After breakfast, Vivian decided it was time for a little exploration. “Let’s see how the shops of this world actually look,” she said, slipping on her gloves with determined flair.

Mary and Helen followed, arms laden with paper bags from earlier errands, trailing close behind as their mistress swept toward the waiting carriage.

“My Lady,” Helen began, tone measured but faintly disapproving, “we could have arranged for the merchants to visit you at the mansion. There’s no need to go outside—”

“You do love to lock me up, don’t you?” Vivian interrupted with a teasing drawl, her lips quirking as she climbed into the waiting carriage. “I want to see the shops myself. Fresh air won’t kill me… I think.”

Helen sighed but followed. Mary scrambled in after, her scent fluttering between warm milk and rising panic-butter.

The carriage lurched forward, wheels clicking rhythmically over the cobbled streets. The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, painting shifting golden stripes across Vivian’s lap. She leaned back against the velvet cushion, humming faintly, her gloved finger tracing lazy patterns on the fogged glass.

Outside, the city unfurled in all its refined chaos—rows of carriages with embroidered family crests, shopfronts boasting polished glass windows, and vendors hawking enchanted pastries that sparkled faintly as they steamed. Every corner smelled of roasted nuts, honey, and faint ozone from the humming streetlamps—each powered by a sliver of glowing magic stone.

“How charming,” Vivian murmured, more to herself than anyone. “Everything’s so spotless it feels staged.”

Helen, ever the proper attendant, adjusted the lace at her sleeve. “It is, my lady. Lowe Street is the heart of noble commerce. The Duke himself often says—”

“That people come here to buy things they don’t need, with money they didn’t earn?” Vivian finished sweetly.

Helen frowned. “That is… not how he phrased it.”

Mary stifled a laugh, then immediately straightened when Helen’s sharp gaze flicked toward her. Vivian caught the gesture and smiled. “Relax, Mary. I won’t tell anyone you have a sense of humor.”

“I—uh—it slipped, my lady.”

Vivian turned her gaze back out the window, eyes softening slightly. The nobles they passed all seemed carved from the same mold—flawless posture, painted smiles, every gesture rehearsed. The men bowed with mechanical precision; the women fluttered their fans like trained birds.

She wondered, briefly, if she used to look like that. Probably worse. The memory of the “original” Vivian’s cruel smile ghosted across her mind, sharp enough to sting. No wonder they called her the Viper in Silk. If I had to live in this cage, I’d start biting too.

The carriage rattled over a bridge, the faint hum of magic amplifying as the enchanted rails glowed beneath. Mary peeked through the window, eyes wide. “So pretty,” she whispered.

Vivian’s lips twitched. “You’d think we were headed to paradise instead of a den of overpriced fashion.”

Helen exhaled softly. “Please behave, my lady.”

Vivian smiled innocently. “I’m only window shopping… for trouble.”

The carriage rolled to a gentle stop, the footman opening the door with a bow. “Lowe Street, my lady.”

Vivian stepped out, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Perfect. Let’s make today memorable—for better or worse.”

The capital’s pride—a district where nobles shopped, gossiped, and pretended poverty didn’t exist. Vivian leaned out slightly, watching the sunlight glint against polished stone façades and ornate lamps powered by glittering magic stones. The streets were spotless, the air faintly perfumed with honeyed spice and oiled wood.

It’s like stepping into one of those glossy fashion districts from my old world, she thought. If only I had a phone, I’d be filming a vlog right now: “Villainess Goes Shopping After Near Execution.”

Helen spoke softly, “This is the establishment that handles… those relics you requested, My Lady.”

“Ah, the exorcism shop for bad decisions,” Vivian said dryly. “Perfect.”

Across the street, a few elegant cafés and restaurants buzzed with noble chatter—and just beyond them, she spotted the familiar facade of St. Therese Boutique.

Her pulse quickened ever so slightly. Well, fate certainly loves convenience.

“The knights can wait by the café across the street,” Vivian said, pausing just short of the next corner. “There’s no need to follow us inside.”

The guards exchanged uneasy looks, their armor faintly clinking under the morning sun. Every knight in the de Guzman household knew the young lady’s temperament was a storm in fine silk—defy her, and you’d be gone before noon.

