CHAPTER 79: A LITTLE DISAPPOINTMENT GOES A LONG WAY

Leila and Theo follow the staff toward a corner of the dining area, where a long oval table sits arranged to fit exactly twelve people. From afar, Theo notices two empty seats — right in the middle of the table, clearly reserved for them.

The other ten ladies are already seated, and they are... a sight.

Most of them are dressed in what Theo can only describe as over-dressed to death.

Lavish outfits, oversized hats, elbow-length gloves, glittering brooches, ridiculous fans, and accessories that seem to exist purely to scream for attention.

Everything about them screams trying too hard.

All but three ladies, but one stands out among the rest.

There’s one lady who stands apart from the others.

She’s wearing a deep merlot coat-dress that skims her calves, her gloves and heels perfectly matched, her dark hair pulled into a flawless chignon. She doesn’t look like a society lady, she looks like a monarch surveying her territory. Elegant, imposing, quietly terrifying.

Theo knows instantly she’s the leader. And he’s positive she is not the mayor’s wife, Veronica Shutter.

The woman stands behind the chair positioned directly across from the two empty seats, Leila’s and his.

Theo smiles to himself. So this is a trial.These ladies are the judges.And the articles are the plaintiffs.

There’s another lady watching them with such deep hatred that Leila frowns the moment their eyes meet.

Margaret Alicia Blackwood. I forgot she’s a member of this club.

Leila sighs inwardly. This lunch is going to be exhausting.

She straightens her posture a little, preparing to walk straight into the coming social "war."

Margaret, on the other hand, is seething.

If looks could kill, Theo and Leila would’ve died several times already.

Theo notices Margaret, but he doesn’t feel the same dangerous vibe he gets from the lady in merlot.

A woman — the youngest among them — wearing a body-hugging, plunging neckline, above-the-knee red spandex dress, complete with white elbow-length gloves, walks toward them like a supermodel in ridiculously high red stilettos.

She puts on a fake smile Theo can sense from a mile away. And he can literally smell her perfume long before she’s within conversational distance.

She approaches Leila, grabs her hands like they’ve been best friends for years, and squeals,

"You must be Leila Montrose! You look absolutely stunning in this classic tweed suit!"

Her voice is high and pitchy.

Leila smiles politely, even though she wants to scrunch her nose, but she keeps walking toward the table, still trapped by the woman in red.

Celeste keeps chirping.

"I’m Celeste Marrow. My husband is Paul Marrow — you know, the media mogul. He owns, like, almost all newspapers in Concordia!"

In a few steps, Leila, Theo, and Celeste arrive at the table.

The other ladies, except the leader, Margaret, and another woman in a cream rib-knit ensemble: a fitted long-sleeve top paired with a matching midi skirt that moves with a soft, fluid stretch, stand waiting.

Her look is understated but impossibly polished, the kind of quiet luxury only old political money can pull off. Nude heels and a small structured handbag finish the picture: refined, tasteful, never trying too hard.

Theo suspects this is the mayor’s wife, Veronica Shutter.

The other ladies surround them and introduce themselves one by one. They all seem very accommodating and welcoming.

"Please, let me introduce you to our Madam Mayor, Mrs. Shutter," Celeste says, still clutching Leila’s hand and half dragging her toward their seats.

When they arrive, Celeste gestures with theatrical pride.

"This is Mrs. Veronica Shutter. I think you must recognize her from TV."

"Oh! And that is Margaret Blackwood. I believe you know her already. Isn’t Montrose Corporation involved in some dealings with Blackwood Enterprise in the past?" Celeste adds, without a single breath.

It is public knowledge that the Montroses and Blackwoods do not get along. Even though the families never fight in public — physically or verbally — the rumors never stop.

So Celeste’s comment is a direct poke at the rumor. She wants to see how they react.

Another lady, who introduced herself as Beatrice Frolly, fans herself dramatically and chimes in,

"Ah yes, we should make sure they don’t sit next to each other. Or we might see a real fight! Ho ho ho ho..."

She laughs obnoxiously.

The other ladies join with their own over-the-top laughter.

"Mrs. Montrose, it is nice to finally meet you. I am Veronica Shutter." Veronica bows slightly to Leila, but she doesn’t offer a handshake across the table.

She gestures subtly toward the lady in merlot, her voice swelling with pride. "And this is Baroness Maristella Voss, aunt to King Killian of Valestria. She honors us today with her rare presence. We should all thank Her Ladyship for joining us."

She begins applauding, and the rest of the ladies mimic her like puppets on strings.

Leila and Theo can only applaud politely, at least in appearance.

"Please, take your seats," Veronica says, though she herself doesn’t sit. She’s waiting, clearly, for the Baroness to be seated first.

