Olivia, sitting with a straight back and a calm smile, exchanged greetings.

Her heart was pounding, and keeping a tranquil smile was as challenging as suppressing a sneeze.

“Debuting in a major tournament, do you think you have the qualifications?”

The Sun.

The newspaper that labeled Olivia as a parvenu, calling her a gold digger sticking to her ex-husband’s rival.

It was one of the places that raised absurd suspicions that she had secured her entry not with skill but through her body and distorted and fabricated the truth most maliciously.

“I’ll show you the results of this tournament.”

Olivia’s gaze, as firm as a frozen blue lake, solidified.

“Isn’t it an overestimation of yourself?”

Michael Dossett mockingly asked.

“Facing Sara Pavlova in your first match. Does that mean you’re confident of winning?”

Olivia did not avoid the contemptuous and dismissive gaze. On the contrary, she appeared even more composed.
“I will do my best, that’s the intention.”

“What is your relationship with Lord Ranslot?”

“…….”

It was a rude question.

Michael Dossett stared at the perplexed Olivia, pulling his lips wickedly.

The journalists, who had been cheering for Dossett instead of scratching his itchy leg, soon shifted their gaze to Olivia.

Strangely, a chill emanated from her eyes.

The Grand Ballroom felt suffocatingly hot, heated by the fervor of the reporters.

“I mentioned that I wouldn’t entertain questions related to my private life. Please change the question, or give someone else a chance to ask.”

“I asked Miss Blanchett a question.”

Russell Junior glared at Michael Dossett, who interrupted him, and gnashed his teeth.

Annoyed by the rudeness, he nervously shook his leg beneath the table.

Meet me in private.

With his fists clenched and leaning against the door frame, Edgar’s gaze shifted to Olivia without taking his eyes off the journalist. The mysterious woman’s elegant face revealed nothing.

What is she thinking with that small head?

When I considered you as a pawn to be used and discarded, what did you think of me?

Edgar’s shadowy eyes, staring at the woman without a word, darkened like an abyss.

Olivia decided not to run away. She had done nothing wrong.

“Will you write down my answer properly if I respond?”

Olivia’s expression as she faced the journalist was surprisingly calm.

She had always feared how people perceived her.

But she decided not to hide anymore.

“Or would you write the article that suits your taste despite my answer?”

Michael Dossett’s face turned red.

The woman, who seemed embarrassed to the point of trembling with shame, unexpectedly showed a confident attitude that no one had anticipated.

Her demeanor was even elegant.

Olivia’s calm silence for a while was effective.

The malicious questions in the notebook, including those attempting to link her to Princess Anblin, suddenly came to a halt.

“I occasionally played tennis when I stayed at Ranslot Hotel. Ms. Ranslot, who saw my skills at that time, suggested the partnership. Our interactions were limited to a few meetings as a sponsor representative and a player under the same agency.”

Olivia smiled, even having the composure to question the journalists.

“Isn’t the truth less interesting? Do you have any more questions, Mr. Dossett?”

“…No. …Thank you for your answer.”

“I look forward to The Sun’s article tomorrow.”

Olivia expressed anticipation, slowly scanning the audience.

“Is there anyone curious about my playing style?”

Olivia, with a dumbfounded expression, kindly asked the journalists staring at the podium.

“If it’s about my skills, I can share more interesting stories.”
Olivia’s radiant smile, enhanced by the dazzling chandelier lights in the Grand Ballroom, was brilliant.

It wasn’t the expected answer, but Edgar smiled silently.

Frozen like someone with poor circulation, standing there as if drained of blood, Olivia was effortlessly toying with the journalists on the palm of her hand.

Doing so well, yet so theatrical.

Edgar’s amused gaze passed over Olivia’s neatly folded hands, which had just reached down along the deep navy hem of her skirt.

A glossy cream-colored patent leather ribbon on her shiny shoes fluttered vibrantly.

Chuckling, Edgar lowered his head and covered his mouth with his hand to suppress the laughter bursting out.

Olivia earnestly hoped that this time would pass quickly.

Olivia Blanchett…

Sarah Pavlova observed her from the back of the press conference room, leaning against the wall at a skewed angle.

Her cold, glacial eyes, despite being nicknamed the Ice Flame, calmly rose.

Then, Olivia’s gaze also met Sarah Pavlova’s.

Sarah raised one corner of her mouth.

The first female player sponsored by the Ranslot Saga.

Whether her skill is on the bed or on the court, you’ll find out tomorrow.

Sarah Pavlova leaned against the wall and then turned away.

The silver strands of hair, tied up high, sparkled like transparent ice in the dazzling chandelier lights.

And the next day, the cannon announcing the opening of the Dublin Championship echoed through the skies of Ritten.