TMIAP Chapter 20

Monica's first action was to survey her surroundings. Fortunately, the blueberry bushes the gardeners had planted successfully concealed her.

Why on earth was Liella here, when she should be the party's centerpiece? Monica frowned, assessing the situation.

Under the moonlight in the wildflower garden stood Liella and a man.

The man stood with his back turned, but even his dim silhouette revealed an impressive physique. At a glance, he was impeccably dressed—certainly a noble attending the party.

'Wait...'

But something seemed familiar. Having no taste for eavesdropping on others' trysts, Monica had been watching for an opportunity to creep away when she involuntarily craned her neck.

'Could it be?'

Then Liella spoke again.

"I know this seems forward of me. But I believe you need me as well, my lord."

"Miss Mollette."

The man interrupted Liella with a low voice. Monica's eyebrows twitched.

"Take me with you, my lord."

"I'm afraid—"

"I know it's terribly embarrassing for a lady to say such things. But I'll say it once more, my lord. I love you."

Monica swore she had no habit of secretly listening to others' conversations.

Ordinarily, she would first signal her presence, then apologize and depart with blessings like 'Oh, I wish you both happiness!' before leaving.

Wasn't that right? A young lady confessing love on such a romantic summer night.

Monica believed a courageous maiden deserved courtesy.

But the moment she confirmed it was Liella, Monica's stomach immediately soured. Natural enough—to Monica, Liella Mollette was the most uncomfortable and unpleasant woman in the world.

That woman confessing her heart to a man. In multiple senses, Monica neither wanted to hear nor see it.

'Should I sneak away?'

But Monica couldn't leave. Because of that man standing with his back turned in the moonlight.

She couldn't help but know him. Monica grew confused.

Luis Berfeil.

Just yesterday afternoon, he had called Monica 'lovely Moni-Moni.' Even his voice saying 'I'm afraid—' was completely identical.

Certain puzzle pieces that had been wandering homeless in Monica's mind began slowly fitting together.

That behavior, that manner—how he'd suddenly stepped into shadow upon seeing Liella and the noble ladies on the commercial street. The man who casually called her 'my love' had seemed genuinely practiced with women.

The way he unhesitatingly selected clothes that suited Monica would have captivated anyone.

So the assumption that his lover existed among those women was genuinely plausible.

"I love you, my lord."

But for it to be Liella.

Monica's head throbbed. She felt as though some imaginary bomb had been lobbed at her.

The situation was clear. Liella had a man with whom marriage discussions were proceeding. Yet Liella was now confessing love to an entirely different man. Up to that point, the story mattered little to Monica. Women who loved someone other than their betrothed weren't so uncommon.

But if that man happened to be a rake Monica knew well, it was rather a different matter.

'Should I pretend ignorance?'

The thought came suddenly.

Monica knew all too well how things ended for women who gave their hearts to rakes.

It could be compared to a surprise box, for instance. The surprise boxes that street con artists sold.

Con artists laid out dozens of boxes and enticed passing women, claiming expensive jeweled rings lay inside.

For just 1 shing, women opened boxes hoping they contained jeweled rings.

But those surprise boxes mostly held things worth less than 1 shing. A cookie baked from cheap ingredients, a small doll twisted from straw. And those were the better outcomes.

Giving one's heart to a rake was no different from selecting a surprise box containing nothing good and only bad things.

Moreover, just moments ago, Monica had hated Liella so much she'd begun hating herself. Because seeing Liella live a happy life made her jealous and inferior.

So what if Liella met this rakish man and broke off her good marriage prospects?

Would even the cheerful, kind-hearted Madame Mollette, who always smiled at Liella, grow angry? Would she say her adopted daughter had disgraced the family?

Monica stopped the thought there.

'Please, please stop. Monica Orphen.'

Monica buried her head in her knees briefly, then made her decision. Stand up. Stand up and stop Liella from drawing that wretched surprise box, even now.

'But how?'

Monica briefly imagined a scene from the popular novels she'd read. What did people usually do in such cases?