A staff member pulls out the Baroness’s chair, and she sits with that effortless elegance that doesn’t come from practice, but from believing the world belongs to her.

Only after she settles does Veronica finally sit.

The other ladies follow with synchronized grace, and only Leila and Theo remain standing.

Leila smiles at all of them, bows slightly, and says, "Your Ladyship, Mrs. Shutter, and all the ladies, thank you for your kindness in inviting me and my daughter."

She lightly nudges Theo forward. "This is my daughter, Theodora Montrose."

Theo knows it’s his cue to perform.

He gives them his best sweet, innocent smile and bows deeper than Leila did. "Your Ladyship, Mrs. Shutter, and all respected ladies, my name is Theodora Montrose. It is a pleasure to be here."

Then he lifts his head and looks straight at the Baroness.

The Baroness’s breath hitches. Just barely.

The next second, she smiles kindly – too kindly – and gestures at the empty chairs. "Please, take your seats."

Once Leila and Theo sit, Veronica continues, "Leila — may I call you Leila? Thank you for coming on such short notice. I was worried it would be too rushed. I know how busy you must be."

The Baroness adds smoothly, "It was my doing. I arrived in Arvion without notice, and I asked Veronica to arrange a meeting. I wished to meet the two ladies who have been making quite the name for themselves in the papers."

She says all of this while looking only at Theo, never once acknowledging Leila.

Her mind is rattled. Completely.

The hair.

That hair.

Pure snow-white. Natural. Untouched.

The one thing the Baroness has tried decades and could never achieve.

And now here, sitting across from her, is a sixteen-year-old girl wearing it like it’s nothing.

What unsettles her more is the aura. Her own overwhelming presence, her silent pressure, has no effect on Theo.

None.

Her aura has been intimidating people her entire life, ever since she realized she could drown a room with it simply by existing. She has never bothered to control it. Why should she? Fear gets results.

But this girl?

Nothing. Not even a flinch.

In her mind, it’s 2–0 in Theo’s favor.

And she hates that.

Her gaze lingered on that impossible hair, pure snow white, untouched by pigment, shimmering like spun frost. It should have belonged to her.

Not to some sixteen-year-old child with soft manners and innocent dresses.

Not to someone who had done nothing to earn it.

Baroness’ lips curved politely, but something hot and poisonous coiled in her chest.

Envy, sharp and immediate.

How dare this girl possess something she — a Voss — could not?

Theo, on the other hand, relaxes completely. When he first felt the shift in mana density, he’d assumed something dangerous was waiting for them inside the Opaline Terrace.

But now, sitting at the luncheon table among the ladies of the Arvion High Société, he recognizes the Baroness is the one leaking mana.

It’s such a rookie move that Theo dismisses her instantly as someone incapable of posing any real danger to Leila.

Any mage with even basic magical education should know how to stop their mana from leaking. Mana is their power; they need it to cast. Constantly leaking mana usually means one of two things:

The mage’s own mana reserve is full and they can’t store any more —

or they’re deliberately releasing mana bit by bit to create an aura meant to intimidate others.

Theo believes the Baroness is a little of both. The mana leaking from her is raw, unrefined, the kind that comes from someone who doesn’t truly know how to control it.

And a mage who lacks mana control is never a powerful mage.

Thus, she poses no danger to them.

When he first entered the building, he’d sensed the mana source coming from the Baroness’ direction. He’d actually felt a spark of excitement at the idea of meeting another mage in this mana deprived, magicless world.

But now, he’s a little disappointed.

So he stops taking her seriously altogether.

Theo’s entire demeanor shifts, from slightly stiff, polite, proper, and distant... to perfectly at ease, with a faint, unmistakable hint of condescension, as if he’s the elder in this room full of "high society."

It stuns the ladies at the table.

Especially Margaret.

She had expected Leila and Theo to show up wearing outdated clothes, trying too hard to look wealthy, sitting clumsily among elites, stumbling over their words.

Instead, they walked in looking the complete opposite.

Clothes-wise, they look more elegant and "old money" than most of the women here, including Mrs. Shutter. The way they carry themselves is elegant and subtle.

If Margaret were honest, she’d admit they’re on the same level as the Baroness.

But she would never say that out loud.

Instead, she looks up at Leila and says, "Leila, as Mrs. Shutter mentioned, we’re so lucky you could make it without any trouble."

She smiles wickedly.

"I heard that a few months ago, Thea ran away with a boy. That she lived with him for almost a week. Is that true?"

The ladies gasp.

And start murmuring:

"Ran away? With a boy?"

"Living together? For a week?"

"A young lady and a man, alone for a week?"

"Oh my god! That’s scandalous!" Beatrice Frolly says with far too much delight.

Leila frowns, her lips pressed together.

Theo smiles.