TTYF 02

chapter 02

She had not known the future from the very beginning.

Strictly speaking, it was the opposite.

The first dream she had seen consisted of nothing more than vague, blurry scenes.

Every time she dreamed, the scenes were different. Sometimes it was a man and woman arguing. Other times it was a man suffering from heartbreak.

But there was one thing that never changed: the people who appeared in those dreams.

At first, their faces faded like pale smoke the moment she woke up. Yet as the dreams repeated, her memories became clearer and clearer until, eventually, they formed an entire story.

There was one unusual aspect to it.

The story unfolded through someone’s narration, written from the perspective of a first-person observer.

The narrator of Under the Rose Tree was introduced as the closest friend of the woman loved by the protagonist.

Facing her own impending death, she watched the turbulent romance that engulfed her friend.

She watched how a man who had clawed his way upward for the sake of love desperately clung on—and how he ultimately met ruin.

In the end, lying on her sickbed, she heard of the man’s downfall from her friend.

“He’s dead. You know he killed his business partner, don’t you? They say he was murdered in revenge. It’s terrifying, truly…”

“Then… you shouldn’t be here. What about the funeral?”

“Don’t say that! How could I go there when you’re this sick? I rushed here because I was afraid you might die…”

My friend’s voice was filled with concern and grief for me.

But it was hypocrisy.

Even now, I am merely being used as a convenient excuse for her to avoid him.

Poor man.

You threw everything away for love, only to reach a conclusion like this.

Everything was a facade.

Your love.

My life.

We struggled so desperately to remain content with illusions.

We clawed through sand while chasing a mirage.

Never realizing that the future waiting for us was one in which we would sink endlessly.

…

I closed my eyes.

We will meet again.

In a place where we no longer need to struggle.

Before the paths of all those stray bullets that missed their mark.

With that final monologue, the narrator’s life came to an end.

The novel concluded as a perfect tragedy.

Why did a story like this appear in my mind?

Everything had been far too vivid to dismiss as a mere dream.

Whenever she woke, Evelyn often wondered about it, yet she could never find an answer.

Or at least, that was what she had thought.

Back then, the names of the characters in Under the Rose Tree had been unclear.

Until last night’s dream.

Until she learned that the narrator’s name was Evelyn Primrose.

The narrator who watched her friend’s love story unfold and ultimately died at the end—

was herself.

Please… let it be nothing more than a dream.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It was almost miraculous that she wasn’t collapsing on the spot.

Was it because she had learned she would die in a year?

Or because she had learned the future itself?

The narrator’s calm declaration—that her life had been a mere facade—echoed endlessly through her mind.

At last, Evelyn staggered.

Had there not been a hand to catch her, she would have stumbled badly.

“Oh, Eve.”

Fortunately, her older brother, Clarence, who happened to be standing beside her, steadied her before anyone noticed.

He brushed back her sweat-damp hair and looked at her with concern.

“You don’t look well. Are you feeling that bad?”

“No, it’s not that…”

“That’s a relief. Then pull yourself together. Anyone who sees your expression right now will start questioning your health. You know today is important, don’t you? If you ruin this, Father will certainly be furious.”

The “important matter” Clarence referred to was Evelyn’s marriage.

A gloved finger pointed toward a man standing across the ballroom.

“Don’t forget, Evelyn. When the first dance begins, you’re to go to that man.”

His name was Arthur Grenville, a promising twenty-eight-year-old officer.

The fact that he had attended a prestigious boarding academy reserved for the children of influential noble families spoke for itself regarding his family’s standing.

And that also meant he was precisely the kind of person the Primrose family needed—a family rich in pedigree but lacking in influence.

Evelyn stared blankly at the man who was supposed to become her husband.

Then, impulsively, she spoke.

“Clarence. What would you think if I only had one year left to live?”

“…What? What kind of question is that?”

His brow immediately furrowed.

“I see. It’s because of that quack doctor who came the other day, isn’t it? He filled your head with nonsense. Whatever he said, ignore it. You’re going to get better soon.”

