EID 25

25. Threat for Threat

“Please deliver a message to Her Highness the Princess.”

Madame Loren stared directly at the princess’s secretary and spoke firmly.

“There are plenty of people in the world who make clothes. But there is no one in the world who can replace me, Madame Loren.”

With her back straight and steps full of pride, Madame Loren exited the reception room.

Even in her forties, she stubbornly wore high heels and never ran—no matter the situation.

Born a commoner, she had taught herself noble poise through sheer effort, all to deal with aristocrats. That included adopting a noble pride befitting even the bluebloods.

She could have knelt and begged. But that paltry pride didn’t allow it.

“To the Lancelot firm.”

She stormed out of the palace and shouted to the coachman.

Edgar Lancaster Lancelot was not someone you could meet by simply showing up. Especially not if you were a discredited dressmaker.

Edgar wasn’t at the Lancelot firm’s office, but in the executive suite of the Lancelot Hotel.

Sunlight that had filled the first-floor lobby now reached the tips of Madame Loren’s pointed shoes.

It was an intentional snub—deliberate neglect. Obvious rejection at the door. But if she had turned away each time that happened, Madame Loren would not be who she was today. She knew when to toss aside even her pride.

Five hours was enough by her standards. She opened her tawny leather bag and pulled out a notebook and fountain pen.

After scribbling something down, she tore out a sheet of paper and folded it neatly. With elegant steps, she approached the front desk staff.

“Please give this to Mr. Lancelot.”

The puzzled staff member called the manager, and soon the note was handed over.

Even as the manager took the elevator upstairs and time ticked on, Madame Loren stood unwaveringly in place. After about ten minutes, a bell chimed and the elevator doors opened.

It was Edgar’s secretary.

“You’ve got quite the talent for blackmail.”

Edgar pointed at the note on the table with a slight smirk.

“Anne Gilbert. Seems Miss Blanchet doesn’t know about your little arrangement.”

“I’ll give you ten minutes.”

His expression turned cold.

With eyes deep in regret, Madame Loren began.

“My mother was a seamstress in a noble household. I started sewing at age ten to help her. Even at that age, I pricked my fingers with needles while making clothes.”

It seemed she’d been given too much time.

“If you’re not expecting tears, let’s just get to the point.”

Cutting off her lengthy preamble, Edgar narrowed his eyes and stared at her.

“I climbed from the very bottom to reach this position.”

His gaze wandered lazily to the wall clock behind her.

“Royal Court Designer. That title was me—until now.”

“So what’s your point?”

Bored with the cliché, Edgar interrupted again.

“Because of you, I’m in a difficult position.”

“And I’m in a difficult position because of you.”

Edgar stroked the rim of a sweating glass, recalling how Amblin had brought up that cursed necklace. He sneered.

“I lost my biggest client. Soon, other noble ladies will stop coming too.”

“So? Are you asking for compensation?”

“No. As you said, I also leaked client information. I won’t make such a one-sided request.”

Madame Loren firmly denied Edgar’s assumption.

His eyes thinned. She was as cunning as people said, but at least she had some sense of propriety. But then he quickly retracted that judgment.

“Please acquire my boutique under the Lancelot firm.”

The unexpected proposal made Edgar scoff.

Acquire it?

“Why would I do that?”

“Because the necklace was what caused Miss Blanchet’s trouble. I’ll claim that was your intention.”

“You’ll lie, in other words.”

All Edgar had asked was one thing: to make it obvious it was Olivia Blanchet. That was all.

Their eyes clashed sharply.

“I never mentioned the necklace.”

“Whether or not she believes me is up to her. But in my view, she probably will. And…”

The sly woman fiddled with her emerald ring, stalling for time. Then, suddenly lifting her gaze, she spoke in a voice laced with threat.

“This is just my speculation, but perhaps the scandal was also your doing?”

“And?”

A sharp look was sent her way.

“Miss Blanchet doesn’t seem to know, unfortunately.”

Like someone who had caught a valuable weakness, she exuded practiced menace. Edgar let out a dry laugh at her fluent, natural threats.

