[System Info: High-Class Aura is a temporary boost to help the Host in the initial stages but the moment Host’s Aura surpasses it, it becomes ineffective.]

The System’s explanation made Evelina pause and reflect on it. She calmed down after a while but still, she couldn’t help but feel like she was tricked out of 2000 points for a skill that was ’temporary’ by the System.

[You’re overthinking, Host.]

Evelina pursed her lips. It was too expensive nevertheless. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

[You’re being stingy because you’re poor, Host.]

"_"

As the carriage slowed to a halt before the marble steps of the Rose Pavilion, the footman reached for the door.

When it opened, the air outside seemed to still. Evelina stepped out, her obsidian-structured gown catching the afternoon sun. The fabric was an avant-garde masterpiece, shifting with a liquid-like sheen that had a dark energy rather than the soft and floral vibe expected of a Duchess.

The high collar framed her face with neatly and the gold-threaded embroidery at her sleeves gleamed like the armor of a conqueror.

Evelina didn’t wait for a hand to assist her. She descended the steps with gracefully, her gaze fixed forward while she totally ignored the sudden intake of breath from the gathered attendants.

The walk through the palace gardens toward the tea party was filled with whispers.

The nobility had gathered early, their fans fluttering like the wings of nervous birds as they caught sight of the woman they had been mocking as the ’Pauper Duchess’ all along.

"Is that... the Paup... Duchess?" a Countess hissed behind a gloved hand, "Where is the Duke? Surely he hasn’t let her dress like a common mercenary?"

"Look at that color," another snickered, "She looks like she’s attending a funeral. Perhaps she’s finally mourning her lost dignity."

Evelina heard it all.

In her past life, these barbs would have been enough to make her shoulders hunch and her eyes water. Now, they were merely data points. She didn’t turn her head to look at them nor did she seek out Ace who could be probably be present among the clusters of officers near the buffet tables.

She walked calmly as if she owned the entire place.

She bypassed the Snow family pavilion entirely, ignoring the pale face of her sister, Selene, who stood frozen with a half-raised tea cup. Evelina’s heels clicked against the stone path. With every minute she stood in this place, her confidence only grew relentlessly.

Because, in her mind, she knew that she wasn’t here to beg for a seat at the table; she was here to remind them who owned the land the table stood upon.

As she approached the grand entrance of the ballroom where the Empress was seated, a Palace Guard stepped forward to announce her.

Evelina raised a single hand, the movement so authoritative that the guard actually stumbled back a step, his breath hitching.

"I will announce myself," she said, her soft voice carrying across the garden.

The double doors of the ballroom were twelve feet of gilded oak. Evelina placed her gloved palms against the wood.

She knew... Behind those doors sat the flock of peacocks of the Empire; the women who had shunned her and the men who had despised her.

With a decisive, Evelina threw the doors open.

The sound of the heavy oak hitting the interior stone walls echoed like a thunderclap, drowning out the light trill of the string quartet. Inside, the music stopped mid-note, the musicians’ bows frozen against the strings.

Evelina didn’t step inside immediately.

She stood framed in the doorway, the bright sunlight from the gardens casting her silhouette into an intimidating shadow that stretched across the polished floor toward the Empress’s dais.

Evelina didn’t wait for the herald to find his voice and unlike her previous life, she didn’t try to look for Ace this time. She didn’t turn to check if he had already arrived or if he was looking for her.

The room plummeted into silence. Probably for the first time in the history of the Imperial Tea, the Guest of Honor hadn’t been gently invited inside by the Empress but rather, she had taken the room by force.

[Notification: Collective shock detected. +400 Heart-Wrecker Points.]

[Current Balance: 2000 Heart-Wrecker Points]

[Status: The Empress is intrigued. The ’Face-Slap’ sequence has begun.]

The silence following Evelina’s explosive entrance didn’t last long; in the high-society hive of the Imperial Palace, shock quickly turned into malice.

As Evelina stepped onto the polished marble floor, the ’peacock flock’ began to close ranks. The Empress, seated upon her elevated dais, watched with a razor-sharp gaze, her fan arrested halfway through a slow beat.

Leading the charge of the dissenters was the Marchioness de la Croix, a woman whose bloodline was as pure and old as the palace stones but the tongue... it was famously dipped in vitriol.

She was flanked by a cadre of younger noblewomen, the very same circle that had spent quite some time refining the art of making Evelina feel like a stain on the Alvarez name.

"My, my," the Marchioness began, her voice a shrill that carried perfectly across the ballroom, "It seems the Duchess of Alvarez has mistaken the Empress’s Midsummer Tea for a tavern brawl. Such a violent entrance can easily scare the Empress. One can take the girl out of the borderlands, but apparently, the borderlands remain firmly rooted in the girl, hmm?"

The women behind her tittered, their fans shielding their sneers.

"And that... garment," another noblewoman added, gesturing to Evelina’s obsidian-structured gown, "Is it made of charred scraps? It’s so devoid of life. I suppose when one’s dowry is lost to bandits, they have to make do with the soot from the fireplace. What a shame it is really!"

Evelina didn’t halt in her tracks hearing all that mockery. She moved toward the center of the room, her presence was so powerful that it felt as if she were walking through a different path than the rest of them.

"Scraps, Marchioness? You must be joking with me..." Evelina softly spoke, "It is curious that you don’t recognize it. This is Southern Lowland flax-silk; the very same material that currently holds a great control over the Empire’s textile market. Perhaps your eyes are as outdated as your own fashion sense."