Find the One Who Abandoned Me - Chapter 65

“But Lady Carolie, there’s no finer fabric available in the empire right now!”

“How can there not be?!”

Carolie’s voice rang through the room again.
The servants let out quiet sighs, but couldn’t hide their amused smiles as they continued carrying in bolts of luxurious fabric.

Now thirteen years old, Carolie had grown tall like her father her lean silhouette well-suited to the role of a demanding young lady.

“You’re telling me my sister’s debutante dress is going to be made from this common cloth? Are you trying to embarrass the whole family?!”

“Carolie, it’s really not that bad,” Calliope offered, lounging comfortably on the sofa.

Carolie spun around, eyes wide and dramatic.

“‘Not that bad’ isn’t good enough! And why are you, the one wearing it, so unconcerned?!”

“Well… it might not be perfect, but this is the best fabric currently available in the empire.”

“Then go find something better!”

Our spirited Carolie had lost none of her boldness or confidence.

Calliope, now eighteen and with the poise of an adult, smiled quietly and motioned for her sister to come over. Carolie, still huffing, eventually came to sit beside her.

Calliope’s pale hand reached out and gently smoothed back Carolie’s vibrant red hair. Though her hands weren’t soft—hardened from years of sword training—the feel of her touch still comforted the younger girl.

“The fabric is fine. I like it. But…”

“But what?”

“I don’t like any of the designs.”

Carolie began flipping through the design books that the servants had spread around the room to assist the dressmaker. All of them showcased dazzling, trendy gowns—none of which seemed problematic.

“Why not? What’s wrong with them?”

Carolie asked with genuine curiosity.

“Carolie, high-ranking nobles don’t follow fashion—they set it.”

“That may be true… but wouldn’t it be safer to go with a trend for a debutante ball?”

“This is my debut, isn’t it?”

Carolie’s expression flattened immediately.

“Right. And it’s also the day your fiancé debuts, too.”

“You catch on quickly,” Calliope said with a laugh, brushing her sister’s hair again. This time, Carolie didn’t look pleased.

“But I’m still the main attraction. The debutante is the flower of the ball. That said… I have no intention of looking like a flower. I need something new.”

“If you want to commission an original design at this point, it’s too late. The top designers are probably all booked already. Even if you call in favors under the Marquis’ name, it’ll be tough.”

“Then I’ll use someone not famous.”

“What? You’re going to trust your debut dress to an unknown designer?”

Calliope smiled easily and nodded.

“There’s someone I have in mind. Jack?”

She called for Jack, who—for once—wasn’t yawning nearby. Having clearly gotten a good night’s sleep, he looked unusually fresh-faced and alert.

“Do you remember the clothes you bought me the day you brought me in?”

“What? Jack bought you clothes?”

Carolie’s eyes snapped toward him suspiciously, clearly imagining something outrageous. But Jack, ever unbothered, simply put his hands behind his back and thought for a moment.

Ah, that day.
The day he had first brought her home. The tailor shop they’d stopped by then…

“Yes!”

He answered with confidence.

“Why are you so proud of that?!”

“Because I have nothing to be ashamed of!”

Jack was clearly thinking of the tailor who had treated Calliope like a servant—and the woman who had walked off with a tip meant for a noble’s assistant. Her bored, dismissive voice still rang faintly in his ears:
“Next. Next.”

“What gave you the right to buy her clothes?!”

“The Marquis ordered me to!”

“Oh. Well, then fine.”

Satisfied, Carolie turned back to Calliope. She was sipping freshly steeped tea when she finally spoke.

“See if that tailor shop still exists. If it does, bring someone from there to me.”

“And when exactly do you want me to bring them?”

Calliope batted her lashes innocently.

“What are you waiting for? 5… 4… 3…”

“Ahhh!!”

Jack bolted from the room before she could reach “one.” The rush of air knocked several design sketches off the table.

“What’s his problem?”

“He’s been scolded enough times for being slow, that’s all,” Calliope replied with a light laugh.

Carolie glanced at the door, suddenly feeling a bit sorry for Jack.

Maybe she’d been too harsh.

As Carolie stared at the doorway, Calliope turned to the dressmaker.

“Leave the fabric. It’s not bad. I like the color too.”

“Th-thank you, my lady.”

“Don’t be too upset,” Calliope told the designer gently.
“Let’s schedule the dress for my birthday party instead. It’s not long after the debutante ball—can I reserve a slot now?”

