For a moment, an eerie silence swallowed the room whole.
Not a single soul dared to speak—not the maids, not the butlers, not the Lancasters, and definitely not the groom's family. It was like time had frozen mid-breath, the air dense with unspoken shock.
Except for Mia.
Her mouth was still agape, eyes wide, and honestly, if she kept that open any longer, I was going to shove a pebble—or maybe a whole dinner roll—inside it. The longer the silence stretched, the more tempting the idea became.
Then, a soft, almost casual chuckle shattered the quiet like glass hitting marble.
Of course, it came from Lucian and Isolde.
Lucian leaned back in his chair, laughing like he had just heard a mildly amusing joke at a tavern, while Isolde tried to mask her amusement behind a delicate hand. But the sparkle in her eyes and the curve of her lips betrayed her mirth.
Lucian turned toward his wife, locking eyes. "What do you think, dear?" His voice oozed playfulness. "Shall we annul the marriage?"
The smirk dancing on his face was enough to spell the outcome, loud and clear—well, to everyone but Mia. She stood there, still frozen, as clueless as ever. 'Gods, she really is dumb sometimes.'
Isolde smiled—a serene, maternal kind of smile—and nodded. "Of course, if that's what our child wants."
Lucian's chuckle returned, heartier this time. Then his attention shifted to the groom's side. "My apologies, Curlts. But my son has requested to annul the arrangement, and as such, we will honor his wishes."
I turned to Mia just in time to see her reaction—and I wasn't disappointed.
Her jaw somehow managed to drop even further. At this rate, I half-expected a fly to zoom into her mouth. My pebble idea evolved into a full-on rock. Or a brick. Something dense enough to snap her out of it.
She started muttering under her breath, likely trying to process what just happened. I couldn't catch any of it, but watching her act like a broken AI loop was… oddly peaceful. 'Man, I really miss my phone. I could've made memes out of this.'
My attention finally drifted to the groom's family.
The father was a broad-shouldered man with sharp blue hair and matching cold eyes. His wife, likely the groom's mother, sat beside him—young, blonde-haired, her gaze unreadable. And then there was the bridegroom himself.
A younger man, blue-haired like his father, with striking golden eyes. His face was well-sculpted, body clearly trained, and he had that typical noble "I'm better than you" expression etched onto his face.
Handsome, sure. But weak. Mentally, spiritually. A hollow pride wrapped in expensive fabric.
After Lucian's declaration, the Curlts family bowed their heads, shame weighing heavy on their backs. The father mustered a polite, forced smile. "As you wish, Milords. It was an honor just to be in your presence."
His wife followed with her own graceful farewell. "We remain eternally grateful for the opportunity to associate with House Lancaster. We hope we may cross paths again in the future."
Isolde's expression didn't waver. Calm, thoughtful. "Of course," she said softly. "If your house still prospers, we might even attend your son's wedding someday."
That landed like a slap wrapped in silk.
Still, the parents took it in stride, rising gracefully despite the humiliation. Not a single crack in their mask.
And then their son ruined everything.
The boy jolted upright, his chair toppling backward with a dramatic clatter. Every head turned, eyes sharp as blades. His parents turned white as parchment.
"What are you doing?!" they cried in unison, panic lacing their voices.
But the fool stood firm, fury glowing in his golden eyes. The parents clenched their fists and mouthed silent prayers, likely hoping he wouldn't say something suicidal.
Too late.
He turned his glare on the Lancasters—on us. And nothing in his eyes resembled reason.
"You think just because you're a grand duke's family, you can do whatever you want?" he spat, trembling with rage.
Lucian smiled, leaning in slightly. "Yes," he said casually. "And?"
The room went silent again. Even the air felt heavier.
The boy flinched, caught completely off-guard by the blunt answer. His parents looked ready to faint.
He gritted his teeth, trembling with anger, then shifted his venomous glare to me.
"You!" he screamed, jabbing a finger at me like a toddler mid-tantrum. "You spineless brat! If you really want to take my girl, then fight me!"
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. "She's not your girl," I muttered. "And I'm not obliged to fight you, so no. Pass."
That only fueled his fire. He puffed out his chest, mistaking my refusal for cowardice.
"So the rumors were true," he sneered. "You're a stain on the great Lancaster family—a weak, pathetic noble who hides behind his name!"
He turned his head dramatically, like he was in a bad play. "Someone righteous and brave should be a Lancaster, not a trembling little brat like you!"
I sighed, internally debating if he was genuinely stupid or just high on ego.
That's when the system pinged in my head:
—— CHALLENGE ——
Rank: ★★
Challenger: Brent Curlts
Terms: Duel
Reward: If you win, the marriage is annulled and Brent becomes your slave.
Penalty for Loss: Mia Lancaster will be wed to Brent Curlts.
Duration: N/A
——ACCEPT / DECLINE——
'Oh?'
I chuckled to myself. Bold move, Brent. Real bold.
Actually it wasn't actually courageous or honourable, Cassius Lancaster was known as a renowned coward cause he was a pacifist. Hidden in this body's stats—aggression, physical strength, were ironic for someone thought to be a saint.
Brent stepped closer, smirking like he'd already won. "What? Scared? Gonna run crying into Mommy's arms?"
Ah yes, the "mother's embrace" comment. Classic.
I'd heard it too many times back in my world. And every single person who said it regretted it deeply.
Without a word, I grabbed him by the collar and yanked him forward until our noses nearly touched. His smirk evaporated the moment our eyes met.
And in a voice as cold and sharp as a winter blade, I whispered:
"Make it life and death."