The Villainess Does Not Want to Die

Chapter 47: Words I Don’t Want to Hear

After being shoved into a corner by the crowd, a woman wielding a fan emerged from between the people, as if she were some sort of boss making her entrance.

“I told you last time, didn’t I? Don’t go near Olivia.”

“And who might you be?”

Her slightly upturned lips resembled those of a sly cat, her eyes sharp and fierce, and her hair bore a faint blue hue.

I stared at her intently, trying to recall who she was.

Ah, it’s that woman—the one who ran off crying the last time.

“I introduced myself last time. Surely you remember my name.”

“I don’t usually bother remembering the names of ladies who cry and flee just because they hear something unpleasant.”

Even if these women moved in groups like this, they weren’t exactly thugs.

They likely stuck together because they got along and found it convenient. 

After all, if they wanted to marry well, violence was practically taboo—they’d never even consider hitting someone.

Knowing this, I moved freely as I pleased.

Pouring wine until it brimmed in a nearby glass, I piled fruits onto a plate, then sat gracefully on the sofa, as if the woman in front of me were some subordinate of mine, entirely unrelated to me.

“Have a seat. No need to stand around so uncomfortably.”

The woman flinched slightly but eventually sat in the seat beside me, her hand trembling slightly.

“Sometimes you can grab someone by the face while joking around with a friend. Why does everyone glare at me so intensely for that?”

“That didn’t seem like a joke just now…”

A faint clink could be heard.

The wine glass, filled to the brim moments ago, had shattered.

The sound was drowned out by the music and chatter of the ballroom, and the smell was lost amidst the thick scents of makeup and perfume.

The woman flinched again, glaring at me as she spoke.

“…Did you do that on purpose?”

“And if I did? What’s next? Will you all gang up on me and beat me up?”

Saying something like this would probably provoke them, making them want to strike me out of sheer arrogance. But could they even imagine hitting someone from a duke’s family with their bare hands?

“…….”

“You’re too scared to go anywhere alone, so you try to intimidate people with your numbers. Yet you don’t even have the guts to strike anyone. Pathetic cowards trying to boss me around.”

“With such a rotten nature, it’s no surprise your words are disgusting.”

“You do realize you said the exact same thing last time, don’t you? What’s the point of dividing people into ‘good’ and ‘bad bloodlines’? Your noble father abandoned your mother, didn’t he? Not for another noble lady, but for a courtesan or worse.”

This was the line that had made her cry and run off last time.

Though she was trembling now, perhaps hearing it once before had made it easier for her to stomach. She seemed to let it slide this time.

“Anyway, just don’t go near Olivia again. A vulgar, harmful person like you could do who-knows-what to her. Like just now, putting your hands directly on a lady is unbecoming of proper etiquette…”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

I was with Olivia because I wanted to be, so why did this woman keep trying to interfere? Last time, she had “accidentally” spilled wine on my clothes, and I had let it go.

She had even smirked about it, acting innocent while orchestrating people behind the scenes, making sure whispers reached my ears and some bumped into my shoulder. And because I kept my mouth shut, they must have thought I was an easy target.

But at worst, they spilled drinks on my clothes or tripped me. It wasn’t as bad as what I had endured in the mansion.

The idea that someone might target me was exhausting, though.

“You all say the same things every day. Despite knowing less about manners, proper etiquette, or common sense than I do, you constantly call me disgraceful, vulgar, dirty, or demonic. You label me as someone not worth associating with.”

I rose from my seat.

The hem of my dress dragged along the floor, soaking up the spilled wine. The once-pristine white fabric was quickly stained crimson.

I decided to offer some words of advice to these lovely, doll-like girls glaring at me with animosity in their eyes.

Surely, it was advice—after all, I was commenting on the “common sense” they had learned all their lives and were so proud of.

“Look at you fools, squawking like hens. You can’t even boil an egg properly, yet you babble on about status, etiquette, rules, and lineage. If those things are so important, then as someone with at least half better lineage than you, you should show me respect. My mother may be a courtesan, but my father is a far greater man than your laughable fathers.”

If bloodlines and status were so important to them, wasn’t showing proper respect to those of higher status only natural?

But no, they simply hated me. I was easy to provoke, so they poked at me whenever they could.

That’s why they dragged me here after finding me with Olivia.

Even if they didn’t hit me outright.

Displeased with the circle of women surrounding me, I grabbed whatever was within reach and began throwing it. Objects soared through the air, forcing the girls to scatter.

As the scenery around me became visible again, I felt a slight sense of relief.

I hated their stares. Even more so when they were filled with negativity.

Who could possibly enjoy them?

This time, as I grabbed a wine glass, intending to throw it, the young lady of Gastone House grabbed my wrist.

“No matter if your father is Duke Vitelsbach, it’s unacceptable to insult us like this. You’ve crossed the line…”

“If you’ve got time to scold me with that stiff face of yours, maybe you should bury your head in the gaping hole your mother tore open giving birth to you and just die. Oh, wait. That hole’s probably rotten shut by now.”

