Fool A Master

"What? Do you lack friends?" Ares stands abruptly with a strange expression on his face. He acts just like her father did when he'd first heard her proposal without caring to know the reasoning behind her thought.

It truly began to seem as if the men around her didn't seem to wait long enough to understand her intentions.

It baffles Myra how lowly they thought of her—did all women seek friendship after being spurned in two different lives? Men couldn't be so foolish to think that, could they?

Ares notices the disturbed pout on the young lady's face and takes his seat again, understanding he'd done enough to annoy her.

"What I mean to say is that by earning her friendship, I could possibly gain more knowledge about her family's inner secrets and such. It won't be easy but I believe in keeping your enemies closer than your friends. Have some faith in me. You should know I wouldn't make foolish decisions for someone my calibur," Myra raises an eyebrow.

The marquess nods to her decision in a respectful manner and instead of offering any argument, wishes her success in her plan.

Myra smiles at the sight of his support and turns her head away, readying her mind for the execution of her plan which mustn't fail.

When the noon sun is raised higher marking lunchtime, Ares excuses himself and climbs out of the window from where he'd crawled in from.

Myra misses him soon after he's gone but doesn't admit it for the sanity of her own brain. Earning permission from Margaret, to have a day free without the presence of her handmaidens, the young noble takes a quick shower instead of indulging herself like normal days so she can focus on her planning.

While she was drinking in the city along the streets, she'd heard passing conversations about a secret organisation, a high society with powerful women with no real label except what everyone else called them.

They were known as the 'Association of Noble Ladies' with wives and daughters of noble men—and Myra had somewhat of a feeling that Ariana was in it as well.

While Myra couldn't tell for sure how she could benefit from joining them, it would benefit her to rebuild her reputation from scratch and gain the reputation of other nobles.

The Ruskin family has always been infamous for their hardcore way of handling matters and the cold-blooded rivalry with the Bougainvillea family.

Everyone knows that Myra is the heiress and Lady-to-be of the Ruskin house and for this reason, has learned to fear her too.

But she couldn't possibly have everyone fear her if she wishes to earn the prince's affections.

If Ariana were to love him, Myra would need to appeal to him first. From her experience, men tend to love shy women, the girls that seem vulnerable to men's appeal.

High-class nobles are often this type—the ones that have unrealistic expectations of their wives to be subservient to themselves.

Myra sighs, head throbbing out of annoyance. She stands from her vanity in front of which she'd been seated for hours.

Torn pages from her notebook lie scattered across the acacia wood and upon turning her head sideways, she's met with the sight of a pinkish-orange sky through her balcony doors.

A sigh peels off her lips as she turns back to the mess on her vanity, thoughts interrupted by a knock at her bedroom door.

Eyes widening in surprise, she quickly picks up her papers and hides them in the drawer under her vanity. She can't afford having anyone look at her work and discard them.

Folding her arms behind her back, she looks expectantly at Jen who enters meekly into her room.

"Good evening, My Lady. There is a visitor for you at the door," she announces and Myra feels the familiar throb of her heart. Whirling around to check her dress in the mirror, she rushes forward at her fastest and down the staircase.

At the front door, she spots Frederick and in front of him, a woman with blonde hair.

"Frederick, let the guest in," she feigns a weak voice, like she's still in immense pain. She's sure her eyes are watery from staring at paper all day and with a wobbly grin, Myra would look like she's hanging on for her life.

Frederick stands aside as he's told and just as she'd inferred, Ariana stands at the door with a bouquet of flowers and a bag.

Myra takes a step forward to greet the lady with a curtsey and makes an expression like her presence isn't welcome here. Ariana glances around surreptitiously, perhaps scared.

"I came to check on your recovery after what happened at my home. There have been a lot of rumours with ill-intent spreading about you so I thought it would only be fair if I came with a gift. May I come inside?" she smiles but Myra can tell it lacks sincerity.

It looks almost as if her lips are smiling but not herself, that Ariana holds no intention to be here but for her benefit.

Myra knows that it must be sickening to the other woman that she's not dead, that even after her attempt to rid of her in this life, she refuses to die during her second chance. She stands aside to let the guest in and leads her to the living room, where Jalen and Roseann are unexpectedly sitting in peace.

It's a relief they aren't at each other's throats like most occasions else it'd be embarrassing for everyone here.

"Jalen, Roseann, could you please clear the room so I can have a chat with my guest?" Myra asks politely. Her older sister raises her head from her book with a stern expression, one ready to lash out with criticism but upon laying eyes upon the Bougainvillea girl, purses her lips with disgust instead.

Closing her book loudly to break the silence, she stands haughtily and excuses herself with a condescending look to the unwelcome woman. Jalen does the same but with more grit as he rolls his eyes at Ariana and excuses himself.

Myra notices a sour expression on Ariana's face as she's treated so lowly here. "Is there an issue?" Myra questions intentionally, perhaps to annoy the lady who, clearly, is frustrated.

"Not at all. Thank you for letting me inside," Ariana smiles leaving the gifts on the table. Myra sits on the armchair right next to the long sofa and intertwines her fingers atop her knee with a sly smile on her face.

Ariana tries to maintain eye contact, only to feel an unfamiliar coldness in the air, almost like a chill—the prerequisite feeling that suggests something is terribly, terribly wrong. "I wanted—"

"I know you poisoned me intentionally," Myra's smile grows into a grin and the horror that creeps onto Ariana's pale face is telling that her suspicions had been the truth.