"Mary…" I whispered softly, my voice trembling like a leaf caught in a gust of gossip wind.
"Yes, Mistress?" Mary replied carefully, as if she knew the next question wouldn't be normal.
"That… THAT'S THE SCENE."
Mary looked down. "What scene, Mistress?"
"THE LOVE TRIANGLE ARC!" I shrieked half-hysterically, nearly dropping my spoon.
My hand pointed out the window, toward the three figures standing below.
"Chapter seventy-three of the original novel! The first moment Lady Genevieve is confronted by the two men who love her! Oh, I can't believe I'm witnessing this live! I… I'm in a real-life spoiler world!"
I covered my mouth, staring down like a die-hard fan watching a concert from the VIP balcony.
My heart pounded rapidly—thump thump thump thump—faster than when I bought all the cakes in this café.
"Look!" I exclaimed, pointing wildly. "Look at the way Duke Tristan is looking at her! That look! The gaze of a man who is hurt… but still respects the choice of the woman he loves! Oh God, my heart isn't ready—OH MY GOD, the prince is smiling too! They—THEY ARE BOTH PULLING THE GIRL'S HAND!"
Clara whispered in panic, "Mistress, please calm down. People are staring at us."
I turned with tears welling up in my eyes. "You don't understand… this is the peak of emotional conflict and god-tier chemistry!"
Mary immediately ducked down. "Mistress, don't—"
Too late.
"DUKE TRISTAN!" I yelled from the window, standing up and pointing down. "DON'T BACK DOWN! TRUE LOVE MUST FIGHT! GO FORWARD, DUKE!"
The surroundings immediately fell silent.
Absolutely silent.
So silent that if a spoon dropped, it might sound like a cannon blast.
All heads turned toward me.
And down below—the three main characters froze.
Prince Edric frowned, Lady Genevieve covered her cheeks in embarrassment, and Duke Tristan… looked up.
Staring right at me.
Eye to eye.
His cold silver gaze pierced me like a knife sharpened by God's disappointment.
I froze.
…Oh no.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
My awkward smile automatically appeared. "Hehe… I was just… supporting my idol."
Mary covered her face. "I don't know her. I'm just here for the cake."
But inside my head, panic was doing the polka.
In the novel, after this moment, Duke Tristan concedes! He backs down and hands Lady Genevieve over to Prince Edric! No! Not in this second life of mine!
I looked at the table, at the untouched dessert—then looked outside again.
Then I slammed the table with a newfound zest for life.
"Not this time!"
And without thinking twice, I ran toward the stairs.
Just then, the waiter arrived with our order: a vanilla soufflé that glistened like heaven.
I stopped at the first step.
My eyes looked at the dessert with longing.
"Oh world… why are you cruel," I whispered mournfully, staring at the cake like a lover I had to abandon for a greater destiny.
"MISTRESS!" Mary shouted in panic. "Wait—"
"No, Mary! Don't stop me! Enjoy the cake! But save one for me! I am sacrificing myself for the love of my idol!"
"What? What idol is this—"
I had already disappeared down the stairs, my gown fluttering dramatically like a flag of war.
I ran like a woman who just found out her OTP is about to break up.
My skirt almost got caught in the railing, but I didn't care—this wasn't about dignity, it was about the canon ending!
As soon as I reached the bottom, I was nearly out of breath.
I quickly adjusted my hair, trying to look elegant yet casual.
Unfortunately, the result looked more like a pigeon that had just been chased by a cat.
And there he was.
Duke Tristan von Blackwood.
Standing alone in the shadow of the flower shop, with an aura that seemed to make the surrounding flowers bloom—and then immediately wilt in fear.
His eyes were silver, sharp as a sword, cold as the north, and… too handsome for this world's moral laws.
"D-Duke Tristan!" I called out with a stiff smile.
He turned slowly.
As if time slowed down just for him.
His steps were heavy, authoritative.
And when that gaze met my eyes, I was sure all my past sins were laid bare before him.
"Liliane von Hohenberg," he said flatly, but his voice was deep and resonated like sin wrapped in luxury. "So… that was you just now?"
I stood upright, trying to look graceful.
"W-which one, Your Grace? 'That just now' could mean many things… such as… I was merely a sound phenomenon without form?"
One of his eyebrows slowly rose.
"The sound phenomenon that screamed hysterically from the second floor, calling my name in front of the market?"
