The Villainous Male Supporting Character Courts Death Every Day : Chapter 9: Charlotte

The orchestra flowed like water through the hall, and the crystal chandelier scattered points of starlight. In the ballroom, skirts fluttered and the ladies laughed softly, whispering in each other’s ears. The gentlemen talked and laughed in loud voices, easy and confident, raising their glasses to drink.

The banquet was like a grand musical where everyone played their part, every smile as perfect as a mask, dressed to the nines, flashy and pleased with themselves.

Miss Charlotte moved among the guests, her bearing proper, greeting them with a smile. She wore a long snow-white gown, its hem brushing the floor like moonlight. Her light brown hair was elegantly pinned up, showing off a long, slender, pale neck. She wore a pair of sapphire and diamond drop earrings that swayed with cold brilliance as she walked, as if a hazy halo surrounded her, dazzlingly beautiful, impossibly untouchable.

Several young men cast their eyes her way without meaning to. Some held their breath, others murmured in admiration, their eyes full of appreciation and adoration.

In one corner of the ballroom, several young ladies stood shoulder to shoulder, fans hiding their red lips, whispering softly. “Those earrings of hers, weren’t they worn at last year’s royal banquet? She really doesn’t mind looking outdated.”

“Don’t be like that, she is the star of today. Besides, look at that outfit, specially commissioned in the latest style.” The voice was gentle, yet carried a sourness that reeked of perfume.

“She is the number one beauty of Ausente after all. Even the Duke’s young master might not be worthy of her gaze.” Before the words finished, several stifled giggles escaped, drifting like light smoke through the music.

On the other side of the ballroom, several gentlemen stood in a circle, drinking and making merry. “I hear the western territories had a poor harvest this year. Grain prices at market have already doubled.”

“Ha, the small landowners are going to have a headache now.” Carefree and unconcerned, speaking with a teasing note. “If they could win the Grand Duke’s protection, they’d be fine. The key is knowing how to play your cards right…”

“Protection?” Someone raised an eyebrow and cut in, lowering his voice, winking mysteriously. “Haven’t you heard? The one in the palace has plenty of grievances against him. Wait until the situation shifts one day…”

“Ah, why talk of such things? Tonight is only for song, dance, and drink, for admiring beautiful women. Don’t spoil the mood.” Glasses clinked, the men threw their heads back and laughed, their voices echoing under the resplendent dome.

A clear, ringing voice came from the entrance. “Ladies and gentlemen, the son of Duke Ausente, Young Master Milo Ausente, has arrived!”

The moment the words fell, Milo strode in with large steps. He wore a custom ivory white dress suit, its sheen like moonlight, a contemptuous and arrogant smile at the corner of his mouth like a blade of light. On his chest he wore the family crest, a gilded lion baring its claws and fangs, a ruby set in its gaping maw, blazing with fierce color, a silent roar threatening every prying eye.

Half a step behind him was Kyle in deep ink black, his crisp tailoring so precise not a thread was out of place, his pocket watch glinting softly like the only star in the night sky. He was understated and restrained, silent and wordless, attending at his side like a shadow, yet carrying an aura that could not be ignored.

Several young ladies instinctively held their breath, their eyes following Kyle’s straight figure. Some whispered to each other, praising his refined and noble elegance. Others flushed red, lost in his mysterious, calm demeanor, their imaginations running wild.

In the distance sat several mature noblewomen, their gazes sharp, their voices pressed very low, yet unable to hide their disgust. “The rumors were not groundless after all. Look at those brows and eyes, how like the Duke.”

“Illegitimate in the end, how could he compare to the proper young master.” Their tone was full of contempt, yet hidden within was sourness and unease.

On the other side, the noble gentlemen cast sidelong glances. That steady, restrained bearing stood out sharply in the lavish banquet. They stared at that undeniable potential, muttering among themselves. “He straightened out part of the land rents not long ago… that handiwork is nothing like a servant’s…”

“…taken over most of the affairs, more like… being groomed as a successor…” It seemed like speculation, yet also like assessment, carefully calculating their moves.

His steps paused. Milo was in no hurry to throw himself into socializing. Instead, under the eyes of all, his golden eyes half narrowed as he turned slightly and glanced at Kyle behind him.

Kyle immediately stepped forward half a pace and lightly adjusted his silk satin bow tie. The movement was careful and measured, almost without any extra lingering, yet this action drew the sidelong glances of the ladies nearby.

