Sold As A Slave, Returned To Be Queen - Chapter 4: Chapter 4

The heir of the Marquis' estate, Michael Sutton, had led troops into battle in his father's place at just twelve years old—and returned a decorated war hero.
Brilliant in both strategy and combat, he was the very definition of extraordinary.
He had once been Charlotte's betrothed. Now, he was engaged to Brielle.
After Brielle returned to the Hastings family, the engagement was naturally handed over to her. Everyone in Aurenshire knew it was only "right." And everyone also knew just how many foolish things Charlotte had done in the past, all to win Michael's favor.
Late-night fireflies, morning dew, coffee in early spring—those were all things she had once prepared for him.
Because she had believed in a lifetime together. A love that would last, year after year, day after day.
Back then, it hadn't mattered—she was certain they would marry eventually. He was her future husband. Everything she did for him felt natural, even expected. But now, Michael belonged to someone else. And the Hastings family cared about appearances.
He probably did too.
Charlotte's heart, which had remained steady through everything else, now felt hollow with bitterness and pain.
She still remembered that day clearly. When they came to take her to the Red Pavilion, she had nearly lunged at Brielle in a fit of rage. But Michael stepped between them, shielding Brielle, his expression unreadable as he looked at her. "Charlotte," he said, "this is what you owe her. Just go. I promise—I'll visit you."
And he did, a few times. But it wasn't long before the Sutton family stepped in.
Their brilliant young heir had a boundless future ahead—and a marriage alliance with the Hastings family. What would people think if he kept visiting a girl from the Red Pavilion?
They even offered her a "compromise": if she stopped seeing him, they'd consider letting her in as a concubine once she was released.
That single word—concubine—cut like a blade. It laid bare her humiliation, stripped her of any remaining dignity, and erased all ties to her past as the cherished daughter of the Hastings family.
Even the most neglected daughters of noble families wouldn't be married in as concubines. But the Sutton family made the offer so matter-of-factly, with condescension in their eyes—as if they were being generous.
That was the moment she understood: She no longer belonged to the Hastings family. Not in any way.
She never said a word. But from that day on, she never saw Michael again.
"I understand," she said quietly.
An awkward silence settled over the hall. Valeria looked like she wanted to speak, but one glance at Charlotte's lifeless expression was enough. In the end, all she could do was sigh and walk away.
Only after she left did Charlotte finally sit down. Her body, tense all day, ached with fatigue. A round-faced maid entered the room, carrying a copper basin. "Lady Charlotte, my name is Gracie White. I'll be serving you from now on."
In the Red Pavilion, Charlotte had lived worse than a maid. She wasn't used to being served. She reached out to take the basin. "That's all right. I'll do it myself. You can go."
Gracie quickly stepped back, avoiding her hand. Her voice was flat, but firm. "I can't. Lady Valeria gave strict orders—I'm to take good care of you. You've already fallen out of favor, Lady Charlotte. Don't get me punished on top of it."
She was unlucky to have been assigned here, to Rainmere Hall, serving the family's disgraced Charlotte. No one knew if Charlotte had brought disease back from the Red Pavilion. And with her status now, there was no hope of advancement.
As she thought of the miserable days ahead, Gracie's mood soured. Her movements turned brusque, and water splashed from the basin, soaking Charlotte's sleeve.
Charlotte pulled her hand back and gave a faint, mocking smile.
So Valeria still didn't trust her. Bringing her home made the family look generous and virtuous. But she was also a risk—someone who might one day resent them, stir up trouble. So they posted someone to watch her closely.
All that talk of motherly love, sisterly affection—it was just for show.
Charlotte had seen enough of people in the Red Pavilion to know better. She didn't take the maid's rudeness to heart. She sat motionless, like a puppet, and let Gracie finish cleaning her up. Dinner was being served in the main hall, but Valeria had excused her. Said she didn't need to attend, considering how tired she must be.
Most likely, they were afraid she'd embarrass herself—or them.
Charlotte didn't mind. She ate a little on her own, then lay down to rest.
The next day was Brielle's coming-of-age party. Gracie woke her early and helped her dress. The outfit had been sent by Valeria—a wide-sleeved gown, embroidered with intricate patterns. A sheer shawl of fine silk floated delicately over the design, light as air.
Her hair was adorned with gilded pins—elegant, ornate, and stunning. Looking in the mirror, one might think the last three years had never happened. That the girl staring back was still the esteemed daughter of the Hastings family.
Charlotte blinked. "Isn't this… a bit too much?"
If she remembered correctly, these hair ornaments had come from the palace. They'd once been hers—but had long since been passed on to Brielle.
To see them here now felt… inappropriate.
Gracie rolled her eyes. "They were sent by Miss Hastings and Lady Valeria herself. If you go out without them, people might think the Hastings family's been mistreating you."
Charlotte pressed her lips together and said nothing.
As Gracie applied her makeup, she glanced at the reflection in the bronze mirror.
No doubt about it—she was beautiful. Stunning, even. But she looked like a doll. Cold. Expressionless. Gracie curled her lip. "Today's Lady Brielle's coming-of-age party. With so many guests around, you'd better not go out looking like that. If Lady Valeria or Lord Oliver sees you pulling a face, they'll say you're bringing bad luck."
