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Chapter 3
“So that’s how it was.”
I muttered to myself as I stood before the mirror.
My gaze moved busily between the calendar on the table and the mirror before finally settling on my reflection.
Glossy black hair, pale skin that contrasted against it, and the deep green eyes unique to the House of Aphelemion.
“So I really did have everything.”
Lying frail in a sickbed for so long, I had nearly forgotten both my face and my noble status. It struck me anew that I had once been beautiful.
In the original story—the first life before Grace possessed this body—I had become one of the wealthiest people on the continent.
I hadn’t been cursed by the Evil God, but I had left the imperial palace and lived in loneliness, avoiding everyone except for a few friends. Still, I had no regrets.
‘The second life was completely ruined because of Grace.’
Which meant this was my third life.
Once again, I was a great noble of the Empire. I had been given another chance to live.
My heart pounded as dozens of thoughts raced through my mind.
I can change everything.
But what exactly should I change?
Reliving the first life wasn’t an option. Whatever the reason, this world had summoned Grace once already.
Because I had researched magic stones in my previous life, I knew this much: even if time was reversed through the power of magic stones, someone who had once belonged to this world would not simply disappear. The flow of dimensions was different from time itself.
Grace would come again.
No—she might already be here.
Besides, in my first life, I had witnessed the Empire destroyed by the Evil God’s curse. Once the Second Prince, Baltazar, became the heir while cursed, the world had descended into chaos.
I myself survived unharmed, but too many others had suffered and died. If that future could be avoided, I wanted to avoid it.
As that thought crossed my mind, one man’s face surfaced in my memory.
A man who had died in battle without ever meeting me in my first life.
A man who had sought me out in my second life and left me with words I would never forget.
‘I hope you get to live a life worthy of being called life.’
First Prince, Karsiel Pharanas.
After glancing at the calendar and doing a few calculations in my head, I instinctively let out a sigh of relief.
He was alive.
The Empire’s future was still alive.
The chaos in my mind instantly cleared.
There were three things I needed to do.
Save Karsiel.
Stop the Evil God’s curse.
And deal with Grace.
I still didn’t know exactly how I would deal with her, so for now I settled on the simple-minded plan of throwing her to monsters as bait. Plans could always be revised later.
As I indulged in violent fantasies for a while, an annoyed voice rang out beside me.
“Miss, this is all there is for breakfast. Eat it yourself, and try to stay in your room.”
Ah, right.
Another fact I had almost forgotten resurfaced.
Around the age of eighteen, this mansion had effectively been taken over by a distant branch relative named Julius and his family.
“And don’t make things difficult for me by wandering into the dining hall without saying anything like last time.”
Because of that, my room was always cold and dark. The servants, well aware that Julius held the real power, treated me as a nuisance. Most of them had come from Julius’s household, making things even worse.
Thunk.
The maid tossed a loaf of bread onto the table. It was so stale and hard that it looked as though she had picked it up from the kitchen floor.
I narrowed my eyes and studied her.
A pretty girl around my age, with a perpetually irritated expression, as if life itself bored her.
What was her name again?
“Mara?”
“Haaah…”
The maid frowned at me.
“Did you do that on purpose? To annoy me? Don’t you think that’s childish?”
Ah. Seeing that furrowed brow jogged my memory.
“Sorry, Mari.”
Mari, who had been scrubbing the floor roughly, gave a short nod as though graciously deciding to forgive me.
“Today’s important, so I’m busy too. Just eat that and don’t call for me unless it’s necessary.”
“What’s happening today?”
Without even looking my way, Mari answered curtly.
“I told you yesterday. Today is—”
Before she could finish, a lilting voice drifted in from the open doorway.
“Today is the imperial palace ball. Not that it has anything to do with you.”
Mari immediately stiffened and straightened her posture.
Both she and I turned toward the owner of the voice.
Standing in the doorway were a young man and woman who looked to be around twenty. Similar features—thick brown hair, sharply raised brows, amber eyes, and flashy but tasteless clothing that looked expensive for the sake of looking expensive.
I recognized them instantly.
