You’ll Regret Stealing Him from Me — My Sister Who Took My Fiancé and Celebrated Was a Fool - Chapter 30

I spread out the documents I took from Roderick’s study on my desk. The sheer volume is staggering. Plans for multiple parties, one after another.

I carefully read through each one.

The decoration concept for this one is lovely. The schedule is meticulously detailed. The food arrangements from another event seem better. The staff instructions from this one are the most thorough.

I extract the best parts from different sets of documents, combining them all into a single, flawless plan.

The best decoration ideas, the most optimal food arrangements, perfect timing. I select all the finest elements to craft my ideal party plan.

Changing my sister’s handwriting into mine. Replacing her name with my own. Rewriting everything until it belongs to me.

I reorganize and refine it for myself.

It took time. It was exhausting, but I managed to complete it.

A thick, finalized plan now rests on my desk. With this, I can host the perfect party.

I’m tired, but filled with hope. A sense of accomplishment swells in my chest. With this, I can become perfect too.

The day after completing my new plan, I distributed it to the staff.

The level of detail was unprecedented.

The reception procedures, carriage directions, food serving order, musical performance timing, everything was meticulously outlined. Even potential issues and their solutions were accounted for.

The staff took the documents, flipping through them in surprise.

“This is incredibly clear,” one of the older staff members remarked, nodding approvingly.

“Much more straightforward than before,” another added while turning the pages.

“With this, everything should run smoothly.”

“There’s hardly any need for questions.”

“Every step is written in detail.”

“Even possible problems are accounted for.”

Their reactions surprised me. This was the power of a perfect plan.

Preparations progressed astonishingly well. No chaos like before.

The staff moved exactly as the plan dictated. I didn’t need to micromanage. Few questions arose. No signs of trouble appeared.

Reception setup, venue decorations, food arrangements, musician coordination. Everything advanced flawlessly, just as planned. Smoothly, seamlessly, perfectly.

With this, I could host the event with confidence.

This time, perfection would be mine.

There was none of the previous tension. Almost no anxiety. Because in my hands, I held the perfect plan.

Failure was impossible.

On the day of the party, I stood in the venue with unwavering confidence.

Preparations were flawless. Decorations were beautifully arranged, food was undergoing final adjustments in the kitchen, musicians were on standby, and staff were all in position. Everyone understood their roles after reviewing the plan.

All I had to do was act gracefully as the party unfolded.

No need to give orders. No need to rush around the venue. No need to panic. This was how it should be. The proper way for a hostess to conduct herself.

Standing elegantly, smiling gracefully, welcoming guests with poise. That was the hostess’s duty.

Guests began arriving, and the reception proceeded smoothly.

Name checks were completed without delays. Staff handled everything efficiently, greeting participants with smiles.

Carriage coordination was perfect. No traffic jams, no waiting guests. None of the previous chaos.

Guests guided into the venue started conversations with relaxed expressions. Some even voiced admiration upon seeing the setup.

“This time, everything feels so composed.”

“The atmosphere is much better than last time.”

Such comments reached my ears.

Food service began—orderly, perfectly timed. No mistakes like before.

The music started right on schedule, naturally enhancing the mood without disrupting conversations. Guests listened while continuing to chat happily.

Conversations flowed effortlessly. Smiles filled the room. No one looked uncomfortable. No one seemed eager to leave.

No need to rush. No need to run around. No need to give constant instructions.

This was the party I had envisioned. Watching the scene, I savored the satisfaction.

When the party concluded without incident, evaluations began coming in.

“This time, everything went smoothly.”

No problems. That’s right, there were none.

“A very safe party.”

Safe. Meaning no failures. An acceptable assessment.

“If you can maintain this level, it’s more than enough.”

Enough. Yes, it was enough. Nothing worthy of criticism.

“Much better than last time.”

“Finally, things are stabilizing.”

“No particular issues.”

Such comments continued. No criticism. No trouble. By all accounts, this was a success.

But.

No one said “magnificent.” No one called it “perfect.” No praise like “brilliant” or “masterful.” Just “safe,” “enough,” “no problems.”

Passing marks but not excellence. Not the “perfection” I sought.

A complicated emotion churned inside me. I couldn’t be satisfied.

This wasn’t it. This wasn’t the praise I wanted.

Still, it was progress. Not failing was significant.

From pitiful remarks like “better than last time” or “you’re trying,” the evaluations had shifted to “no problems” and “enough.”

At last, I felt like I was moving forward. If I continued like this, perhaps I could one day earn perfect praise.

A small, but certain hope.

Then, right at that moment rumors began circulating in high society.

A military noble’s party had supposedly been spectacular. It was becoming a hot topic.

Military nobles’ parties had never been noteworthy before.

Plain, unremarkable. Lacking glamour, lacking refinement. Until now, they were practically invisible in high society, looked down upon.

Yet suddenly, they were gaining attention.

“The most talked-about parties right now are the Liebenfelds’,” people said.

“They’ve created a new format enjoyable for both civil and military nobles.”

“They say it’s groundbreaking.”

“An innovative party unlike any before.”

“I’d love to attend!”

Such words spread like wildfire.

Groundbreaking? A military noble’s party?

And the Liebenfelds, that meant my sister’s new fiancé’s family? She married into a military noble house, so could it be?

A dreadful premonition crawled up my chest.

I looked into the host. The new lady of House Liebenfeld formerly Lady Seraphina of House Altvier.

The moment I heard that name, something inside me boiled over.

Why now?! Just as I was finally making progress! Just as I had begun to hope!

Like some cruel joke, rumors of my sister’s success spread.

She was supposed to be finished.

She married into the Liebenfelds, she was supposed to be done. Removed from high society, relegated to a military noble’s house.

Why is she succeeding again?!

Why is she still being noticed?!

I was supposed to be the one gaining attention now!

Is she trying to stand in my way?!

It took me three parties just to reach passing marks. Just to avoid criticism.

And my sister is being praised as “groundbreaking,” “magnificent.”

I barely scraped by on my third attempt.

My sister, who should have faded away, is now the talk of high society with some grand success.

And “groundbreaking”? Some unprecedented innovation? Unacceptable.

I can’t settle for this.

“Safe” isn’t enough.

I have to surpass her.

I have to become even more perfect.

Next time, a bigger party.

A more dazzling, flawless party.

If she’s called “groundbreaking,” I’ll surpass it. No matter what.