“Yes, my lady,” the senior knight finally said, though his jaw tightened. “We’ll stay close.”

Vivian gave a dismissive wave. “Good. Try not to scare the shopkeepers with all that steel. This is shopping, not war.”

Mary hid a small laugh behind her hand. Helen did not.

The two knights bowed stiffly and stepped back, positioning themselves by the nearest café terrace—close enough to watch, far enough to pretend otherwise.

Vivian adjusted her gloves, the faint smile on her lips returning. “Now then,” she murmured. “Let’s see what mischief this place holds.”

Eyes fixed on the elegant sign above the entrance: LOVE ME NOT. The golden letters shimmered faintly under the morning light, their beauty tinged with something unsettling—too sweet, too polished, as if hiding a secret.

Just as she reached for the door handle, a prickle crawled down her spine. Someone was watching her.

Vivian turned swiftly, scanning the crowd. Nothing—only a blur of noblemen, merchants, and carriages rolling past. No suspicious figure lingered, no familiar scent drifted through the air.

Imagination, or surveillance? she wondered, lips pressing together. Either answer was unwelcome.

With a small shake of her head, she composed herself and stepped inside.

The bell above the door chimed softly as she entered, releasing a faint, floral scent mixed with something richer—amber, musk, and the unmistakable sharpness of polished leather. Rows of lacquered shelves gleamed under enchanted lights; each lined with ornate boxes and crystal jars. It could have been mistaken for a perfumery or an apothecary—if one ignored the discreet labels hidden behind ribbons and silk covers.

The floor itself shimmered faintly, magic runes flickering underfoot to maintain the perfect temperature. At the far end stood a counter draped in velvet, and behind it, the man himself—a mountain of muscle squeezed into a tailored vest, humming cheerfully as he sorted small parcels into lace pouches.

Vivian took one cautious step forward. “Good morning,” she began, trying to sound detached, dignified, not remotely like someone entering a place of scandalous curiosities.

The man’s head snapped up, his face splitting into a smile so wide it was almost alarming. “Oho~~ Lady Vivian! It’s been ages! You should have sent a letter—I’d have prepared a private delivery!”

The warmth in his tone was genuine, even affectionate, but the way he flourished his hands, glittering with rings, gave the moment an absurd theatricality.

Vivian offered a small nod, carefully pretending not to notice the row of suspiciously shaped boxes behind him. “Actually, I came to sell these back.”

Mary and Helen, red-faced but obedient, set the paper bags on the counter.

The man clasped his hands, eyes twinkling.  “I see, I see! Doing a little collection rotation, are we?” the man said brightly. “I can take them off your hands for half the original price. And—ah!—if you’d like to upgrade, I’ve just received some very exclusive imports. Quite popular among independent Alphas.”

Before she could object, he was already rummaging through drawers, proudly presenting a series of gleaming, oddly shaped items—each one worse than the last.

“This piece here,” he explained cheerfully, “is excellent for silence training—or, if one prefers, the opposite! And this one—oh, a true marvel of craftsmanship—soft, safe, and designed for personal comfort in times of… heightened Alpha energy.”

“Wait—stop, stop!” Vivian cried, waving both hands like a semaphore flag, her face blazing scarlet. “That won’t be necessary! I’ve—ah—decided to retire from this particular hobby.”

The man clasped his hands dramatically, his tone dripping with disappointment. “A shame, my lady! Exploration is the spice of youth! But should you ever rediscover your… adventurous spirit, I’ll be here to serve you.”

Serve me?! You should be serving a sentence, Vivian thought furiously, her inner voice shrieking as she fought the urge to melt into the floor.

She coughed delicately, trying to salvage her dignity. “Ahem. Let’s proceed with the transaction, please.”

“As you wish, my lady~~” the shopkeeper sang, then paused dramatically. “Although… are you sure you don’t want this one?”

He lifted a mysterious, ominously flexible object that shimmered under the shop’s warm light.

Vivian froze. “Nooo!” she blurted, horror breaking through her composure as both maids stared wide-eyed behind her.

The man chuckled, clearly delighted. “Very well, very well. But if you ever change your mind, you can always run back to mommy.”

