Episode 82: Charity Gathering

Gladys, who had inherited her mother’s renowned beauty from Dranberg, prided herself on never having a moment of unattractiveness. She firmly believed that no one could surpass her in terms of beauty.

Although Valerie of Oppreze was undeniably beautiful, she could not match the sheer brilliance of Gladys’ looks.

“But why won’t His Highness the Prince spare me a glance?”

Gladys asked gloomily. Her nanny gazed at the beautiful woman in the mirror.

“His Highness’s wife is expecting a child.”

“So what if she’s pregnant?”

Gladys sneered, clearly dissatisfied with the answer. Her nanny’s expression stiffened. Gladys, holding back tears of frustration, began applying powder to her face.

“I can have a child too. And since I’m more beautiful, my child will be more beautiful than hers. What does he even see in that slave girl…?”

The nanny looked down at the fuming Gladys and applied rose oil to her wavy blonde hair.

“But he has a wife. Unless he divorces her…”

“They aren’t married! Haven’t you heard? They didn’t even register their marriage. He’s not her husband. Are you too stupid to even know that?”

Gladys shot up from her seat and screamed. The nanny pressed her lips together, silently staring at the woman she had raised for over twenty years—calling her stupid, calling her foolish.

Gladys had never filtered her words with her nanny, though she held her tongue around those who were clearly superior to her. This was the woman who had rocked her to sleep as a baby, who had nursed her. And yet, Gladys treated her with nothing but coldness, never once showing gratitude.

To her, the nanny was just another servant. Nothing more.

It was that thought that kept the nanny from growing too fond of Gladys. The reason she endured all the humiliation in this house—the house of a fallen noble who thought herself above others despite being nothing more than an expensive courtesan.

The woman who drove the true lady of the house away and took her place. The nanny had raised that woman’s brat and served her all these years. But how could she grow attached to her? There was no time for sentiment. In a way, that was a blessing.

“I apologize.”

She lowered her gaze. But Gladys, still fuming, continued to yell.

“They call that wench the Prince’s wife? She hasn’t even been officially recognized! Carrying a filthy bastard and parading around high society as if she carries the legitimate heir! Why should I bow to someone like that? Why should I lose to that woman?”

Gladys shrieked like a madwoman. The maids exchanged knowing glances. Here she goes again. Whenever things didn’t go her way, she would scream until her throat bled. She looked like a woman possessed.

If she had been more cunning—if she had quietly and skillfully manipulated her maids instead of throwing tantrums—perhaps people would have respected her more. But now? She was just a spectacle.

“I’m sorry, my lady. I misspoke. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t mean to? Is that all? You know how much I love His Highness, yet you dare say such things to my face? Are you insane? And to make matters worse, that Afrozan wench hasn’t even miscarried!”

“Please calm down, my lady.”

“Shut up! Stop telling me to calm down! Whose side are you on? Why do you keep provoking me?”

Gladys sobbed loudly, her entire body trembling. It was pitiful, in a way—just how much this was affecting her.

Before the Prince arrived in Dranberg, Gladys had been cheerful. Selfish and cunning, yes, but still lively.

Then the Prince came, and everything changed. She had fallen in love. But the man she loved already had a wife.

Even if they hadn’t legally married, she had been accepted as his woman. And she was pregnant.

Gladys knew, deep down. She was in love with a married man, just as her mother had been.

And if she wanted to become his wife, she would have to follow in her mother’s footsteps—doing whatever it took, no matter how disgraceful.

Like mother, like daughter.

Blood is thicker than water, after all.

The nanny glanced at Gladys as she screamed, pulled at her hair, and thrashed about. She barely suppressed a smirk.

“My lady, we don’t have much time. You must get ready now.”

Hiding her amusement, the nanny seated Gladys before the vanity.

What ridiculous stunt would she pull this time?

All the schemes she had already attempted to win the Prince’s attention had been laughable. Did she have any idea what the other noblewomen whispered about her?

‘What a fool.’

The nanny scoffed internally. Did she truly not realize? The Prince had seen right through her tricks. He knew someone had orchestrated the chaos in his home. And yet, she had never once considered that the mastermind might have been him.

“How much time do I have?”

“Ten minutes.”

“That’s not enough time. What should I do?”

“You should focus on getting dressed. I’ll send word that you may be a little late. You must look perfect, after all. You can’t let that slave-born consort look down on you, can you?”

The nanny smiled, combing through Gladys’ hair. The thought of sending her off in full peacock-like grandeur, only for her to make a fool of herself, was utterly delightful.

---

At the charity event, Lara was greeted by a familiar noblewoman.

“It’s been a while, Your Highness.”

Lara smiled gracefully.

“It has, Countess Brynnen.”

“I wasn’t sure if you would attend, given your condition. It’s an honor to see you here.”

“I can still move around comfortably, so I decided to come. Miss Gladys personally sent me an invitation. I didn’t want to disappoint her. Besides, I found the cause of this event quite meaningful.”

“You have such a kind heart, Your Highness. Surely, the child you bear will inherit your goodness.”

Countess Brynnen smiled warmly. Lara returned a small, polite smile.

The countess walked beside her, clearly eager to associate with her. Lara adjusted her pace to match.

The charity tent was set up right beside the slums.

“Have you ever done anything like this before?”

Lara shook her head.

Of course not.

Had fate taken a different turn, she wouldn’t be the one handing out food—she would be among the beggars lined up for rations.

“I’ve volunteered a few times with my siblings,” the countess said.

“I see.”

“Yes. My father was a miner. By sheer luck, he discovered a gold vein and became wealthy overnight.”

“The gods must have smiled upon him.”

“In a way.”

The countess chuckled softly.

“If he hadn’t found that gold, I wouldn’t be standing here today.”

She murmured so quietly that Lara barely caught it.

There was bitterness in her tone.

Lara hesitated before speaking.

“But he worked hard, didn’t he? That’s why your family is happy now.”

“Yes. My father always worked hard—to make me a countess.”

Her smile held a sharp edge. Lara said nothing, turning her gaze toward the line of hungry people.

Tomorrow, the newspapers would be filled with illustrations of this scene.

She forced down the nausea rising within her and waited for Gladys to arrive. The host had yet to make an appearance.

Then, in the distance, a lavish carriage rolled in.

“She’s finally here.”

The countess sneered.

The carriage door opened, revealing an opulent gown.

Lara and the countess stared, dumbfounded.

“…Is she insane?”

“She’s completely lost it.”

The journalists scoffed.

Lara remained silent, watching Gladys approach, looking more uncertain than ever.