“Bartol. Demeira.”
At the sound of their names, the siblings under Julius simultaneously curled their lips into nasty smiles.
“You look displeased. Did my words upset you?”
Demeira, who had interrupted Mari earlier, crossed her arms.
“Not at all.”
“Even if they did, too bad. It’s the truth. Only invited guests can attend the ball, and nobody invited you.”
She continued with a smug smile.
I frowned. Though I had almost forgotten after all this time, Demeira had always had the nasty habit of provoking me at every opportunity.
Right after Julius’s family took over the mansion five years ago, she had treated me warmly like a younger sister. Then, at some point, her attitude turned vicious.
“And you were invited?”
“Of course.”
She answered as if she had been waiting for me to ask.
“An invitation was sent to the head of the household, and Father, as acting head, gave invitations to Bartol and me. Father and Mother went to the Penton estate, but we—”
“Your father is not the head of House Aphelemion.”
I pointed out flatly. I remembered having similar conversations with her in previous lives.
If an invitation had come from the imperial palace, then it had been addressed to House Aphelemion—not House Penton.
“He’s the acting head.”
“Stop with the pointless rationalizations. I know exactly what you’re thinking.”
At my blunt words, the smile vanished from Demeira’s face.
“You still think you’re the lady of this house.”
“….”
“You’re nothing but a duke’s daughter in name. Someone destined to rot forever in a tiny room in this mansion. A pathetic fool who still can’t accept reality after five years.”
Demeira twisted her lips mockingly.
Since her childish provocations followed exactly the same pattern as in my past lives, I instinctively sneered. Her thoughts were painfully obvious.
“And meanwhile, you’ll use this ducal family’s wealth to prepare your dowry and marry into a prestigious house?”
Her brows twitched.
“Father is the only adult in the ducal family! Of course disposing of the family wealth is his right! As the acting duke’s daughter, naturally I—”
“I wonder.”
I smiled calmly. Someone as transparent as her was easy to deal with. Even more so now that I remembered my previous lives.
“I doubt Anthony Morin, the viscount’s son, sees it that way.”
“…What?”
“How many times has he rejected you now? Four?”
I asked casually while pretending to count.
Demeira’s face turned ashen.
“If even I’ve heard the rumors, then surely the whole Empire knows by now. Didn’t you send dozens of letters? And never receive a single reply?”
Anthony Morin was heir to a fairly influential viscountcy, famous in high society for his handsome looks and exceptional horsemanship.
He was also the object of Demeira’s relentless pursuit for years.
Based on my memories, she never succeeded. In my first life she had been rejected seven times, and in the second, six.
If my calculations were right, just a few months ago she had been publicly humiliated at Anthony’s birthday banquet.
Though his words had been wrapped in elegant excuses, the meaning was simple: her father held no official title, making her socially unsuitable for him.
Of course, the fact that he felt no particular attraction to Demeira also played a role. Anthony enjoyed accepting her expensive gifts and stringing her along before rejecting her whenever it mattered most, leaving Demeira’s pride badly wounded.
At my words, her face reddened—especially around the eyes.
She marched toward me and snatched the dry bread from my plate before throwing it to the floor.
Clang!
“You don’t get breakfast today. If you want food, crawl and pick that up yourself. And…”
Apparently still unsatisfied, she grabbed the cup of water beside it.
“Demeira. I’m warning you—put that down.”
“Don’t order me around!”
She hesitated briefly, then, seemingly angered even further by my tone, overturned the cup over my head.
Splash—
Before I could react, icy water streamed through my hair, down my shoulders and neck, soaking even the inside of my nightclothes.
I saw Mari flinch at the sight of the drenched bedsheets.
“You can’t fight back even when I do this to you, can you?”
Demeira muttered coldly as she watched water drip down my face.
“There’s no one in this mansion who’ll take your side. Everyone here belongs to my father.”
“….”
“So accept it already! In this house, I’m above you!”
She shouted the words emphatically.
Nothing’s changed.
Five years ago or now, Demeira wanted only one thing: official acknowledgment of her superiority.