I almost poked her chest with my finger to emphasize my point, but I stopped myself—if I did, I might have grabbed her by the collar and hit her.

Was that too harsh?

“You crossed the line first. You always do when it comes to me, don’t you? So much so that it barely registers anymore. Shall I spell out when you did it for your dull mind?”

The young lady pressed her lips together tightly, her tears brimming as she tried not to let them fall.

Her hands trembled, and she desperately fought to keep those tears from spilling over. It was almost laughable.

Should I Make Her Cry?

“Going on about that so-called ‘noble lineage’ of yours, while you’re utterly useless—even to the point of falling for a man’s rear, not even a woman’s—that’s what I mean by crossing the line.

My mother may be a courtesan, but at least she’s alive. Your mother couldn’t even measure up to that and killed herself. Pathetic.”

The sound that cut off my words was simple to describe: a slap. Just like the sound of a hand clapping.

It was a sound I’d heard countless times. It didn’t even make me angry anymore.

I had merely repeated the same kind of insults they hurled at me every day, changing the target to the person in front of me.

Yet, this girl trembled, her body shaking visibly. A tear rolled down her cheek as she glared at me with eyes filled with fury—and then, she slapped me.

Whether she had poured her full emotion into it or simply struck me with all her strength, my face turned slightly to the side. Hmm. Not bad.

Around us, people stared in shock. Even the girl who had hit me seemed startled by what she had done.

I touched my cheek, and sure enough, there was blood—likely from her nails scraping me. No big deal. It wasn’t surprising; people often act out of anger.

Or perhaps thoughts of her father rolling around with men and her mother hanging herself had made her feel a little emotional. Who knew?

“Wait—no, I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry! Let me… let me call for a healer—”

“Don’t bother. You’re not actually sorry, are you?”

I casually wiped the blood on my dress. The servants would clean it thoroughly anyway.

“Marie? Julia…?”

Oh, right. Her name was Julia.

Her hair was silky, soft to the touch—true to her name.

When I turned my head toward the sound, I saw Olivia standing there.

Why was she here? Why wasn’t she off dancing with some dashing gentleman instead of witnessing this scene?

“Is this… because of me?”

“It’s nothing. Just a little disagreement.”

Perhaps she had seen me get slapped from the upper floor, because not long after, the Duchess and what I assumed to be Julia’s guardian descended to the scene.

They hadn’t bothered to come down when I was surrounded earlier.

Maybe they assumed nothing would happen because of our age or the strict education we had all received.

But now that the music was nearing its end and attention was beginning to shift toward us, we had to move. 

Hopefully, everyone would chalk this up to some lover’s quarrel and let it slide.

After all, slapping someone at a ball wasn’t exactly newsworthy. Unless, of course, someone stabbed a visiting noble at a villa—it’d take something that dramatic to draw real attention.

Before leaving the ballroom, I whispered to Olivia.

“There’s no need for you to see things like this. Just like women adorn themselves beautifully for the men they love, only look at me when I’m at my best.”

Then I forcibly nudged her away, telling her to go dance.

Thankfully, Olivia seemed to recognize the atmosphere wasn’t right and left without resistance.

In any gathering of men and women, conflicts were bound to arise. That’s why most venues had designated spaces for such occurrences—a tearoom, a nearby garden, or, if nothing else, a terrace.

Julia was being scolded.

She soon began sniffling, then threw herself into her guardian’s arms and wailed loudly.

Her guardian comforted her with a warm gaze, patting her back gently.

Maybe that’s what I had wanted from my mother. Or maybe I was just thinking anything would’ve been better than her drunken fits, choking the life out of me.

It was hard to tell.

“…What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“You have a wound on your face. How can you call that ‘nothing’?”

I didn’t want to hear it.

At those words, I pulled out a pipe and a scroll I had stashed in my coat. I couldn’t smoke inside the ballroom, but surely it wouldn’t matter in the tearoom.

The leaves and powder I’d pre-packed were slightly damp, making the smoke a bit musty.

“It’s nothing, Duchess. And even if it were, a scratch like this is better than a broken bone, isn’t it?”

The Duchess fell silent at my response.

“I’ll take my leave now. And once again, Duchess, nothing happened.”

As I said this, Julia and her guardian looked at me as if they were staring at something grotesque. Their gazes carried a hint of fear.

Snuffing out the pipe and heading back to my seat, my vision wavered slightly.

Raphael was probably off at the battlefield.

Alina had run away somewhere, tormented by her suffering.

The Proxy Manager had taken a blade to the gut over some pocket change.

And my mother had simply withered away and died, no apparent reason behind it.

Surrounded by the sounds of laughter, chatter, music, the glow of bright lights, the sight of men and women dancing at the ball, I muttered softly to myself.

“Fuck.”