"Ah…" I smiled awkwardly. "That was… a form of public support, Your Grace. I was conducting a moral campaign for true love."
"My love?"
"Uhh… true love in general?"
He stared at me for a very long time.
His silver gaze was penetrating, tracing my face as if reading the foolishness that even I hadn't realized yet.
Oh God. If he can read minds, please erase the image of me eating those mushroom skewers barbarically just now.
"And why," he said lowly, full of pressure, "did you feel the need to… support me?"
I swallowed. "Because… you look like the character who always gives up. Even though you are much cooler than Prince Edric."
Silence.
The gaze shifted—cold, but somehow… slightly dangerous.
The corner of his lips lifted slightly.
A small, faint smile, but enough to make my heart do a flip.
"Interesting," he murmured. He walked closer, step by step, like a large cat approaching its prey.
I took half a step back.
Oh no, too close. Too—too cinematic.
"So…" his voice dropped, whispering yet echoing. "You're supporting me not for me, but to… change the story?"
I held my breath.
"Ehh… maybe? A little? Spiritually?"
"Then…" his gaze sharpened. "Is this part of your strategy to win the Prince's heart—by matching me with Lady Genevieve?"
My face immediately went flat.
"Why would I do that? Why would I keep a man like him? Like keeping… a potato."
Oh no.
The word was out.
Potato.
I just compared the future king to a root vegetable.
If there was a special death penalty for a sharp tongue, I might have just ordered it.
But… Duke Tristan laughed.
A low, slow laugh, but it shook the air around him.
His voice was heavy—like dark honey flowing into my ears.
"Ha… a potato, huh? I didn't expect anyone to dare say something like that."
Oh God. That smile was dangerous.
A smile like that should be illegal in any country.
I stared at him, and I could feel my cheeks heating up.
Hold yourself, Liliane. Don't melt.
If I had a phone, I would have taken a selfie with his aura.
"Duke Tristan," I said quickly, trying to cover my nervousness. "You won't report me, will you? I know comparing the heir to the throne with a tuber is a major sin."
He approached again.
His steps were heavy and controlled.
The sound of his boots on the cobblestones sounded like the handsome ticking of death.
He stopped right in front of me.
His gaze pierced straight into my eyes.
I could smell the subtle scent of his masculine perfume—a mix of wood, winter, and danger.
"Relax," he said softly, almost a whisper. "If I reported you… who would entertain me with such foolishness?"
My hand reflexively patted my chest. "Oh… a very ambiguous compliment, but I'll take it!"
Suddenly, he raised his hand.
Reflexively, I closed my eyes—ready to receive a slap or perhaps… tragic fate.
But all I felt was a gentle touch on my hair.
"Your hair is messy," he said flatly.
I slowly opened my eyes.
He was… fixing my hair.
WITH. HIS. OWN. FINGERS.
My heart stopped beating for one second.
"Thank you…?" I whispered softly, almost soundlessly.
He withdrew his hand. "Be careful next time. The outside world is not friendly to nobles who speak too loudly."
"Yes, of course… but I'm different. I speak loudly for a noble purpose."
He stared at me for a long time, then shook his head slightly.
"Unique," he finally said. "I don't know whether I should be angry… or amused."
I smiled sweetly. "Choose the latter, Duke. It's safer for everyone. Including your reputation."
The corner of his lips lifted again slightly—barely noticeable, but enough to make me want to write a poem.
And just then, hurried footsteps came from behind.
Mary appeared, carrying a large shopping bag. Her breath was ragged.
"Mistress Liliane! We came here to look for a gift, remember?! For Master Maxmillian!"
I slapped my forehead. "Oh right! Our sacred mission!"
Duke Tristan turned to Mary. His gaze was sharp but polite. "A gift?"
Mary nodded. "Yes, for the Mistress's brother."
A moment of silence.
Then his voice was low, deep, and slightly tense.
"Fascinating," he said, looking at me again. "In that case, as payment for keeping silent about your insult to the Prince… may I be allowed to join you?"
The voice was like a subtle yet poisonous whisper—flowing directly into my ear.
I trembled. Not out of fear.
But because… oh no, his voice sounds too good for my nervous system.
Clara—who had just come down—looked at us with sparkling eyes.
"Oh… they look like a couple secretly in love…" she whispered, full of flowers and delusion.
Meanwhile, Mary stood by, her face tight as if about to call a priest.
"Two major sins in one day," she muttered softly. "This is going to be a long day."