It was Brielle's coming-of-age party. But it was Charlotte's, too.
She'd been pulled out of the Red Pavilion just before she was meant to receive her first client. Her fall into ruin had been stopped at the last second. By all accounts, she should've been grateful.
So why the long face?
Charlotte's voice was flat. "If we don't leave now, we'll miss the opening."
Gracie picked up the pace. Even rushing, they were late. The guests had already arrived and were separated between the front and rear courtyards.
The women had gathered in the back garden. From a distance, it was hard to tell where the flowers ended and the brightly dressed ladies began.
The Hastings family was in its prime—its name carried real weight. A rising young general, an engagement to the Marquis' estate… even a small family gathering now attracted nearly the entire Aurenshire's elite.
After all, Brielle was set to marry into the Marquis' estate. Anyone with half a brain knew it was wise to get in early.
Many had their eyes trained on the back entrance. The so-called "fake daughter" of the Hastings family—the one who'd been sent to the Red Pavilion—was said to be back. They were all waiting to get a look at Charlotte… and maybe step on her a little, just to put a smile on Brielle's face.
Charlotte had known today wouldn't be easy. That was why she hadn't stopped Gracie from dawdling. But she hadn't expected these women to be so patient—waiting until she arrived to start the party. Just before entering, she dismissed Gracie, slipped the ornate hairpin from her head, and replaced it with a simpler one she'd hidden in her sleeve. Then she stepped through the doorway.
The others hadn't been waiting to greet her, of course. And now that she'd arrived, they instinctively distanced themselves—as though being seen near her might taint their reputations. From afar, they watched her with smirks and thinly veiled contempt.
"The Hastings family really are softhearted. Still treating her like a proper young lady after all that? She came out of the Red Pavilion and they're still calling her 'Lady Charlotte.'"
"Is that brocade she's wearing? I heard it was a reward for Lord Michael's military achievements—only one bolt in the whole Aurenshire. It was meant for Miss Hastings's coming-of-age gown. I heard she was so kind she had it split in two, just so she could have a dress too."
"She's got a lot of nerve wearing it. Does she not realize what she is? A girl from the Red Pavilion, no matter what she wears, still reeks of the place. Next to Miss Hastings, she's nothing."
Brielle clearly heard every word—but she acted as though she hadn't. Smiling sweetly, she stepped down from the platform and gently took Charlotte's hand. "Charlotte, there you are. We've been waiting for you. The party can finally begin."
Their dresses were nearly identical—except Brielle's lacked the sheer shawl. Her look was more restrained, soft and elegant, like sunlight filtering through mist.
Charlotte, in contrast, looked overly lavish—almost garish. The shawl added a strange, unspoken weight to her appearance. Standing beside Brielle, she seemed out of place. Too much. Too conspicuous.
Brielle kept her close and led her to a seat. Then she signaled for the party to begin. The atmosphere quickly turned festive. Dancers spun, musicians played. The whole garden buzzed with conversation and music.
For the young ladies present, this was the perfect stage to show off their talents—a chance to earn praise, maybe even impress a future suitor. As the main character of the day, and already engaged to Michael, Brielle would of course perform last.
But no one wanted to go first. No one wanted to be seen as too eager. Start too early and you'd be lumped in with the entertainers. It would hurt your status.
Then, someone spoke up—voice dripping with sarcasm, "I've heard the Red Pavilion has the best dancers and musicians in the empire. Lady Charlotte must've picked up quite a few skills over those three years. Why don't you open the show for us? Let the ladies see something rare."
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Charlotte turned her head slowly. The speaker was Adalyn Sutton, the spoiled young lady of the Marquis' estate. She was a favorite of the Queen Mother—pampered, bold, and impossible to reason with.
Back when Charlotte had still been the Hastings family' prized daughter, she and Adalyn had been at odds constantly. They clashed every time they met—but Charlotte had never once lost.
Now that Charlotte had fallen from grace, of course Adalyn wouldn't miss her chance. And with her status, there were few here who dared offend her.
The garden fell into an uneasy silence. All eyes turned to Charlotte—some amused, some eager to see her humiliated.
Even Brielle looked tense, though her eyes glinted with something unreadable. Still, she stepped in to defend, smiling gently. "Lady Adalyn, my sister only returned yesterday. She's still tired—it wouldn't be right to ask her to perform. But if you'd like, I'd be happy to play something for you instead?"
Brielle was a skilled musician. Her playing was famous.
But Adalyn wasn't interested. "Oh, she's just tired? So she has learned something, then. What—she can dance for men at the Red Pavilion but not for us? I'm not asking for a strip show. If men can pay to see her, I certainly can too."
Then she casually tossed some cashes onto the ground in front of Charlotte.
"I hear today's your coming-of-age too. According to Red Pavilion rules, this would be your debut night, wouldn't it? Is this enough?"
Charlotte looked down at the cashes. 300 dollars.
No more, no less. The exact price of a girl's first night at the Red Pavilion.