The Villainess Does Not Want to Die

Chapter 40



Chapter 40: At the Ballroom

When I smiled, the man looked slightly flustered. It was understandable—watching the protagonist dance with the man Eileen seemed to like was enough to make anyone laugh.

Eileen didn’t stand a chance. Not against that girl. Maybe against the Emperor’s daughter, but certainly not her.

I got up and moved to another seat. Though the ballroom was crowded, its vastness kept it from feeling cramped.

Couples danced gracefully, their eyes glimmering with affection—whether newfound or preexisting—making for a beautiful sight. 

Neither their faces nor their dresses were particularly remarkable, yet they shone brighter than anyone else in the room.

The sight made me feel a sudden pang of melancholy. I would never experience such happiness. I was too much of a fool to even know what I truly wanted.

Shaking my head to rid myself of such thoughts, I sat down and watched the dancers. 

I fiddled with my corset, trying to ease its tightness, when a group of women suddenly approached me.

The woman who seemed to be their leader addressed me, her tone blatantly rude.

“White hair, red eyes, pale skin… You must be Lady Marisela of the House of Vitelsbach, correct?”

I glanced at her briefly but didn’t respond. I didn’t know her, so what did it matter?

“I didn’t expect you not to answer,” she said, her voice dripping with mock surprise.

As I rose, considering grabbing a glass of wine, she followed me. Standing beside me, she began talking without invitation.

“Well, it’s just that I don’t care since I already have a fiancé, but my friend here wanted to meet your older brother.”

I poured wine into a glass, picked up two small biscuits, and munched on them noisily, gulping the wine down in one go. The warmth spread across my face.

The woman frowned openly, her displeasure clear. “Excuse me, Lady?”

“Get lost.”

The sudden command clearly upset her. The atmosphere turned tense.

“Isn’t that a bit too rude? You could’ve just—”

“Not rude? You show up uninvited, huddle like crows, and say you want to meet Libian? That’s rude. You won’t even say who you are, too lowly to introduce yourself, but eager to latch onto a wealthy man. And yet you wouldn’t dare approach someone truly important. Am I just easy prey for you?”

Her face twisted in anger.

I hadn’t expected to deal with this sort of person on the first day.

“How disgraceful. Smearing white powder on that plain face gave you some confidence, didn’t it?”

I splashed the remaining wine in my glass at her. Unfortunately, it didn’t stain her pristine dress, merely splattering a few drops onto the floor.

The woman glared at me, trembling with fury, before gathering her entourage and retreating. As she turned away, she muttered just loud enough for me to hear.

“…You’re nothing but the daughter of a common whore.”

For a moment, I considered smashing a glass over her head. But causing a scene here would only get me dragged away by the guards—and likely to some grimy cell.

Knowing my temper, the original me would’ve likely caused a ruckus. But there was no point in dwelling on that. I was born this way, after all.

“Why does something like this always happen?” I muttered, sighing as I made my way to a quieter corner.

As the second and third songs played and the mood began to rise, a few boisterous men approached, inviting me to the tea room for a chat. 

Lacking interest, I dismissed them with indifference. They soon gave up, likely aware that there were plenty of other women at the ball.

After all, the ballroom was a battlefield where women sought to snag the most desirable men. It wasn’t surprising that the ratio of women to men was skewed.

Though it wasn’t as extreme as I’d read in some books—where one man might have three women vying for him—it was still noticeable. The imperial palace’s prestige likely kept things from becoming too chaotic.

The music reverberated in my head, making it ache. I found myself resenting Raphael for confiscating my cigarette holder.

In the middle of the ballroom, surrounded by people, the golden-haired girl exuded an undeniable presence.

As I watched her for a long moment, our eyes met—just as they had with the man earlier.

When the fourth song ended, the golden-haired girl, her forehead glistening with sweat, sat down next to me to catch her breath.

