Behind her trailed a group of women and a few servants. These were the very women who had once hovered around Sophie’s mother-her aunts, cousins, and companions. Now, they had all aligned themselves behind Ivy, wearing faces full of disdain and contempt directed at Sophie.
Sophie ignored their judgmental stares. Her eyes fixed sharply on Ivy’s outfit, scanning it quickly before trembling with emotion.
“You… you’re wearing my mother’s clothes? And that jade pendant around your neck, the bracelet on your wrist-those belonged to my mother! How dare you wear them?” Sophie’s voice quivered with disbelief.
Those items were her mother’s keepsakes, the last tangible connection Sophie had to her. She never imagined Ivy would take and wear them so brazenly.
Ivy gave a dismissive “Oh,” spreading her arms to admire herself. “I like them. I always liked how they looked on your mother. Now that she’s dead and can’t wear them, I figured I’d use them. What’s the problem? Is there an issue?”
Sophie shook her head, her mind reeling in shock at Ivy’s audacity.
“Those clothes were made by Mr. Marlowe for my mother!” Sophie’s voice grew louder, her anger boiling over. “Even my mother rarely wore them because she cherished them so much. How could you-how dare you-wear them? Take them off! Take them off!”
The clothes in question were no ordinary garments. They were crafted by Mr. Marlowe, an extraordinary tailor.
Mr. Marlowe was a legend, not just for his exceptional skill but for his eccentricity. He insisted on touching a client’s hand to feel their bone structure before agreeing to design for them. If he didn’t find the right “connection,” he would refuse the commission. His work was unparalleled-both in fabric quality and craftsmanship. Even the most luxurious modern brands couldn’t replicate the precision and artistry of his creations.
There were stories of companies offering him millions of dollars to craft a single outfit, but he had rejected them all. His reasoning was simple: he only designed for those he deemed worthy.
Beyond their aesthetic appeal, his clothes had an almost magical quality. They were incredibly comfortable to wear, boosting the wearer’s confidence and commanding attention from everyone around them. For women lacking self-assurance, his designs could transform them, making them feel radiant and admired.
In his lifetime, Mr. Marlowe made only three garments in the Western Frontier before disappearing. Sophie’s mother had been one of the few fortunate enough to receive one of his masterpieces.
That dress had been her mother’s most treasured possession. She had only worn it on three special occasions. Every evening, she would take it out, try it on for a moment, then carefully clean and store it away. It was a ritual she repeated night after night.
Now, seeing it draped over Ivy, Sophie’s fury boiled over.
Before Ivy could respond, a girl around Sophie’s age stepped forward with a sneer.
“Sophie, who do you think you are to yell at Aunt Ivy like that? You should be grateful she’s even wearing your mother’s dress. It’s an honor! You should thank her for giving your dead mother some relevance!”
The speaker was Jasmine, the daughter of Sophie’s Uncle Hunter. Both of Jasmine’s parents had been killed-by Gavin and Ivy, no less. Yet, shockingly, Jasmine had pledged her loyalty to Ivy, following her like a shadow.
“Jasmine, don’t forget how your parents died!” Sophie snapped, her voice trembling with anger.
Jasmine smirked coldly. “They deserved to die. They were fools who defied Uncle Gavin. If they’d surrendered earlier, they’d still be alive. But they chose resistance, and resistance meant death. They got what they deserved. And so did your parents.”
“Well said, Jasmine,” Ivy chimed in approvingly, her tone light and amused.
“Thank you, Madam,” Jasmine replied with a smug smile. “I’m just stating the truth. Madam wearing that dress is a testament to her respect for Sophie’s dead mother. Sophie should be grateful instead of throwing a tantrum.”
“She’s right, Madam,” another voice chimed in from the group.
“Absolutely! Madam looks so much better in that dress than Sophie’s mother ever did. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Marlowe had secretly made it for you instead!”
Ivy twirled in place, a playful smile on her lips. “Really? You think so? I had a feeling it suited me, but I wasn’t sure.”
“Oh, without a doubt, Madam. With your figure, anything would look stunning on you. As for Sophie’s mother…” The speaker gave a mocking laugh. “We were just humoring her when we complimented her. She never did justice to that dress. If anything, she insulted it by wearing it!”
“Yes, yes! Her mother never deserved such a masterpiece.”
The crowd’s words cascaded into a chorus of flattery, each comment more exaggerated than the last. Ivy basked in their praise, her laughter ringing out loud and carefree.
Sophie’s fists clenched tightly, her eyes burning red with fury.
These were the same people who had once fawned over her mother, showering her with compliments and sycophantic praise. But now that her mother was gone, they had so quickly turned against her, mocking and insulting her legacy without hesitation.
“The fallen wall is pushed by all,” Sophie thought bitterly. It was an unchanging truth of the world.
Kayden, standing silently nearby, observed Sophie’s anguish. He could see the burning hatred in her eyes, the storm raging in her heart.
He placed a hand gently on her shoulder and leaned close to whisper in her ear. “If you want them to respect you-and your mother-you must make them look up to you. Make them fear you. Crying won’t help. Neither will giving up. Stand tall and face them head-on.”
Kayden’s words struck a chord deep within Sophie, causing her to tremble slightly.
“Oh, Sophie,” Jasmine interjected with a mocking grin. “Aren’t you married to Young Master Alfredson now? Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be at your wedding? Running back here on your wedding day seems… a bit inappropriate, doesn’t it?”
Her words dripped with sarcasm, her expression one of feigned innocence.
Before Sophie could respond, another voice from the group cut in. “Jasmine, did you forget? She married an idiot! Do you think he even knows what to do on a wedding night?”
The comment sent the crowd into peals of laughter, their mocking voices echoing around Sophie.
“Ha-ha-ha! Oh, that’s priceless! A wedding night with a fool!”
Their laughter stabbed at Sophie like knives.