You’ll Regret Stealing Him from Me — My Sister Who Took My Fiancé and Celebrated Was a Fool - Chapter 20

Several evenings later, escorted by Lord Maximilian, I visited the mansion of a certain military aristocrat.

Tonight’s event was a mid-sized party. A relatively casual gathering hosted by a military noble family closely affiliated with the Liebenfelds. According to the information Lord Maximilian had shared beforehand, this was an esteemed lineage that had fought alongside the Liebenfelds for generations on the battlefield.

“Are you nervous?”

Lord Maximilian’s gentle voice reached me. He had been gazing out the window but now turned his eyes toward me, concern and consideration evident in his gaze.

“Yes, just a little.”

When I answered honestly, he gave a small smile. Softer than his usual stern expression. Seeing it eased my tension slightly.

“Don’t worry. Everyone here is good people.”

His words were firm.

“No one cares about stiff formalities. No one expects pretentious conversation. Just be sincere. They’ll welcome someone as earnest as you.”

He was looking out for me, his own way of encouragement. The thought made me smile.

“Thank you. Hearing that does put me at ease.”

The carriage arrived in front of the mansion, and Lord Maximilian stepped out first, offering me his hand. As I took it and descended, a grand estate stood before us.

After exchanging greetings with the host at the entrance, we were guided toward the venue.

With my hand resting lightly on Lord Maximilian’s arm, we stood before large double doors. A butler respectfully opened them, and from beyond, lively chatter spilled out. Far louder and more unrestrained than the refined conversations at civil aristocrats’ parties.

The moment the doors opened.

I froze in place.

The sight that greeted me was unexpected. No, perhaps “disorienting” was the better word. It was nothing like what I had imagined.

There was almost no extravagant decoration.

No opulent tapestries embroidered with gold thread, no dazzling chandeliers, no pillars adorned with colorful flowers. It was nothing like the civil aristocratic parties I was accustomed to. The sheer contrast made my eyes widen in surprise.

Instead, simple military banners hung neatly along the walls. Less decoration, more symbols of pride.

The lighting was practical, evenly distributed without excessive ornamentation. Bright enough for easy conversation, with no harsh shadows obscuring faces.

The tablecloths were plain, adorned with minimal floral arrangements. Just simple white linen with small single-vase placements. At a civil aristocrat’s party, the centerpiece would have been an elaborate floral display.

Even the floor was left bare, its polished wooden texture exposed rather than hidden beneath carpets. Footsteps echoed pleasantly against it.

“What’s wrong?”

Lord Maximilian noticed my hesitation, his expression tinged with concern.

“Ah, no I was just a little surprised.”

“I see.”

He glanced around the venue before offering a wry smile.

“It’s not what you’re used to, is it? But this is standard for military aristocracy. We disdain extravagance and value practicality. That’s our way. The civil officials call it ‘cheap,’ ‘barbaric,’ or ‘uncultured.'”

“Those people are wrong. It’s certainly different from what I’m familiar with, but that doesn’t justify such words.”

The thought of Lord Maximilian being spoken to like that made anger flare in my chest.

“But I suppose I was startled precisely because it’s unfamiliar. My apologies. So, this is what a military aristocrat’s party is like?”

I took another look, this time observing rather than reacting.

The decorations were minimal but deliberately placed. Never obstructing movement, only where necessary. The banners were evenly spaced at the four corners, lending structure to the space.

The lighting was adjusted for conversation neither too bright nor too dim, just enough to clearly see expressions. A deliberate choice favoring function over flair.

Even the table arrangement was different. Long tables instead of round ones, allowing more people to converse at once. A stark contrast to the scattered small round tables typical of civil aristocratic gatherings.

Everything was efficient. Purposeful. This wasn’t a party for show it was for camaraderie. That intent permeated every detail.

And the food? Simple, hearty fare. Substance over presentation.

No elaborate plating, no artistic garnishes. Just heaping platters of roasted meat, straightforward vegetable stews, and dense bread. Meals meant to sustain soldiers.

At civil aristocratic parties, each dish was a masterpiece, meticulously arranged with balanced colors, varying heights, and calculated sauce drizzles. Too beautiful to eat.

This was nothing like the parties I knew. It felt like a different world.

Unbidden, suggestions bubbled up in my mind.

—If they rearranged the decorations, it could be more elegant. Flowers along the walls, draped fabrics from the ceiling, it would soften the atmosphere.

—A little more care in plating would elevate the dishes visually. Some herbs, a refined sauce, it would feel more sophisticated.

—Even the tablecloths could use a better selection.

I bit my lip, forcing the thoughts aside. Offering unsolicited advice would be presumptuous.

And when I really thought about it objectively this wasn’t “inferior.”

This was their tradition. A style honed over years, something they valued. Judging it by my standards would be arrogant. To claim the civil aristocratic way was “right” and this was “wrong” that was sheer hubris.

I glanced around again.

And then I noticed.

The attendees were genuinely enjoying themselves.

Laughter rang out freely. Conversations flowed effortlessly. They clapped each other on the back, spoke loudly, and exchanged easy smiles. No restraint, no pretense. Just open, honest emotion.

A rare sight at civil aristocratic parties, where laughter was always measured, always refined. Here, it was different.

But it existed here—naturally, comfortably.

No one minded the simple decorations.

No one complained about the plain food.

Because that wasn’t what mattered to them.

There was no extravagance, but there was warmth.

No opulence, but there was ease.

They were simply relishing time with comrades. Bonding built on the deep trust of those who had fought side by side, who had entrusted their lives to one another.

That was their party.