“Of course, my lady! I’ll design a dress that suits your taste perfectly!”

Although the designer said it was fine, her pride was clearly stung. Still, she nodded with quiet determination.

Calliope smiled faintly. That kind of resolve isn’t so bad.
The designer left, accepting only the price of fabric for a single dress.

It was nearly midnight when Jack finally returned.

And with him came two rather disheveled women.

They tumbled out of the carriage, pale-faced and gagging as though trying to keep their stomachs in check.

“H-have you lost your mind?! Who drives a carriage that fast?!”

“R-Romanda! Don’t talk like that—we’re in a noble’s house now… ughh—”

Celia couldn’t hold it in and bent over, throwing up near the bushes.

It was indeed Romanda, the owner of the tailor shop, and her former employee, Celia—the very same women Calliope had met four years ago, before she ever entered House Anastas.

Jack, just as unkempt, stepped down after them, casually scratching his head.

Why are we even bringing them here? They’re just commoners who make clothes for other commoners.

In his mind, the answer was obvious—if they were actually talented, they’d have already been hired by a noble family.

But Calliope clearly thought differently.

“This way.”

Jack led them into the drawing room. The two women, still dressed in travel-wrinkled, dusty clothes, shrank in embarrassment as they stepped into the lavish space.

They had barely had time to change or pack. Jack had barged into their shop, ordered them to bring designs immediately, and practically shoved them into the carriage. When they hesitated, he’d threatened them with punishment.

By the time the carriage took off—blazing fast—they’d started to wonder if they were being kidnapped.
Thankfully, they’d actually arrived at a noble estate.

“Wait here.”

Jack closed the drawing room door behind them.

Neither Romanda nor Celia dared to sit on the gold-trimmed furniture. They stood awkwardly, glancing around.

“W-we should probably sit before the lady comes, right?”

“Don’t we need permission first?”

“R-right… I guess you’re right.”

“…Hey, doesn’t that guy seem familiar?”

“Huh? You too? I thought he looked kind of familiar, like maybe he visited once before?”

“But someone from this kind of estate? Coming to our little shop?”

As they whispered, trying to make sense of things, the door creaked open.

“You’re here. Sit.”

Calliope entered.

Her long white hair shimmered like silver thread, her crimson eyes darker than rubies—an unforgettable combination.

Celia immediately recognized her.

“It’s her! That girl from back then!”

“Haha, so you do remember.”

Romanda stood frozen, mouth agape. She hadn’t even imagined it could be her.

Calliope flicked her fingers upward.

“Close your mouth.”

She seated herself across from them, while Jack stood silently behind her—like a proper attendant.
The contrast from that day was striking.

It’s really her… that girl…

Romanda was already panicking. Did she bring us here to punish us for how we treated her?

To be honest, she had looked like a nobody back then, dressed in ragged clothes. But still—Romanda kicked herself for not realizing who she was, even after watching her spend money without hesitation.

She dropped to her knees.

“I’m so sorry! Please forgive me!”

“H-huh?! I-I’m sorry too!”
Celia quickly followed Romanda’s lead and knelt beside her.

“What are you doing?” Celia whispered.

“Why do you think she called us here?!”

“I don’t know…”

“You think this is a reward? She’s probably here to punish us for acting so arrogant that day!”

“If she were going to do that, wouldn’t she have done it already?”

“Who knows? Nobles are the type to wake up one morning and suddenly crave some snail seared in butter with salt, pepper, parsley, and edible flowers for breakfast!”

Celia blinked at the sheer speed and absurdity of the rant. Her head spun.

“I can hear everything.”

Calliope’s voice cut clean through Romanda’s rambling. She froze.
Romanda lifted her head, eyes trembling.

“Yes, nobles can be like that. Wake up thinking of something unpleasant and take it out on someone—randomly. That sort of thing does happen.”

“S-so that’s why we’re here?”

Calliope smiled.

“Unfortunately for you, this isn’t a punishment. Now sit. It’s tiresome talking down to people.”

“Y-yes, of course!”

Romanda stood up quickly, and Celia scrambled to follow.
They sat nervously on the elegant sofa—still dressed in wrinkled, dusty clothes from a long day of work and travel.

The floor was so spotless it practically gleamed—unlike the clothes they brought with them.

Calliope spoke first.

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