A Dress That Cost A Fortune

Author Note: This chapter was written when I was feeling sick and tired because I've not gotten any sleep since yesterday and not much this week because of my exams so I hope you people will understand if there is any error or mistake in the book and also please wish me luck.

Seeing the way the female protagonist glared at her, eyes burning with unfiltered hatred, Vivian felt a flicker of satisfaction coil within her chest. Isla looked as though she wanted nothing more than to strangle her right then and there, her fury barely contained beneath a thin veil of composure. The sight was amusing, deliciously so.

For a moment, Vivian was tempted to smirk, to let Isla see just how thoroughly she had lost. But she knew better than to be so careless. Instead, she stifled her amusement with a weak, falsely polite cough, as if she were merely clearing her throat rather than reveling in her victory.

Composing herself, she spoke with smooth elegance. "Thank you, Your Grace," she said, offering a courteous smile. But the moment those words left her lips, her gaze sharpened as she turned to Anna. "And I believe it is time for Anna to explain her unexpected actions."

The room fell deathly silent.

Vivian didn't need to glance at Isla to know what she was feeling. She could feel it—see it in the way Isla's shoulders tensed, the way her fingers curled into fists, the way her face twisted ever so slightly, caught between shame and barely contained rage.

Vivian knew Isla well enough to understand what must be going through her mind. She knows. Isla knew full well that Vivian wasn't demanding an explanation out of some sense of justice. This wasn't about the slap. She didn't care about the slap. Vivian simply wanted the truth to be spoken aloud, to be put on display for all to see, That much was obvious. No, Vivian merely wanted to hear the reason behind it, to confirm what she already suspected or what Isla thought she had suspected, And the realization stung more than the slap itself.

And Isla knew.

No one in this room had the slightest concern for her. To them, she was not a noblewoman of standing, not someone deserving of respect or dignity. No, she was merely a source of entertainment, a fool they could mock and ridicule at their leisure. Her presence was tolerated, but never valued. And now, as she stood there under the weight of their collective stares, she could feel the sharp edge of their disdain pressing into her skin like a blade.

Her body trembled, not from fear, but from barely restrained anger. Resentment swelled in her chest like a raging storm as she looked at Vivian and Anna, who stood before her with such arrogance, such self-assured righteousness, as if they held the very strings of fate in their hands.

That was what made it all the more satisfying.

Isla's body trembled, though not from fear—no, Vivian recognized that look. It was anger. Humiliation. Resentment. It was the expression of someone who realized they had been played, cornered like a rat in a trap.

And Vivian relished it.

But Anna… Anna was another matter entirely.

At the sound of Vivian's question, Anna's fury reignited like a blazing inferno. Her blood boiled at the mere memory of Isla flaunting what did not belong to her like the thief and the greedy person she had always been, defiling something that had been meant for her lady once again.

It was an insult, no, it was an offense of the highest order.

Anna felt her fingers twitch at her sides, the lingering sting of her earlier slap not nearly enough to quell the rage simmering beneath her skin. She wanted to hit Isla again, harder this time.

That first slap had been born of instinct, a knee-jerk reaction to the sheer audacity of what she had seen. But now? Now, it was personal. Now, it was fueled by righteous fury, by loyalty, by the utter disrespect Isla had shown to Vivian.

How dare she?

Anna's voice trembled with barely restrained wrath as she spoke.

"My lady," she began, her tone sharp as a blade, "the dress, accessories, and jewelry that Lady Isla is wearing do not belong to her. They were a personal gift sent to you by my lord, your elder brother."

A collective gasp rippled through the room.

Vivian's eyes flickered with something dark—something coldly triumphant. Perfect.

Anna, however, was far from finished.

"It is the very ensemble that my lord painstakingly commissioned from the finest artisans in the kingdom of Caelithra," she continued, each word dripping with contempt. "The most skilled dressmakers, the most renowned goldsmiths, only the best of the best, tasked with creating something truly worthy of my lady."

Her voice rose with each passing second, her emotions boiling over. "The entire order cost him no less than seven hundred and eighty-nine million gold, a sum that could be used to fund an entire army of thousands of men for months, a fortune that even the wealthiest families could never dream of spending was spent on a mere dress. And he did this for you, my lady, to honor your birthday and wedding anniversary."

Anna's chest heaved with fury. She was shaking now, not with fear, but with the need to do something, to punish Isla for what she had done.

"Because of the great distance between Caelithra and our empire, and due to the complexity of the order, the delivery was delayed until today," she continued, voice thick with venom. "And yet—" she turned, her glare locking onto Isla, "I find her wearing it!"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Shock, disbelief, scandal—every face in the room reflected the same mixture of emotions.

Caelithra was no ordinary kingdom. Though it was a vassal state under the empire, it was legendary. Its fashion, its art, its craftsmanship—it was unrivaled, a place where beauty was created with the finest hands, where the nobility sought treasures worth more than their weight in gold.

To wear something from Caelithra was to wear prestige itself.

Caelithra was no ordinary kingdom. Though it was one of the empire's vassal states, it was renowned far and wide for its unmatched expertise in fashion, art, cuisine, and entertainment. It was a place where luxury was crafted with meticulous care, where even the simplest garments could fetch a price that only the wealthiest could afford. The dressmakers of Caelithra were the most revered in the world, their craftsmanship rivaled by none. To possess a garment from their hands was a privilege granted to only the most distinguished. And yet, Isla, an insignificant noblewoman drowning in debt, had somehow dared to drape herself in such splendor, as if she were worthy of it.

And Isla, insignificant, powerless Isla, had dared to steal that prestige for herself.

Vivian took in the reactions around her, the growing murmurs, the gasps of astonishment, the dark glares thrown Isla's way. The scandal of it all was delicious.

But Isla?

Isla was crumbling.

Her face had gone deathly pale, her breathing uneven, shallow. She looked sick.

Seven hundred and eighty-nine million gold.

Seven hundred and eighty-nine million gold.

It was an unfathomable sum, a wealth her family could never hope to possess even back then when they were in their glorious day. And her family… Her stomach churned violently at the thought. They were already struggling, burdened by insurmountable debts, clawing desperately just to keep their heads above water.

The number repeated itself in her head like a curse, like a death sentence.

Her family… her already struggling family, drowning in endless debts, clawing desperately for survival…

How could they ever repay that sum?

They couldn't.

And worse—she knew what happened to nobles who couldn't repay their debts to other nobles.

She had taken something worth more than everything her family had ever owned combined. How could they possibly compensate for such a crime? Would they even be given the chance? Or would the punishment be swift and merciless?

Her stomach twisted violently. She felt like she might vomit.

She wanted to run. She wanted to wake up and realize this was all some cruel nightmare.

But the cold reality was undeniable.

All eyes were on her, waiting, judging.

She was trapped.

Her knees nearly gave out beneath her as dread wrapped around her like chains, suffocating, unrelenting. She had known humiliation before, but never like this, never a disgrace so absolute, so ruinous.

All eyes were on her now, watching, waiting, like vultures circling a dying creature.

And no one in this room, not a single person, would show her mercy.

Author Note: And also I don't know who needs to hear this but know that the character Isla, the female protagonist of the original novel is mentally not stable with the way she thinks not to talk of the fact that she is an overthinker so a lot of things from her perception is how being delusional in full.