Her chest tightened.

Without realizing it, Evelyn clenched a fist against her collarbone.

“That’s not it. Listen to me. I’m just asking. If I really had only one year left to live… should I still go through with this marriage?”

At those words, confusion and irritation spread across Clarence’s normally thoughtful face.

He had never been someone who tolerated unrealistic hypotheticals.

Still, for the sake of his sister, he tried to be patient.

“First of all, Eve, you’re not going to die. But even if that were true… yes, you should still marry. You never know what life will bring. It’s better to prepare. For your own sake.”

“Even if… it’s not what I want?”

At last, Clarence’s patience ran dry.

He sighed and grasped her shoulders.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Evelyn. Even if you don’t want it, our parents do. You’ve always been obedient, so why are you acting like this all of a sudden? There are too many eyes on us, so stop—”

“What if I wanted to inherit the family instead?”

The gentleness vanished from his expression.

A cold laugh escaped him as he looked down at her.

“You? Evelyn? Someone who knows nothing about managing a household wants to inherit the family?”

Of course, Evelyn knew perfectly well that she could never inherit the family.

Nor had she ever truly wanted to.

It had merely been something she said on impulse.

She had never expected such a sharp reaction.

I can’t breathe.

It felt exactly like the suffocating frustration she experienced whenever her mother repeated, year after year, that she would recover.

If she really could get better.

If, as they always said, nobody knew what the future held—

Then why did no one ever ask her about the future?

Why did no one ever leave possibilities open for her?

It was both a boundary and a shackle.

A line drawn under the pretext of protecting her health.

A boundary no one—not even Evelyn herself—had ever tried to cross.

“I understand you’re having second thoughts because you’re about to be married, Evelyn. But everyone has things they can and cannot do. You should focus on what’s been given to you, not on what you want.”

What had been given to her.

And what she wanted.

As Evelyn repeated those words in her mind, music filled the ballroom, announcing the beginning of the first dance.

At the same time, Clarence’s gentle smile returned.

“There. It’s time. Go do what you’re supposed to do.”

He lightly turned her around.

Her gaze naturally followed toward the opposite side of the ballroom.

Toward the man she was supposed to marry.

And toward Dylan Fitzroy, the protagonist of Under the Rose Tree.

From the moment the music began, Dylan had been staring at only one place.

His gaze, hidden beneath deeply carved eye sockets, relentlessly pursued a single point.

Evelyn didn’t even need to follow his eyes to know what he was looking at.

Daphne.

Wanting Daphne had never been something Dylan was supposed to do.

Even standing in this ballroom was something never meant for a commoner like him.

Yet he had come.

He had desired Daphne.

He pursued his own wishes until the very end.

Even if it meant chasing an illusion.

Even if it was something he was never meant to have.

I only have one year left to live.

She had spent her entire life without desires.

A life consisting only of what she was allowed to do.

What she was expected to do.

Only then did Evelyn finally understand why the narrator in the book had called her life a facade.

And she understood what she herself wanted in this moment.

As though entranced, she took a step forward.

Once she had taken the first step, the next followed naturally, like a wheel rolling downhill.

But the destination of her steps was not the man her parents had chosen for her.

Before the rebel of high society stood the blue-blooded princess who had spent her entire life obeying others.

Some might call it a bullet fired in the wrong direction.

And that was exactly what Evelyn wanted.

“Dylan Fitzroy.”

Her voice trembled slightly.

She could feel her heart pounding.

Since the age of ten, she had hardly even run.

When was the last time she had felt her pulse so vividly?

At the sound of his name, Dylan’s green eyes finally shifted away from their fixed point.

His gaze was utterly indifferent.

Up close, his face looked even harsher than it had from afar.

More rebellious.

Yet that only made Evelyn like him more.

Because what she was about to do could only be described as an act of rebellion.

So she opened her lips and spoke.

“Marry me.”

My sickly life may have been decided ten years ago.

But yours hasn’t.

Evelyn decided she would save Dylan.

Following an utterly impulsive decision—

through an utterly romantic method.