Wrong Script, Right Love Chapter 55: The Stage Awaits (and So Does Trouble)

I woke up to a very serious problem.

I was stuck. Pinned. Immobilized. Alvar’s arm was clamped around me like a steel chain, his face buried in my hair. His entire body screamed —except the treasure was apparently me.

Anyway. I’m used to that.

What I wasn’t used to was Sir Haldor at six in the morning, storming out of the village like an avenging god with my crimson baby perched on his shoulder.

"MY BUDDIES WILL CHOP THEIR LEGS OFF," he roared, voice echoing like a war drum. "AND LET THEM RUN ON SNOW WITH LIMPED LEGS!!!"

And somehow——my crimson pack threw their heads back and HOWLED in agreement.

Zephyy said dryly on my shoulder,

I stared flatly at the sight of Sir Haldor marching away with sir Roland like the god of vengeance himself, crimson babies howling in chorus.

And just like that, my early morning started.

Which brings me here. The warehouse.

Thalion.

Currently posing with a pendant and brooch so shiny they could probably signal ships from across the ocean. His nose looked longer than his ears, which, considering he was an elf, was an accomplishment.

"See, Leif?" he said, practically vibrating with pride. "Isn’t this ?"

Zephyy peeked at it, tail flicking.

I ignored Zephyy and I nodded politely to Thalion. "It’s... indeed beautiful, Thalion. You’re really good with this."

He puffed up like a rooster on steroids. "

I picked up the pendant carefully, rolling it in my palm. "...Oh. It’s not burning."

Thalion smirked, smugness level: "Because I reduced the heat. I made them safe for humans. Like you."

I blinked. "So... you’re saying this doesn’t have any power?"

His ears twitched, affronted. "Leif! Don’t insult my craft! You cannot take power out of a Trivium stone. I only dampened it—reduced the heat so you wouldn’t get hurt. The energy is still there. Just hidden."

"...Oh." I gave him a big thumbs up. "Then you’re really awesome, Thalion."

He actually PREENED. Like a peacock. I swear if he had feathers, he’d be fanning them right now.

"Obviously," he said, tossing his hair like some soap opera diva.

Zephyy snorted in my mind.

Anyway... that wasn’t even the main issue. The issue?

The jewelry was done. Which meant it was time for promotion. Which meant—

Which meant... money and I DON’T FUCKING HAVE THAT CURRENTLY!!!!

I slumped across my office desk like a dying fish. "I’m rich... and yet not rich. What kind of tragic life is this? Truly, I am the embodiment of irony."

Then I mumbled, "Should I ask father for money?"

Nick, ever the worried hen, furrowed his brows. "What’s the matter, my lord?"

I peeked at him through my hair... only to see him feeding Zephyy little bites of cake like he was a pampered house pet.

"...You sure got along with Zephyy quickly, Nick," I muttered.

Nick grinned, scratching under Zephyy’s chin. "Of course. Such a cute, well-behaved cat."

I smirked. If only he knew Zephyy is Dragon, not a cat.

Zephyy, meanwhile, puffed his chest like a royal. "

I groaned. "Yeah, yeah. If only you’d stop threatening to commit homicide on Alvar every other day, people might actually believe you’re ’well-behaved.’"

Nick blinked. "...Huh?"

"Nothing," I said quickly, waving my hands.

"By the way, where is Alvar?" I asked, realizing my boyfriend was missing.

Nick tilted his head thoughtfully. "Oh, I saw him walking toward the second warehouse. Where Eryndor stays."

I furrowed. "Hmm... meeting with Eryndor? I wonder why."

Nick hummed, "Probably about Medicines, my lord."

I nodded.

The door creaked open, and Baron Sigurd’s head poked in. "My lord. You have received a letter."

I sat up. "A letter? From whom?"

Sigurd entered fully, holding two envelopes with all the ceremony of a man presenting cursed objects. His smile was suspiciously cheerful. "One is from Count Viktor. The other... has no name, my lord."

I nodded and took them. With a sigh, I broke the seal on Father’s letter first.

Inside were just a few words, written in :

COME HOME. AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

. . .

. . .

I blinked at the page. "...Did I do something wrong? Why do I feel... actual murder intent coming from these words?"

Slowly, I turned my gaze toward Baron Sigurd. He was very obviously avoiding my eyes. Like a guilty cat pretending it hadn’t just knocked over an expensive vase.

"Baron..." I narrowed my eyes. "You know something, don’t you?"

He cleared his throat. "Well... I may have... ... informed the Count that you were kidnapped."

My jaw dropped. "...You ?!"

"Just a tiny report."

"WHY would you do that, Baron?! How could you betray me like this—I am your ruler!"

Sigurd’s expression didn’t so much as twitch. He just looked me dead in the eyes and said flatly,

"And he’s the Supreme Ruler.

. . .

. . .

The silence was heavy.

Nick shuffled awkwardly; Zephyy licked his paw.

I threw my hands up. "So what you’re saying is—you’ve doomed me! My father’s wrath is basically already at the door!"

Zephyy yawned.

Nick, ever the optimist, piped up, "Maybe your father just misses you?"

I pointed at the letter. "Does this look like to you?! THIS IS A MURDER NOTE WITH EXTRA STEPS!"

Sigurd, still stone-faced, muttered, "I did what was necessary."

"Necessary?!" I clutched my chest. "Baron Sigurd, you’ve stabbed me right in the back with duty-shaped loyalty!"

Zephyy smirked.

I ignored him and started pacing. My heart still thumped from the shock, but then——a brilliant idea sparked in my brain.

If I have to face this chaos anyway... isn’t this the time to organize a fashion show in the capital? I could call it "Threads of Tomorrow" or "The Rainbow Fashion Show"—whatever sounded expensive enough to make nobles throw gold at me!

If I play this right, I can convince Mother and Father to invest. That means—free funding, free publicity, I’ll look like a genius visionary instead of a panicking disaster.

I smirked to myself. "Alright, gentlemen," I announced, turning toward them with my best dramatic flair, "pack your bags. We’re going back to the capital!"

Nick arched an eyebrow. "This sounds suspiciously like another one of your grand ideas, My lord."

I grinned, sweeping my cloak behind me as though taking a final bow. "Grand? My dear Nick, it’s The stage awaits."

But as I turned toward my desk, ready to begin my grand plan... my gaze fell upon the other letter still lying there.

Unopened.Unlabeled.Waiting.

I froze, my smile flickering.