Sold As A Slave, Returned To Be Queen - Chapter 10: Chapter 10

"What nonsense is this? You're the young lady of the Hastings family. How could you even think about going to a place like that? Don't go ruining your reputation."
Normally, if Brielle asked for something, Oliver wouldn't hesitate to agree. But Gilded Cage was different—it was a place where wealthy young men sought pleasure and entertainment, hardly somewhere a proper young woman should be.
"But... but..." Brielle's eyes turned red, her voice softening into a wounded whisper. "I heard the servants say that you used to sneak Charlotte there too…"
"I just wanted to see it for myself…" she mumbled, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Oliver. I didn't mean to make things difficult. I won't act spoiled again…"
As he was faced with that tearful, wronged expression, Oliver's heart softened immediately.
That was right—even that imposter, Charlotte, had once been pampered and indulged by him.
Meanwhile, Brielle—his real sister—had only been back in his life for a few short years.
With that thought, not only did he agree to take Brielle to Gilded Cage, but the guilt he'd been harboring toward Charlotte began to fade as well.
Those years of care and affection? Charlotte owed them to Brielle. What right did she have to play the victim?
As the most exclusive music house in Aurenshire, Gilded Cage was packed every night—especially once the sun went down.
Under the glow of hundreds of candles, the grand hall was lit as bright as day. The air rang with laughter, clinking wine cups, and the clear, enchanting voices of the singers on stage—enough to make the city's most distinguished young lords toss money around without a second thought.
"It's gotten even livelier over the years," Charlotte said quietly.
She stood off to the side, face veiled, her calm and detached gaze a stark contrast to the glittering chaos below.
"Oh please," a teasing voice chimed in behind her, "you sound more like the madam of the place than a girl your age."
Charlotte turned to see a woman in crimson, her figure curvy and lithe, her every movement graceful and deliberately seductive. Though she, too, wore a veil, her sultry eyes and swaying waist left little doubt—this was a woman of stunning beauty.
"Maisie, you're teasing me again," Charlotte replied with a rare trace of warmth.
Maisie Taylor tapped her gently on the forehead with a slender finger, her red lips curling in playful reproach.
"So you do remember me. It's been ages since you came to see me. If it weren't for your grandmother's illness, I doubt I'd have heard from you at all."
At the mention of Rosalie, Charlotte's faint smile disappeared, replaced by a furrowed brow.
There was something strange about Rosalie's illness. When she'd left the Hastings family, she hadn't known a thing about medicine. But as she thought back now—at that time, Rosalie had been healthy, in her prime. Three years shouldn't have brought such a drastic decline. She didn't believe for a second that there wasn't something suspicious behind it.
But what could she do? Right now, she had no power, no support. All she could do was take one step at a time and plan carefully.
"Alright, enough with the frown," Maisie said, smoothing the crease between her brows. "You know I can't stand seeing you like this. This entire place is under my control now. As for those herbs—it's nothing. I'll have them ready for you in a few days."
When Maisie had escaped the Red Pavilion, it was Charlotte and her mentor who had helped her. And Maisie had never forgotten. In just a year, she'd climbed to the top and taken full command of Gilded Cage.
As she heard her words, Charlotte's nose burned with emotion. She blinked quickly to keep the tears from falling.
During her three years in the Red Pavilion, Charlotte's greatest fortune hadn't been surviving—it had been meeting people who genuinely cared for her. In just a few short years, she had found more warmth than she ever had in over a decade with the Hastings family.
The only regret was her mentor—Sageborn Healer—who remained trapped inside the palace, still unable to leave.
While Maisie and Charlotte were still talking, a maid hurried over and whispered something in Maisie's ear.
Maisie's brows lifted with interest.
She grabbed Charlotte's hand with a smile and said, "Looks like someone clueless just walked into the lion's den. Come on, let me take you to watch the show."
Downstairs at Gilded Cage, Brielle trailed nervously behind Oliver, both anxious and excited. She clung to his sleeve, wide-eyed as she took in the dazzling sights around her.
She had never seen such extravagant revelry before.
Although the Hastings family was a military household, Oliver held no noble title himself—just a mid-level military post—so he had to keep a low profile. Still, unable to turn Brielle down, he had reluctantly agreed to bring her here, just for a quick visit. His plan was simple: find a small private booth on the first floor, listen to a few songs, and leave quietly.
But Gilded Cage was crowded, and the atmosphere rowdy. Amid the bustle, a drunken song girl stumbled and bumped straight into Brielle.
Without missing a beat, the girl broke into a teasing laugh.
"Oh dear, didn't realize you were a young lady. My mistake."
She offered a light apology and vanished into the crowd before Oliver could say a word, leaving Brielle flustered and trying desperately to hide her face.
Then came the whispers. "Isn't that Lord Oliver? What's he doing bringing his sister to a place like this?"
"The daughter of the Hastings family, showing her face in a place like this? How indecent."
Brielle's tears fell in streams, one after another, like pearls slipping from a broken string. Trembling, she clutched at Oliver's sleeve. Her voice, soft and full of panic, sounded like a frightened rabbit—pitiful and helpless.
Oliver hadn't expected something like this to happen. For a moment, he stood there frozen, unsure of what to do.
Then, seeing Brielle's tear-streaked face, and thinking about her upcoming engagement to the Marquis' estate, he made a split-second decision. He squared his shoulders and spoke loudly, making sure everyone could hear. "It was my sister Charlotte who insisted on coming. I apologize for the disturbance."
Charlotte.
The moment she heard that name fall from his lips, it was as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her. Her body went stiff.
The name—once so familiar, once filled with affection—cut through her like a blade. It reminded her of how Valeria used to gently pat her head, coaxing her with a warm smile.
Now, both that voice and that hand felt like cruel mockery.
How ironic. The brother she once adored, the mother she had trusted without question—both now choosing, without hesitation, to throw her under the bus just to protect Brielle.
The Queen Mother's birthday painting. Tonight's humiliation at Gilded Cage.
The truth was clear now: the entire Hastings family was cut from the same cloth.
She should've let go of her illusions long ago. It was her own fault for being blinded by those years of false warmth—for still dreaming that she belonged.
"So that's Charlotte, huh? Makes sense. She came out of the Red Pavilion after all."
"Seriously. What kind of decent girl comes to a place like this with her brother? She's got no shame."
"No wonder. She's not even their real daughter."
The crowd's judgment shifted smoothly from Brielle to Charlotte, and Oliver—feeling the pressure ease—secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
He moved to shield Brielle and guide her out, but just as he looked up—He locked eyes with someone across the room. A pair of eyes he knew too well.
And in that instant, Oliver froze.