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Chapter 2
With a loud “bang,” the door opened.
“What are you doing, not even getting dressed properly? The Grand Duke’s carriage will arrive soon. I told you to at least be properly dressed!”
Along with the irritated voice, the nanny returned as she burst into the dressing room.
I’m not someone you can just order around like that.
The eldest daughter of a deceased countess—me, the “young lady” the nanny was supposed to protect.
Yet I was grateful for her harsh treatment. Her irritation and scolding kept me anchored to reality.
If she hadn’t interrupted me at the right time, I would have been lost in thought for much longer.
If that shrieking woman hadn’t physically stopped me when I tried to smash my head against the wall, my soul might have left Anette’s body.
My cold gaze swept over the nanny.
Did she even know? That right after the possession, when I failed to adapt and tried to escape this body, letting me do so would have been her last chance in life?
But isn’t it human nature to step in once you know?
With that gratitude in mind, I smiled faintly and gestured gently at her.
Today was an important day—the day the original male lead arrives at the Count Poche estate. For both me and the original story. But…
“You expect me to wear this?”
“Pardon?”
“Get rid of it. Now.”
Thud. A cotton undergarment was shoved far to the edge of the table—the clothes the nanny had just handed me.
“What do you think you’re doing? Where did you learn such manners?!”
The nanny snapped.
“Manners?”
I curled the corner of my lips upward.
Who exactly was talking about manners here?
In a romance fantasy world, everything comes down to intimidation.
“You expect me to meet His Grace the Grand Duke wearing that? That rag?”
“R-rag?!”
“And where are my muslin undergarments? The ones my stepmother sent? Those would at least match the dress. That’s the minimum acceptable outfit.”
The Countess of Poche had specially prepared a new dress for Anette today, to maintain appearances in front of the Grand Duke.
Muslin, glossy satin, a petticoat to give volume—no matter how poorly she was treated, she was still the eldest daughter of a count. Her wardrobe should have reflected that. Not cheap cotton underwear fit for commoners.
“Nanny, don’t tell me you lost it? The new clothes I haven’t even worn once?”
The nanny swallowed hard. For the first time, her previously dismissive face showed discomfort. She was visibly flustered.
“Oh my.”
I deliberately widened my eyes.
“How did you manage to lose it, nanny?”
“I didn’t lose anything! Young lady, old clothes are better anyway. If both the dress and undergarments are new, they’ll just irritate your skin!”
She definitely sold them. Thinking Anette couldn’t even speak up.
“Then bring them. Right now. Why are you just standing there? Didn’t you hear me, nanny?”
“Th-that’s impossible! There’s no time! They’re somewhere in the wardrobe. You should’ve said something earlier! You need to go to breakfast!”
The nanny tried to remind me of the appointment, certain I would panic.
Indeed, missing the male lead’s first meeting event would be unthinkable for any idiot. But…
“I already told you. I’m not going. Tell His Grace I’m unwell and cannot attend today.”
I smiled brightly at her.
The Anette you thought you could push around is dead. She died the very day you stopped her from dying.
A prayer for Anette’s unknown soul. Maybe—just maybe—she had also ended up possessing my body. But I wouldn’t recommend it. My situation wasn’t much better.
I folded my arms, still uncombed, still undressed, as if daring her to do something.
The nanny gasped.
If I didn’t show up to meet the male lead like this, she would be severely punished by the Countess.
“Y-young lady!”
Exactly. You’re more desperate than I am.
As I didn’t budge, the nanny’s face twisted in frustration.
She looked like she was thinking, Why is she suddenly so disobedient today?!
Well, the Countess had likely ordered her to make sure I attended that important meeting in a new dress.
If I failed to attend and she had to report it was because of underwear, the Countess would lose her temper completely. All the trust she had built would collapse.
“You! Go bring Lady Kaitlyn’s clothes!”
Finally, the nanny made a decision and ordered a maid.
“W-what? Lady Kaitlyn’s clothes?”
The maid reacted in shock. Kaitlyn was the daughter of the current Countess of Poche—unlike Anette, who was treated like an unwanted child, she was cherished and privileged.
To use her clothes on me? If it went unnoticed, fine—but if discovered, Kaitlyn would never stay quiet.
“What are you waiting for?! She’s refusing to go out in that outfit!”
Although losing the clothes was clearly the nanny’s fault, she shifted responsibility onto me.
“Hurry! Do you want the young lady to be late for breakfast?!”
Ignoring the chaos, I opened my vanity.
Tap, tap—the powder settled evenly on my smooth skin.
Darius Inkhart.
It was time to meet the male lead of this story.
Beautifully dressed in a new gown.
Back straight, posture upright.
The dignified bearing befitting the eldest daughter of a count family.
I was beautiful.
“…Anette noona?”
My younger brother, who usually ignored me, stuttered upon seeing me that evening. He couldn’t take his eyes off me.
When I smiled faintly at him just to test it, his face immediately turned red.
All the people gathered at the dining hall began looking at me. I could hear whispers.
Was Lady Anette always this beautiful?
She resembles the late Countess.
Yes, the Countess was famously beautiful before she died.
“Anette Poche, eldest daughter of the Poche Count family, greets the honored guests.”
All eyes turned to me.
But none of them mattered.
Tonight, only one person’s attention was meaningful to me.
Darius Inkhart.
The male lead sitting at the far end of the long table.
He was the protagonist of this world—and someone tied to my life and death.
“I’m the last to arrive. I am Anette Poche, Your Grace.”
I smiled brightly, taking the first step toward my contractual marriage.
And thought—
I’m doomed.
Doomed.
I’m seriously doomed!
Flash.
The male lead’s face, looking at me, was hidden behind a cold silver mask.
You came to get married, at least show your face, right?
Nice to meet you. Since I’m a terminal-side character, I’ll ask upfront—do you happen to plan on killing me in the near future?
Even if I tried to follow formal conversation etiquette, how could I talk to someone whose face I couldn’t even see?
But a mask like that?
Did the duke even wear a mask in the original story?
It was said that Anette, his nominal wife, never even saw his face before she died.
So that meant…
From the moment of marriage until her death, she only ever saw that silver mask.
“Please understand that His Grace is attending with a mask due to a severe facial injury. Since he has difficulty speaking while wearing it, I will speak on his behalf.”
A man with soft brown hair smiled pleasantly as he explained on the Grand Duke’s behalf.
This is going to be hard to talk through.
If Darius followed the original path and sent me to a separate palace without any interest in me, I would end up assassinated. That’s why I needed to prove my usefulness to him somehow.
To change the route.
For him, moving a wife from a side palace to his main residence might be trivial—but for me, it’s life or death!
“Of course. Thank you for coming despite your severe injury. It shows your consideration.”
The Countess began the meal as if nothing unusual was happening.
The Poche family dining table, filled with rich southern cuisine, was lively with laughter and conversation. Only the two northerners remained isolated.
If this continues, I’ll be pushed straight into the original route without any chance to stop it.
I kept staring at the Grand Duke’s silver mask.
Tall stature, a gloomy aura reminiscent of a northern winter, heavy clothing, and an intimidating presence that made others hesitate to approach—he looked exactly as described in the original story.
If only I could tell what food he liked—but the mask revealed nothing, not even his expression.
At least he should take it off while eating.
Even if he didn’t speak, surely he wouldn’t have someone else eat for him.
Others at the table were also subtly paying attention.
The room grew so quiet it felt like a needle dropping would echo.
The Grand Duke lifted his soup spoon.
Then brought it to where his mouth would be.
Drip.
The soup, lifted up toward the mask, flowed back down into the bowl.