“…standing too close, isn’t he.” One lady covered her lips with her fan, watching the two figures in black and white. “If not for master and servant, I would almost think they were…”

“Hush!” Her companion beside her interrupted in a low voice, yet she too was stealing glances at the interaction between the two, her eyes suspicious.

Milo noticed the whispering of several ladies. Though he could not hear them, it brought a wicked smile to his face, and he called out mockingly. “Keep it down, I can hear you.”

The ladies hurried to cover up. Milo paid them no mind. As he withdrew his gaze, he cast a careless glance at his bow tie and snickered. “Now that’s more like it, my butler.”

As if deliberately ordering him about in public was announcing this servant’s status to the world, and as if asserting his ownership, beyond question.

Right in the midst of these undercurrents, a foppish young master swayed over with a wine glass, his expression slightly drunk, yet his smile not at all good-natured.

“Young Master Milo, you cut quite a striking figure tonight… hmm?” His gaze stopped on Kyle’s face, feigning puzzlement. “The one beside you… he seems to bear some resemblance to His Grace the Duke.”

The moment the words fell, the atmosphere around them suddenly went still, as if everyone were peeking at what would happen here.

“Resemblance?” Milo raised an eyebrow slightly, the corner of his mouth curving up, his smile carrying mockery. “What eyes do you have? You’ve had too much to drink. With such poor tolerance, you should head home and rest early.”

That foppish young man was about to speak, but met a pair of pitch black eyes, a gaze like the darkest abyss, and his words jammed in his throat, as if a pair of invisible hands were choking him.

Kyle’s expression did not change. He gave a bow, silent to the point of deathly stillness, yet this very stillness added to the pressure, silently locking the man in place, unable to move. The man’s expression stiffened, cold sweat beading at his temple, and he hurried away.

Watching that figure flee in panic, Milo’s smile did not fade, yet his gaze turned cold and hard, and he said in a low voice. “Who was that?”

“The renowned poet and writer Josander, son of Sir Geoffrey the diplomat.” Kyle answered respectfully.

“Hmph.” Milo let out a cold snort, thinking to himself that this was indeed the literary circle that refused to stand with the Duke, actually daring to get in his face like this. Helpless, he could only grind his teeth in secret and say in a huff. “He really needs to be taught a lesson.”

“Yes, the Young Master speaks truly.” Kyle lowered his eyes, soothing him gently. He secretly calculated whether to pressure the publishers through the merchant guild and make Josander’s name disappear from the literary world forever. While lost in thought, a female voice rang out.

“Young Master of Duke Ausente, we are deeply honored by your gracious presence.”

The voice was clear and melodious, making even the orchestral music seem dim by comparison. Milo followed the sound and saw Charlotte walking toward him with measured grace.

The corner of her skirt lifted slightly. Charlotte raised her hem, her slender jade fingers tracing a beautiful arc as she bent and lowered her head, the line of her pale neck as graceful as a swan’s, performing a pure and refined lady’s curtsy, charming and moving.

At first Milo was stunned by her beauty, but when the beauty raised her eyes, those cold eyes dumped a bucket of cold water over his head. Charlotte’s every movement was elegantly proper, every detail exquisite and dignified, yet the whole of her seemed separated by a layer of snow mist, graceful yet cold, polite yet distant.

Milo was the son of a Grand Duke, born of a foreign princess, his honor supreme. Though his character and reputation were not the best, wherever he went he was held in high esteem. Even when faced with veiled mockery and cold sarcasm, it was wrapped in eager flattery. He had never been treated with such coldness.

The corner of Milo’s mouth stiffened, then slowly spread into a smile, a smile carrying malicious provocation. He extended his arm, his tone frivolous. “Since you feel so honored, why not dance a turn with me? That would be even more glorious.”

Charlotte nodded slightly, her expression calm, as if this invitation were the most natural thing in the world. She lightly placed her palm in Milo’s hand, at ease and unhurried, not hesitating in the slightest because of his teasing.

The music began, and the two stepped into the ballroom, dancing gracefully.

Charlotte’s fingertips rested on Milo’s arm, maintaining just the right distance. Her steps were light, turning nimbly. After several spins, Milo grinned slyly and suddenly put force into his hands, spinning her out with excessive strength. Her skirt flew high, seeming about to lose control, yet she touched down with her toes, stopped with grace, and spun back into his arms like flowing moonlight, breathtakingly beautiful.

“Well, unexpected.” Milo was slightly surprised, laughing softly. Without waiting for Charlotte’s response, he took another step and suddenly pressed close, almost making her bump into his shoulder.

