You’ll Regret Stealing Him from Me — My Sister Who Took My Fiancé and Celebrated Was a Fool - Chapter 7

After the engagement was called off, I spent the following days buried in the aftermath.

There were individual apologies to the party guests, calculations and arrangements for compensation, expressions of gratitude to the staff, and instructions for moving forward. The tasks piled up endlessly. Above all, since the attendees were among the kingdom’s most influential nobles, not a single misstep could be allowed. Every response had to be handled with meticulous care.

For Baroness Hamilton, a special assortment of sweets; for Count Monteverdi, a rare wine; for the Dowager Duchess of Windsorfield, a handwritten explanation and apology. Each gesture was tailored to the recipient’s tastes and status, layering apologies in the most fitting manner.

During this time, word reached me that Isabella was actively spreading malicious rumors about me. Whispers circulated through high society, claiming I had stolen my sister’s achievements. Worse, Isabella herself was fueling these rumors, with the full backing of the Vandering Ducal House. They were leveraging their authority to pressure others into accepting these claims as truth.

Albert, the butler assisting me with daily affairs, delivered the report with visible concern. His expression was tense.

“My lady, should we not prioritize addressing these rumors?”

“No, Albert. This comes first.”

My reply was firm. Fulfilling my responsibility to our guests took precedence over my reputation. The rumors could wait, but apologies and compensation for those who had suffered discomfort at the party were urgent. My priorities were clear.

A week later, the major aftermath was finally settled. Yet there was no time to rest. The situation had worsened beyond expectation. Perhaps I should have heeded Albert’s warning.

Thanks to Isabella’s fervent efforts, the rumors had spread throughout the royal capital. The influence of the Vandering Ducal House was vast, and many noble families bowed to their authority. The sheer weight of numbers threatened to overwhelm me.

Of course, some nobles knew the truth. Among the party guests, quite a few still believed in my innocence. But rumors were insidious, some had already begun accepting them as fact. “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” they said, and skeptical glances toward me had undeniably multiplied.

At any rate, the rumors had to be dealt with. As I pondered my next move, Father summoned me.

He seemed to have something important to discuss. After preparing myself, I headed to his study where I found him waiting with a stranger.

The man appeared at least a decade older than me, likely in his mid-thirties. An old scar ran from his left temple down to his cheek—a deep mark, like a battlefield medal. His features were rugged, his gaze sharp. He carried the taut air of a soldier, his bearing dignified despite his simple attire. A noble, no doubt, and one who had seen war.

Who was he? I turned my questioning eyes to Father.

“Seraphina, allow me to introduce you.”

Father spoke with unusual formality.

“This is Lord Maximilian Liebenfeld. Head of House Liebenfeld and a general of the royal army.”

“Maximilian. I dislike formalities. Call me Maximilian or Max.”

His voice was low and steady. His speech bore the brevity of a soldier, yet it wasn’t unpleasant. If anything, it carried an unadorned sincerity.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lord Maximilian. I am Seraphina Altvier. Thank you for visiting us today.”

I offered a flawless curtsy, polished by years in high society. But he seemed slightly uncomfortable with such formalities.

“Ah, no need for stiff greetings. I’m not well-versed in social graces. Plain speech suits me better.”

He scratched his head awkwardly, a strangely human gesture that eased my tension slightly.

Maximilian Liebenfeld. The name was familiar. House Liebenfeld was a prestigious military family, known for producing generations of soldiers. Their battlefield achievements were numerous, and they enjoyed the royal family’s deep trust. Yet they were also known for rarely appearing in social circles. Too occupied with military duties, uninterested in glittering parties.

But why was he here? I couldn’t recall any special ties between House Altvier and House Liebenfeld.

“Seraphina.”

Father called my name with unusual gravity.

“Lord Maximilian is to be your new fiancé.”

“Wh—what?”

The unexpected declaration made my voice rise.

Him? My fiancé? It hadn’t even been a week since my previous engagement was broken. The speed of this new arrangement left me stunned. Given the recent scandal and the rumors now swirling about me, why would he agree to this?

Bewildered, I turned my gaze to Maximilian. He met my eyes steadily—no scorn, no pity. Just a quiet, searching sincerity.