The Villainess's Wicked Charm

Celine glanced down. The white handkerchief, embroidered with his initials, lay folded in front of her. She didn't pick it up, not until a waiter came to clean and collect the dishes. Before he could touch it and move it away, she snatched it up, holding it between her fingers like it was a rag soaked with poison.

Even with the mask on, even with the room full of people, she had found him without any effort. She had never seen Lucian wear a suit, and yet, he wore it well, like he was born to wear the fineries.

A few people stopped by her table to greet her, her focus straying. Most of them were her business partners, and she made small talk with them, trying not to think about the burning cloth between her fingers.

"May I have this dance, My Lady?"

Celine glanced at the masked man, and then looked around, seeing the rest of the couples moving towards the center of the ballroom. "My apologies," she replied, "I must refuse."

"May I know the reason?" He was persistent, and didn't take her rejection lightly, "Nobody else will ask you. You might as well dance with me."

Celine exhaled a soft, amused breath. "Must I explain?" Tilting her head in his direction, she said, "I do not dance with men below my status. Unlike you, they know their place. What do you have that would make me lower myself to you?"

His fingers curled into fists. "If a mere servant could have you, how am I beneath that?"

A sharp, mocking laugh escaped her lips. She leaned closer, letting the warmth of her perfume linger between them. "Do I look like a woman who would ever so much as glance at a servant?" she murmured, her voice dripping with disdain. "You overestimate yourself ─ and insult me in the same breath."

She pulled back, her eyes cold, and her expression distant, like he was a pebble by her feet.

The man's cheeks flushed, but he didn't argue. With a scoff, he left to search for another partner with his tail tucked in between his legs.

Celine waited for a few minutes, and then moved toward the exit.

· · ─────── · ⊱❈⊰· ─────── · ·

Lucian was leaning against the railing, his eyes focused on the night sky. He was no longer wearing the outer jacket the earlier girl's face planted into, and was instead wearing a plain, white shirt and a vest.

He noticed Celine coming, and glanced in her direction. His eyes flickered toward the handkerchief pinched between her fingers, "..."

"...What's so funny?" Celine's mouth pressed into a thin line, not realizing how comical she looked, holding the piece of cloth in the air, like she didn't know what to do with it.

"I didn't say anything."

"Your eyes are too loud." She looked him up and down, "I was wondering what happened to your clothes. It seems that her face was enough to ruin the fabric."

Lucian didn't deny her words, and instead, asked, "Is there something you need, My Lady? Or have you just come here to taunt me with your presence?"

Celine could just leave, but her legs were stuck to the ground, and she didn't want to admit that the sight of him had made her pause, had made her stay, had made her talk to him.

"Don't tell me," Lucian said, his gaze lingering on the handkerchief, "That you've come here just for me?"

"And what if I did?"

Lucian stared at her, his expression shifting from surprise, to a strange, almost hopeful emotion, to a cold, detached look, all in a matter of seconds. She really had a talent for making him lose his mind, and it was a habit he would have to get rid of, if he ever wanted to regain control over his life.

"What did I do to receive such an honor?" he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm, "Or rather, what do you want from me, that you've decided to grace me with your presence?"

She looked away. "Forget it," she muttered. She took a step forward, and then, another, walking past him.

He turned, watching her go. He didn't call after her, and he didn't stop her either.

· · ─────── · ⊱❈⊰· ─────── · ·

Celine kept walking, slower, and slower, yet the distance between them was getting farther and farther.

She came to a halt.

Lucian didn't follow, didn't chase, didn't ask her to stay.

She didn't know if she was relieved or disappointed. She didn't know what she was expecting, either.

She turned.

He was gone.

Lucian was gone.

The handkerchief with her initials fluttered to the ground, a white blur in the darkness.

She couldn't even crouch to pick it up, the corset squeezing the breath out of her, her skirts heavy. And rather than have it fall into the wrong hands, she remained where she was, unmoving.

The masked man from earlier appeared again, noticing her lonely figure standing in the middle of the hallway.

"You changed your mind, my lady?" he asked, bending down to pick up the handkerchief, but before he could touch it, Celine stepped on it, crushing it underneath her heel that peeked from under her long skirt.

Startled by her action, the man paused, and looked up.

"You do not talk to me like you have a right, you do not approach me like we are equals, and you most certainly do not touch what belongs to me," Celine warned, her words cutting like a whip. "Do I make myself clear, or shall I cut your tongue out, and force the lesson down your throat?"

The irritation she had suppressed was coming out. With hands behind her back, she crumbled the cloth in her fist.

"Is my standing high enough for you to allow me to touch it? Or will you cut my tongue, too?" a familiar voice cut through the silence.

From around the corner, The Crown Prince stepped into their view.

╔═══ Author's note ════╗

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