Yet Charlotte turned cleverly, opening the distance between them like wind and snow passing through mountains, stopping at their joined hands and freezing into a stunning instant. Charlotte raised her eyes and said calmly. “Thank you for your favor, Young Master Ausente.”

Milo’s golden eyes darkened, growing more determined with each setback. He suddenly broke the rhythm, now slowing his pace, now speeding up in an instant, like a willful musical note.

Charlotte smoothly opened her arm position, stepping lightly and flowing, moving to a unique rhythm. Slow and graceful, lively and wind-born in her dance, she danced out a passage of winding beauty and captivating charm through the rises and falls, as if everything were a carefully crafted arrangement, drawing gasps of wonder and dazzled admiration from the onlookers.

The musicians and dancers watched intently, as if immersed and deeply moved, as if savoring the mystery within and drawing inspiration. Some held their breath, others swayed gently, some tapped their fingertips to the rhythm, as if wanting to transform this spark of improvisation into dance and music.

The painters’ eyes lit up, their fingers unconsciously sketching in the air as if outlining a canvas. Several writers and poets had even pulled out little notebooks, pouring out praises for this brilliance.

Amid the exclamations, several ladies huddled in a corner whispering. “Young Master Milo actually invited her to dance himself…”

“Hmph, it was only out of politeness. No matter how she puts on airs, she still has the look of a poor noble. How could the ducal manor think anything of her.”

“Always stealing the spotlight, and it’s only because of that face. What’s so great about that.”

Sour jealousy filled the corner, carrying bitter spite, yet it could not disturb the dazzling brilliance at the center of the ballroom.

In the shadows, Kyle stood silently behind the crowd, his black hair and black eyes lost in the play of light and shadow. Each time Milo’s hand tightened at Charlotte’s waist, his gaze grew colder by a degree, like a silent undercurrent beneath the deep sea.

The two white figures in the ballroom stole everyone’s breath away, one like a blade of daylight, wild and unbridled, the other like quiet moonlight, elegant and self-possessed. This dance did not merely add splendor to the banquet, it would be told and retold, opening the curtain on a stirring where each party harbored their own designs.

But at this moment, Milo noticed none of this. He only had coldness and impatience flashing in his eyes, his smile grim, his mouth relentless in its teasing. “Miss Charlotte truly has remarkable dance skill, stunning the whole room.”

“Young Master Ausente flatters me.” Charlotte was composed, her tone even, her voice like a clear spring flowing past, gentle yet permitting no trespass.

Milo’s smile grew thicker, his anger stronger. His grip suddenly tightened, his steps wandering. Several spins later, he was actually guiding Charlotte toward the edge of the ballroom. Seeing that they were about to crash into the crowd, gasps rang out and people hurriedly dodged.

Yet at the very last instant, Charlotte turned lightly, her skirt flowing like moon waves past the crowd, like the shadow of a startled crane, like snow swirling in the wind. For an instant it seemed as if time had frozen, the hall silent, utterly still.

Then scattered exclamations rose, applause thundering through the room like thunder, the dance ended.

Charlotte stepped back one pace and gave Milo a slight bow, like a curtain call, perfect and calm. Without waiting for Milo’s reaction, she turned and gave a graceful bow to the crowd. Though aloof, she was so properly elegant that not a single fault could be found.

Milo was stunned for quite a while before he laughed softly, raising both hands and clapping along with the crowd in an offhand way, the malice at the corner of his mouth unabated, yet with an added layer of amusement.

Watching Charlotte exit the ballroom surrounded by admirers like stars around the moon, Milo’s eyelids half lowered, concealing the self-mockery in his eyes. He had deliberately tried to make a fool of her, yet had instead made a fool of himself, becoming her foil.

Truly a main character level figure, they were all the same. That understated composure, that dignified restraint, it had something in common with Kyle after all. One was a silent night, the other a bright moon, one black and one white, a match made in heaven.

Milo rested his chin on his hand, thinking to himself. As the scheming, vengeful male lead of a political intrigue novel, Kyle’s choice of Charlotte was inevitably tied to political meaning. But given the male lead’s level of thinking, he absolutely would not value only her family background and reputation. Her character and quality were surely a major reason as well.

Charlotte truly was up to the task.

A strange sourness rose in Milo’s heart, sour yet warm, warm yet astringent. He could not tell whether it was the mockery of “the male and female leads truly are a perfect match,” or the relief of “she is indeed worthy of being the woman my male lead chose.”