A Noble Dress Scandel

With a mocking smirk on her face, Vivian calmly returned to her seat, her every movement exuding the poise and grace befitting her noble status. She crossed her legs elegantly and tilted her head slightly, her sharp gaze never leaving Isla. The way she sat, so unhurried, so composed, only served to deepen the tension in the air.

"Lady Isla," Vivian's voice was as smooth as silk, yet laced with quiet authority. "I hope you understand the consequences of your actions. Or do you still need me to spell it out for you before you start claiming that I ordered my lady-in-waiting to bully you?"

The words, though spoken gently, struck Isla with the force of a slap. Her fingers twitched slightly as she clenched them into fists at her sides. She wanted to argue, to defend herself, to hurl accusations back at Vivian, but she knew she was already standing on dangerously thin ice. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest as she forced herself to meet Vivian's gaze, only to regret it instantly.

Vivian's eyes, cold and penetrating, seemed to pierce straight into her soul. There was no warmth, no trace of sympathy, just the calm confidence of someone who already knew she had won. Isla had seen that look before. It was the same gaze high-ranking noblewomen often gave to those they considered beneath them. Dismissive. Detached. Unbothered.

A shiver of humiliation ran down Isla's spine, but she quickly masked it, raising her chin slightly in defiance. She was not a fool, nor was she an inexperienced debutante unaware of the rigid rules of noble society. She knew exactly what she had done, and more importantly, she knew how grave the consequences would be.

Noblewomen, especially those of high rank, valued their pride above all else. They would never tolerate wearing something that had already been worn by another. A dress, in particular, was a symbol of status, wealth, and exclusivity. To be seen in a gown that had graced another woman's form was not only humiliating but utterly disgraceful. And if that other person was someone deemed inferior? It became an outright insult.

There had even been a scandal years ago in high society, one Isla had heard whispers of as a young girl. A dressmaker's apprentice had made the unfortunate mistake of allowing a noble lady to try on a commissioned gown before its intended owner. When the client discovered this, she had been enraged, feeling as though she had been handed a "second-hand" dress.

Meanwhile, the woman who had tried it on felt equally insulted, furious at having unknowingly worn something that belonged to another and had once be fitted while they were putting it on.

Neither of them purchased the dress in the end, and the entire incident severely damaged the dressmaker's reputation. The apprentice had been dismissed in disgrace, her fate unknown, and the dress itself? No one knew what had become of it, but it was said that no noblewoman would dare wear it, lest she risk the stain of scandal.

And now, Isla found herself in a similarly precarious position.

She had truly believed the dress was a gift from her most devoted admirer, Marquis Evander D'Arcy Montrevant. He had been the first nobleman to fall under her spell, her first class ticket into high society, and, so far, the only man who had remained infatuated with her for three years.

The reason why she charmed her years back was only because he was a rare find. Most noblemen grew bored of the ladies they admired within a year if there is no response to their love whisper, casting them aside for new conquests, but not Evander, most especially since he was under her spell.

He was not the wealthiest noble in the kingdom, nor the most powerful, but he was still an exceptional catch. Handsome, charming, and hopelessly smitten with her, he never hesitated to lavish her with gifts. Gold jewelry, embroidered shawls, exotic perfumes, anything she desired, he provided. He even wrote to her frequently, his letters filled with poetic praises, always addressing her as the most beautiful woman in the world.

So when the dress arrived, Isla had assumed, without question, that it was from him.

The servant delivering it had mistakenly handed it to her, and she hadn't thought twice before accepting it. The letter that accompanied it had only reinforced her belief.

"To the most beautiful woman in the world, forgive me for my lack of ability. I hope this can make it up to you."

How could she have suspected otherwise? The Marquis had missed the party the night before, leaving her vulnerable to ridicule and scorn. It made perfect sense that he was attempting to apologize with a grand gesture.

And even though the handwriting is different, she assumed that it was probably written by his assistant. Even when the dress didn't fit her perfectly, she dismissed it as a result of them not using her precise measurements.

And so, she had put it on, thinking only of how stunning she would look—how envious others would be when they saw her in such an exquisite gown.

It had been a deliberate act of vanity. She had wanted to flaunt it in front of Vivian, to prove that she too could wear something extraordinary. That she, too, could captivate a room.

Vivian had arrived that morning in a breathtakingly elegant gown, her beauty effortless and radiant as always and even more since she made the attempt to dress up today which she doesn't usually do. Isla had seethed at the sight, resenting how easily admiration was given to her. But now, with this dress, she could finally turn the tables.

Or so she had thought.

In her eagerness to bask in the attention, she had failed to notice the warning signs. She hadn't considered the fact that the head maid and butler had been absent when the dress was delivered.

She hadn't waited for their confirmation before donning it. By the time they returned, it was already too late. The guests had left, and Isla had proudly stepped out, fully dressed, just as Leonard and Vivian arrived home.

And now the truth crashed down on her like a tidal wave.

The dress was never meant for her.

It had been sent by Vivian's brother.

And worse still, it was insanely expensive.

Isla could barely breathe as she realized the depth of her mistake. This wasn't just a minor misunderstanding, it was a disaster. One that could ruin her already ruined standing in noble society further.

Humiliation burned deep in her chest, but what stung even more was the growing, festering resentment. Why? Why did things always turn out this way? Why was Vivian always the one to shine, while she was left to scramble for whatever she could grasp?

They were both noblewomen. They were both female. Yet, there was such an unfathomable difference between them.

Vivian had it all, wealth, beauty, status. The admiration of others came to her effortlessly. She didn't have to fight for attention or struggle to maintain her place. Meanwhile, Isla was constantly clawing her way up, trying to grasp even a fraction of what Vivian had, only to fall short every time.

It was unfair.

She was smarter. She was more jovial. If anything, she had more charm than Vivian. The only reason Vivian appeared more beautiful was because of the privileged upbringing she had received. If Isla had been given the same care, she would have been just as stunning, no, even more so.

But no matter how much she tried, she could never catch up.

She could never be Vivian.

And that thought filled her with nothing but burning, suffocating hatred.