FJ 24

Chapter: 24

3. Juliet’s Lover

In her dream, Juliet found herself wandering frantically through a vast castle like a labyrinth.

Where is that sound coming from?

For a while now, the wailing cry of a baby had clung to her ears, refusing to let go.

Without even knowing why, Juliet desperately followed the sound of the crying. At the same time, a sense of unease crept over her.

Just last night, she had boarded a train to escape from a man who had chased her through the capital—so why was she wandering through a place like this?

That meant this was undoubtedly a dream. And yet, within a dream, rational thought was impossible.

Please… hurry…

She felt that something terrible would happen if she didn’t find the crying baby quickly.

At first, the baby’s cries had been faint, but they grew louder and louder, now sounding like desperate screams on the verge of being cut short.

Please don’t cry, little one. You’ll be discovered.

Though she didn’t even know what she feared, Juliet burst into tears herself, running down the stairs like a madwoman.

When she finally arrived—her cheeks soaked with tears—someone had already beaten her there.

It was a colorless space that could have been a balcony or the top of a castle wall. The back of a man standing before a cradle looked familiar.

The cradle was empty, and in the crook of the man’s left arm was a small bundle wrapped in swaddling cloth.

The moment she met the man’s cold gaze, the crying abruptly stopped, and her heart dropped.

He was close enough to touch if she reached out her hand, yet Juliet couldn’t move at all.

Behind the man, directly below the castle wall—

There was an unrealistically gigantic serpent coiled up, hissing menacingly.

No. Please.

Juliet collapsed to her knees as if her legs had given out.

With just a simple release of his hand, the baby in his arms could fall straight off the wall.

The man looked down at the tiny infant wrapped in cloth with eyes devoid of any warmth.

Trembling, Juliet crawled forward and clung to his feet. Not even knowing what she had done wrong, she began begging blindly.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you.

I won’t ever ask who the woman you’re looking for is again.

Just give me the child back, and I’ll disappear immediately. I’ll go far away and live as if I were dead for the rest of my life.

Please… don’t do this.

I’ll do anything you ask. Anything, so—”

“Really?”

The man, who had been looking down at Juliet with indifferent eyes, smiled for the first time.

Holding the child in one arm, he extended his empty hand.

That large hand pulled her effortlessly to her feet, then cupped her tear-soaked cheek.

“Anything?”

“Yes. Anything. I’ll do whatever you want.”

The hand stroking her cheek was surprisingly warm.

“Then choose me, Juliet.”

Shivering from the cold, Juliet nodded without thinking.

“Yes. I’ll choose you. I’ll do whatever you tell me to.”

The warmth dulled her ability to think. His voice was so gentle it brought tears to her eyes, and his smiling eyes sparkled.

The very next moment—just as Juliet relaxed, reassured that he wouldn’t harm her—the man released his other hand.

“In return, you give this up.”

The baby thrown beyond the castle wall was swallowed whole in a single gulp by the gigantic serpent.

* * *

“—Hah!”

Juliet awoke from the nightmare, gasping for breath. As she opened her eyes, tears that had pooled at the corners spilled down.

Clatter, clatter.

The steady shaking of the train and the narrow bed of the compartment pulled her back into reality.

She repeated to herself desperately:

No. I escaped.

From that man.

That’s right. Last night, she had ended a seven-year contractual relationship and fled from Lennox Carlyle.

She didn’t want to be abandoned by her lover and die miserably like in her first life. In this second life, she had succeeded in running away.

The aftereffects of the nightmare lingered, and Juliet pressed a hand over her racing heart.

“Then choose me.”

The cold voice still seemed to echo vividly in her ears.

Closing her eyes, Juliet tried to erase the image of the massive serpent swallowing the baby.

It’s fine. It was just a dream.

It was a scene she had never seen even in her first life before regression. And in this life—where she had escaped—it was something that would never happen.

She had grown accustomed to bad dreams. They were a side effect of awakening the butterflies.

They said that those who formed contracts with artifacts would have dreams. Even more so if the power borrowed came from a powerful evil spirit that gnawed away at the mind.

The more power you borrow, the greater the price you must pay.

That was why the end of humans who recklessly drew upon the power of monsters was never good.

Like waves crashing against a solid cliff to carve out a cave, the butterflies slowly eroded her mental domain, and nightmares became more frequent.

Juliet sat up.

What time is it?

She must have cried herself to sleep.

Memories from her first life, and even from seven years ago when she first met him in this one—it felt like she had dreamed a long, jumbled dream where timelines overlapped.

She felt as though she had slept for ages, yet it was still early dawn, before the sun had risen.

After checking the clock, Juliet returned to bed and gazed out the still-dark window.

The nightmares Juliet had in her second life were usually predictable.

Dreams where she failed to prevent her parents’ deaths no matter how many times she regressed, or dreams replaying again and again the memories of being abandoned by a man in her first life.

But occasionally, when she was especially exhausted or unwell, she dreamed about a child.