She truly seemed to believe that if she could force me—the nominal Lady of Aphelemion—to admit that she was more noble than I was, then Anthony Morin and everyone else would finally recognize her status.
“Or maybe I should drag you to the stables again and dunk your head into the horses’ water trough? You struggled so pathetically back then.”
At first, she had tried befriending me and acting like an older sister. When that failed, she moved on to threats, violence, and ridicule.
Whatever her reasons, I had no intention of tolerating it anymore.
In my first life, I had endured Julius’s family’s abuse until I finally broke and crawled before them. Though I eventually escaped, the memories remained buried deep inside me as trauma.
In my second life, the Evil God’s curse had driven Julius’s family away before I had to submit—but my life had still been miserable until then.
So this time, there would be a different response.
Smack!
My hand lashed out like lightning, and Demeira’s head snapped to the side.
Silence fell over the room. Mari and Demeira both froze, eyes wide in shock.
“Y-you hit me? How dare you—”
Smack!
Instead of answering, I slapped her again, sending her face whipping the other direction.
“I warned you to put the cup down.”
My calm tone only made her stare harder in disbelief. She looked utterly unable to process the fact that someone who had never even been struck by her parents had just been slapped twice.
“I-I won’t let this go! I’ll call the servants right now and have you—”
“Go ahead. Then I’ll tell everyone you took Anthony Morin’s hair to a witch and begged for a love spell.”
I smiled sweetly.
Demeira’s lips trembled violently.
“You think rumors won’t spread through high society? Do you really think the servants here can keep their mouths shut? They love gossip too much.”
Her pale face was full of only one question:
How do you know that?
Because I’d heard it in my past lives.
In both my first and second lives, she had drunkenly confessed the whole thing herself months from now.
One night after returning home tipsy, she had clung to her father’s trousers and wailed loudly that the witch had been a fraud and stolen her money.
“D-did you investigate me?”
Demeira finally managed to stammer out.
“I won’t let you get away with this. I’ll beat your face until it swells! Just wait here while I get the whip—”
“That’s enough, Demeira.”
Just as she glared at me murderously, Bartol—who had been silently watching from the doorway—walked forward and stepped between us.
“Brother?”
Demeira’s face twisted.
“You’re taking her side right now—”
“She did throw water first.”
Bartol held out a handkerchief toward me with a refined expression.
“You’re soaked. What if you catch cold?”
Demeira whipped around to stare at him furiously.
“Brother, are you serious right now? And why are you lowering your voice like some sleazy actor?”
“Ahem. Stand back.”
“Hmph!”
At Bartol’s words, Demeira stepped away with a sulky expression.
“Iris, take the handkerchief.”
It was help.
An obvious gesture of taking my side.
And yet a chill ran down my spine.
Has this lunatic lost his mind?
This was the same bastard who used to hold my arms while Demeira shoved my head into horse troughs.
I quickly glanced at the calendar again.
Right. It was around this time.
Suppressing the anxiety rising inside me, I looked at him carefully.
He tilted his head slightly to emphasize what he probably thought was his “better-looking side.” The lips that should have been twisted with malice instead wore a greasy smile.
“Why that expression? Is it so strange for me to care for you?”
“…Could you stop talking like a creep?”
For most of the time I had lived in this mansion, Bartol had bullied me alongside Demeira.
Then, at some point, his attitude changed.
“How cruel. Though I suppose that’s part of your charm.”
More specifically, it happened after I turned eighteen, after Bartol spent several months visiting his maternal relatives, after Julius told him something, and after he returned to find that I had lost my baby fat and grown taller.
From then on, his gaze and tone became sticky and unsettling, and he often recited dramatic lines to me as though he were acting in a play.
“I’m pretty sure I said hearing that makes me want to vomit.”
“Tsk. Is that any way to speak?”
Bartol reached out and lifted my chin.
Then he repeated, word for word, the single most revolting sentence I had heard across both my lifetimes.
“To your future husband, no less.”
The moment he winked—
“Blech.”
“Urgh.”
Demeira and I shuddered in disgust at the exact same time.
