honor.
His answer made the old man nod repeatedly. Then his gaze shifted toward Isabella and Catherine.
The moment he met their eyes, a nostalgic smile suddenly appeared on his face.
He raised both hands and gestured at their height. "Oh, Isabella Haywood, correct? And Catherine Haywood? I haven't seen you for several years, and you've already grown so much? Did your mother, Vivian Carlson, not come today?"
"?"
The moment the old man spoke, Isabella's mind crashed.
Because this old man—
seemed to know her?
No, wait!
At this point, there probably were not many people who did not recognize her!
What the old man's words actually implied was—
that they seemed to have met one-on-one before?
But she—
had absolutely no memory of him!
So—
"Sorry, um—"
Isabella parted her red lips, intending to ask whether there had been some misunderstanding between them.
But as soon as the old man noticed her confusion, he smiled and shook his head. "Oh, it seems you've forgotten me."
"In that case, allow me to introduce myself.
"I am the twelfth Duke of Devonshire.
"Peregrine Cavendish.
"I imagine the name Cavendish should sound familiar to you?"
The old man smiled and winked at the two sisters.
The moment the name Cavendish was spoken, a look of sudden realization spread across Isabella's face!
Because that name—
she remembered very, very, very clearly.