Just like today.

That’s ridiculous.

Juliet let out a small laugh and wiped her damp cheeks. Dreaming about a child she had never even held—absurd.

“Isn’t what’s in your belly my child?”

It must have been because of what the man who chased her to the station had said last night.

He had just misunderstood.

So there was no reason to be hurt by it, nor to resent it.

Curling up as if hugging her stomach, Juliet tried to think of something else and absentmindedly fiddled with the thin necklace she always wore.

The cool, smooth surface of the pearls brought her comfort.

It was a necklace closer to a rosary, made by stringing together small pearls in a long, dense line.

The pearls were small, so it wasn’t a particularly valuable piece of jewelry, but to Juliet it was an irreplaceable keepsake from her mother.

She traced one end of the necklace with her fingertips. She could read the finely engraved letters inside without even looking.

Lillian Seneca.

Juliet was deeply curious about what kind of person Lillian Seneca had been.

Seven years ago, just before leaving for the north with her lover, Juliet had sorted through her family’s assets.

Her top priority had been preserving her parents’ belongings and the old estate, so she sold off all valuable artworks and old family heirlooms.

To avoid touching her father’s watch and cufflinks or her mother’s jewelry, she had to dispose of less important items.

This slender pearl necklace was something she had found in her mother’s room while cleaning the house back then.

I don’t remember ever seeing her wear it.

Judging by how carefully it had been stored in the deepest drawer, it was clearly something her mother cherished.

According to the card found with it at the bottom of the jewelry box, the necklace had been a gift to “Lillian Seneca” from someone with the initials “L.L.”

To Lily, happy 16th birthday. —L.L.

After discovering the name engraved on the necklace and reading the message on the card, Juliet had been thrown into confusion.

Who is Lillian Seneca?

Lillian was indeed her mother’s name—but before marriage, the countess’s surname had been Mayfair. Lillian Mayfair.

The person called “L.L.” could have been a former lover, a friend, or perhaps a family member.

But where did the name Seneca come from?

Harboring doubts, Juliet had conducted her own investigation while staying in the north.

Calling it an investigation was generous—it was really just flipping through noble almanacs at the ducal library—but still, the Mayfair family had indeed existed in the eastern region. Several generations ago, the last heir had renounced succession, and the line had died out.

That much matched what her parents had told her. But something still didn’t sit right.

She had heard that her mother had very few remaining relatives, but Juliet had never once met any maternal relatives.

And nowhere could she find a family named Seneca. Only then did it occur to her that they might not have been nobles at all.

In marriages where there was a large disparity in status, it was more common than one might think to purchase the genealogy of a fallen noble house to avoid scrutiny of a child’s lineage.

That wouldn’t be strange.

The imperial capital lay far to the southwest, and high-society nobles there tended to believe that anything beyond the southwest was practically the end of the world. Saying one was from a distant eastern family would have been enough to satisfy them.

Her parents’ friends were people her mother had met only after becoming the Countess of Monad, so none of them knew what kind of life she had lived before marriage.

At the very least, there was no one in the capital who knew the name Lillian Seneca.

Just as Juliet had thoroughly hidden the truth of her first life from her parents, perhaps her mother, too, had secrets of her own.

I should have asked.

What kind of people her grandparents were. How her parents met. What kind of life her mother lived before marriage.

If only she had been more curious, talked more. If only she had known more about her parents.

Now… I’ll never be able to ask.

With that thought, Juliet sat up. Beyond the rattling train window, the dawn sky was gradually brightening.

* * *

Directly behind the passenger compartment was the dining car.

Because it was still early, Juliet was the only passenger seated at a window table, yet she was surprisingly able to enjoy a full breakfast.

Having barely eaten the day before, Juliet found herself enjoying the meal immensely.

A cup of freshly brewed hot coffee, a fluffy omelet with cheese and mushrooms, figs, and white bread.

She was absentmindedly watching the sun rise through the large window while holding her coffee cup when the conductor, who was making his rounds, approached her.

“Mrs. Seneca, was your meal to your liking?”

Juliet smiled gently at the title.

To board the train, identification was required, so Juliet had created a false identity under the name “Lillian Seneca.”

In many ways, it was suitable. No one in the capital knew a Lillian Seneca, and she was headed east.

And if, by chance, she used the name Lillian Seneca in the east and met someone who recognized it—or someone who knew her mother in the past—wouldn’t that be something?

Juliet harbored a small hope like that.

After exchanging a few polite pleasantries, the conductor reminded her to keep her ticket ready, as it might be checked mid-journey.

At that, Juliet rummaged through her small handbag to make sure she had brought it.

“Oh no.”

She froze mid-search, her heart sinking.

Both her ticket and the identification made under the name Lillian Seneca were neatly tucked inside the bag.

The problem was that there was something else inside—something that shouldn’t have been there.

“…I brought this with me.”

What Juliet pulled out was a small, dove-shaped brooch made of pure silver.