Though I knew who she was, I avoided speaking to her, not wanting to engage. Predictably, she started the conversation.

“We made eye contact earlier, didn’t we?”

“If my staring offended you, I apologize.”

“Oh no, that’s not it! You’re just so beautiful that I thought I’d come over and chat with you! This is my first time at a ball, and I don’t know anyone here.”

Making quite an impression for her first ball. And she even approached me unprompted.

I wanted to leave.

“…I see.”

“Dancing three songs in a row is exhausting! My legs are starting to ache.”

She laughed bashfully and began stretching her thighs in an unseemly manner.

“Come to think of it, I should’ve introduced myself first. My name is Olivia Tanyan. It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

She extended her hand. I took it for a polite handshake.

“Likewise,” I replied.

Olivia’s expectant gaze reminded me I hadn’t introduced myself.

“Marisela Vitelsbach. Just call me Marie.”

Hearing my name seemed to please her immensely. Her already radiant face lit up even more as she smiled at me.

“Olivia, was it?”

“Yes.”

“You shouldn’t approach strangers so freely. If the person outranks you, it’s polite to wait for them to speak first.”

“Oh… so I shouldn’t have spoken to you until you addressed me?”

Her expression turned slightly troubled.

“It doesn’t matter to me. Just be careful when meeting others. There are a lot of cruel people in the world.”

Relieved, she nodded. We chatted about trivial things, the sort of conversation typical for girls our age. 

By the time the fifth song ended and the sixth began, Olivia stood, saying she had a dance partner waiting.

“Marie, we haven’t known each other long, but I’d love to meet you again! I don’t have any friends in the capital, and I’d like to be friends with you.”

She handed me a card and, pulling a pen from who-knows-where, pointed to a blank spot on the bottom right. 

The pen was slightly warm and damp, making me wonder if she’d kept it tucked somewhere… intimate.

Glancing at her chest, I erased the thought from my mind and wrote down my estate’s address.

Taking back the card and pen, she slipped the card into a hidden pocket in her skirt and placed the pen between her breasts.

Watching her retreat, I noticed a familiar group approach and surround her.

Looking closer, I saw it was the same woman who had insulted me earlier.

Olivia’s expression showed signs of distress, though it wasn’t fear—it was more like discomfort.

Ah, so this is one of those scenarios. The damsel in distress, saved by the dashing male protagonist…

But life doesn’t always follow a script.

If I left this alone, that girl might turn out to be the one who puts an end to me someday. Perhaps it was time to stop being passive and do something for once.

I stood, downed a glass of wine, then another, and another—about six in total. The alcohol hit me just enough to warm my cheeks.

The women still hadn’t released Olivia. In fact, they seemed to be shoving her now.

Oh, she fell. I wondered if her dress was dirtied.

The area wasn’t crowded, so no prince charming seemed to be rushing to her aid.

You live like someone waiting to die? Raphael’s words echoed in my head.

He wasn’t wrong. So what if I caused a bit of trouble? It wouldn’t make things worse.

As I approached, Olivia’s eyes met mine. Though slightly frightened, they weren’t paralyzed by terror.

For the first time in ages, I let out an unapologetic burp and walked up to the group. The leader noticed me and muttered something—likely another insult.

To hell with manners. Why bother playing nice when they clearly didn’t deserve it?

I grabbed a glass, marched forward, and smashed it over the leader’s head.

There was no dramatic sound, just the quiet shattering of glass. Tiny shards dug into my hand, stinging but not too painful.

The woman let out a cliché scream as blood began trickling from her head.

All eyes turned to me, while Olivia looked utterly bewildered.

The music continued, the dancers’ footsteps falling in time with the beat.

Blood dripped from my hand. The surrealness of the moment made me tremble.

I extended my glass-shard-filled hand toward Olivia, then thought better of it and switched to my uninjured one.

“There are so many cruel people in the world,” I said, chuckling at the absurdity of it all.


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