The third party who learned of their relationship stepped forward before the young lady and said:

'Miss Mollette, I'm sorry, but I heard your entire conversation, and I really must tell you. Give up on this man.'

Damnation! Monica struck her forehead.

'Even in imaginary popular novels, Liella is the heroine and I'm the third party!'

Moreover, in such cases, most heroines told the third party:

'Don't lie. I trust him.'

And truly, stories typically unfolded where the rakish man turned out to have circumstances. Monica wrinkled her nose. This won't do. I need to devise another approach.

But as always, the world didn't wait for Monica. Naturally.

Thus, while Monica struck her head and agonized alone in the blueberry bushes, the silent man spoke first.

"Miss Mollette, I'm afraid I have no feelings for you."

Crouching in hiding, Monica's eyes widened. Liella clung desperately.

"But you at least need my dowry!"

The man, who had been silent for some time, immediately countered that statement.

"Miss Mollette, do you understand what you're saying?"

"I—"

"Miss Mollette, you're telling me to sell myself to you like merchandise."

The tone was cold as a north wind. Even Monica, huddled behind the bushes, felt her heart thud and sink.

Though invisible, Monica could imagine all too vividly what expression Liella wore.

"Do I seem base to you?"

Liella asked after a long pause. Monica, who had been holding her breath until then, felt flustered. Apparently this conversation would flow differently from what Monica imagined.

That is, it absolutely wasn't the pattern of an adopted young lady from a wealthy family proposing elopement to her true love, or suggesting they abandon her betrothed and marry.

Precisely, it was a situation where Liella clung unilaterally.

'I really did well not to interfere.'

Monica changed her mind. She'd creep away from these blueberry bushes undetected. She tried to crawl through the bushes to the other side, as she'd crept earlier. Her new dress would get some grass stains, but it couldn't be helped. Better than being caught in this situation.

Monica reached out her hand. The next moment, a strange sensation met her palm.

Squelch.

Monica's eyes widened. The damp, disgustingly squishy thing pressed against her hand suddenly inflated.

"Ahhh!"

Monica screamed involuntarily and flung her hand away. And the creature that had nearly been crushed to death beneath her palm made a loud noise.

Croak!

It was a frog. Croak! Croak! The enormously loud frog hopped away from that spot. And Monica realized.

"Who's there?"

She was done for.

Quite thoroughly.

She felt their gazes. Monica slowly turned around. The two people who had been conversing moments ago were staring fixedly in her direction.

The man—Luis—had asked who was there. Luis stood blocking Liella. Apparently protecting Liella from unknown danger.

The moonlight behind them was particularly bright tonight, of all nights.

Their expressions were invisible due to backlighting, but Monica could vividly imagine what faces they wore.

And she also knew that her own figure, illuminated by moonlight, would be perfectly visible to them.

"Ah, well..."

Cold sweat broke out. Cursed frog!

But having been caught, nothing could be done. Monica rose, trying her utmost to remain calm.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I was trying to quietly leave, but somehow..."

Somehow. No follow-up words came to mind. Monica eventually added after deliberation:

"L-lovely evening, isn't it?"

She shouldn't have added it. The response was frigid.

"It seems a poor evening regardless of which side one occupies."

"Uh..."

Monica blinked. The tone carried a strange chill.

Definitely a familiar face, yet the discourteous manner suggested Monica was some subordinate. Monica asked involuntarily:

"Luis? Isn't it?"

"..."

"Don't tell me—Garcia? Is that you?"

The man fell abruptly silent. Then Liella behind him pushed his hand aside and stepped forward.

"You—no, Miss Monica. What exactly are you doing here? Shouldn't you be watching Martinael right now?"

Her face, revealed dimly in the moonlight as she stepped forward, was covered in shame. Monica's heart sank.

"Miss Mollette. It's a misunderstanding. I have no intention of telling anyone about this..."

But Monica realized immediately after speaking that her words were perfectly positioned to create greater misunderstanding.

As if hearing everything and then saying you won't tell anyone would be believed! Especially when Liella already disliked her!

What excuse to offer grew distant. Anger began rising gradually on Liella's pale face.