“That little boutique…”

His voice sank.

“Would it be easier to acquire it—or to crush it? What do you think?”

Threat for threat.

His cold eyes glinted like a predator circling its prey. Madame Loren inhaled sharply.

As expected, her opponent was no pushover.

To retreat now would mean ruin. Her boutique, Eve Loren—a six-story building adorned with gold trim—would vanish into history.

As Edgar had said, she didn’t want to spend her old age as a mere small-town dressmaker.

Success was not about how many times you fall, but about getting up one more time.

From deep within her chest, something hot surged upward.

“This won’t be a losing business.”

“You just said all your clients pulled out.”

“We’ll mass-produce high-quality fashion at reasonable prices.”

She spoke calmly, persuasively.

“That will be the motto of Lancelot Loren, our new brand.”

“You plan to make ready-to-wear.”

That implied massive investment—from factories to a nationwide distribution network. And she dared propose it while standing over a failing boutique. Truly, a fox.

“Our target will be the middle class with disposable income.”

Times were changing.

“We’ll make clothes that even commoners can dream of. Clothes every woman will want to wear at least once in her life.”

And that included Princess Amblin. She might never wear Lancelot Loren out of pride, but she’d want to. Desperately. Enough to regret today’s humiliation.

“We’re in the same boat now. I can’t swim.”

But beyond petty revenge, Madame Loren had found a new desire. In the carriage that carried her from the royal court to the Lancelot firm, then here to the hotel, she imagined a new future.

Not just a court dressmaker—but a designer for the people of Britte.

With the wings of Lancelot—a national company—there was nothing she couldn’t do.

“Whether I stay quiet or speak up… that’s entirely up to you.”

She smiled meaningfully.

“Whether Lancelot Loren thrives or fails—also depends on you. The choice is yours.”

With calm confidence, she smiled soundlessly and locked eyes with Edgar.

What a fox.

She was not only a brilliant dressmaker but a formidable negotiator. By handing him the final decision, she upheld his authority—while also neatly shifting the burden of any business failure onto him.

They smiled at each other in silence.

Edgar turned his head to the window. Evening had fallen. Among the city’s bright lights, the soon-to-open Leopold Hotel shimmered in the distance.

Fashion, huh?

This would be his first time entering a field before Johann. A strange sense of competition stirred inside him.

“Bring me a business plan. I won’t dive into something destined to sink.”

“Of course. The times are changing. Lancelot Loren will surely succeed.”

Madame Loren’s eyes burned with determination. She wouldn’t let thirty years of work collapse because of one spoiled client—even if that client was a princess of Britte.

Satisfied with the result, Madame Loren straightened her outfit and rose.

“That necklace.”

“You mean Anne Gilbert?”

“I’ll acquire that too.”

The abrupt proposal caught her off guard.

“With respect, that’s classified as my personal property.”

“Exactly. So I’m saying I’ll buy it from you.”

This time, the power of decision shifted to her.

“I should get to make at least one condition, don’t you think?”

Edgar’s smiling eyes turned to the wall clock. It had just passed 6:10.

Olivia returned to the International Bank with Anne.

“It’s an honor to serve you.”

The moment the staff saw her, they leapt up and bowed. After the recent incident, they understood just how significant a client Olivia Blanchet was. Their change in attitude was nearly pathetic.

Having experienced Count Blanchet’s aggression, Olivia now understood the importance of a secure vault. She glanced over the personal vault application the banker handed her, then began filling in each blank carefully.

She had protected her fortune through two major scandals—first the Rose Ball, then the rumors involving Edgar. Thankfully, she hadn’t been left penniless, but she couldn’t fully relax either.

‘There is a condition.’

‘…’

That day, inside the carriage when she asked Edgar to be her guarantor, he had smiled suggestively and said those words.

All she had done was claim her reward for winning a wager, but the man had added a condition. It was unfair, but Olivia had no choice but to hear it.

“Tell me.”

No matter how outrageous it was, she wasn’t in a position to refuse. And Edgar knew that well.

For now, Edgar Lancaster Lancelot was her only salvation.