Who are you calling yourself a mommy?! Vivian screamed internally, her face turning crimson. I won’t regret this, you overgrown Johnny Bravo reject!

Snatching back the last shred of her dignity, she straightened her gloves and hissed, “Receipt. Now.”

Outside St. Therese Boutique, a silver-haired woman was polishing the glass display. The morning rush had passed; only a few nobles and merchants drifted along the street now, their scents faint and fleeting.

As she wiped the pane, something in the reflection caught her eye—two hooded figures lingering across the road. Their cloaks weren’t glamour-weaves, but the cut and fabric were unmistakably fine. Nobles, she guessed, shopping in disguise.

Vivianne turned slightly, pretending to adjust the edge of the cloth for a better view. The pair wasn’t browsing. Their heads were tilted toward one direction—watching someone.

Following their gaze, she found the target easily: a young noblewoman stepping out of a carriage, golden hair gleaming under the sun as she approached a certain store.

Vivianne’s brow knit. That place? She knew the storefront well—LOVE ME NOT was not where any respectable lady shopped.

I have a bad feeling about this, she thought, pressing the cloth once more to the glass. Trouble seems to follow that one like a scent trail.

Then, with a soft exhale, she returned to her work as though nothing had happened.

A little later, just as Vivianne finished assisting a customer, the soft chime of the boutique’s door rang again. She turned, ready to offer her usual greeting—only to freeze for a brief moment.

The newcomer was none other than the noblewoman she’d seen earlier stepping into that shop across the street.

The Duke’s daughter, she realized. Lady Vivian de Guzman.

Vivianne composed herself instantly, setting aside her polishing cloth and offering a graceful bow. “Greetings, my lady.”

When she lifted her gaze, she was met by a wide, polished smile—the kind a viper might wear when it found its next meal.

On the other hand, Vivian de Guzman—the reincarnated one—was practically glowing. Finally! she cheered inwardly. The heroine! In the flesh!

Up close, Vivianne’s beauty was almost unreal—her silver hair shimmered softly under the lamplight, and that faint, pure aura she carried matched every word the novel had promised.

She’s perfect… angelic, even! This is amazing! I stan you, heroine, I really do—she’s real, and she’s right in front of me! This is crazy!

Vivian hid her giddy grin behind an elegant fan, trying to sound composed. “It’s nice to finally meet you—”

She hesitated. Wait. Did we already meet?

Her mind scrambled. Why aren’t the memories showing up when I actually need them?! The part about the villainess falling from her horse wasn’t even written in the novel… so I guess we haven’t met yet?

She pondered this frantically while maintaining her flawless social smile.

Vivianne, who had personally discovered Lady de Guzman’s memory loss during one rather unguarded, drunken evening, answered politely, “It’s a great honor to have you here again, Lady de Guzman.”

Misunderstanding Vivian’s pause, she added quickly, “My name is Vivianne Frostman. I’m a commoner, so I’ll call Lady Baltimore, the owner, to assist you instead, my lady.”

Will that be enough? she thought, forcing a smile. If she wants something, Lady Baltimore can handle it. And if she makes a mistake—well, that’s not on me. As long as she doesn’t torment me again.

“Ah—yes, yes, ahem. No need to call the owner,” Vivian replied hastily, snapping her fan shut. “I’d like the very best dress you have. Two of each design. And make sure they’re easy to move in—something comfortable for my two cute maids.”

Her tone was breezy, but inside she was buzzing with excitement. Wait until they see this. They’ll be thrilled when I surprise them with their new dresses after their errands.

While the golden-haired noblewoman busied herself flipping through the boutique’s glossy brochures,

Vivianne’s quill paused mid-note as movement outside caught her eye again. The two hooded figures had not only stayed—they had inched closer, half-hidden now behind a passing carriage.

“Ms. Frostman?” Vivian’s gentle voice pulled her back.

Vivianne blinked, forcing a polite smile. “Ah—yes, my lady. Shall I prepare the measurements?”

“Please do.”

But as she turned to fetch her notebook, that uneasy prickle crawled down her neck once more. The pair was gone.

Or perhaps merely waiting for the right moment to reappear.