VWTI 01

Chapter 01

“The heir will be the child born of Stella.”

“…Do you even know what that means, when you say it?”

“Yes. It means that even if we marry, I will never touch you.”

Clink—

The trembling teacup slipped from her hand with a sharp, unpleasant sound.

“Raymond. I’m asking because I truly don’t understand—surely you’re not talking about the heir to my family, the Duchy of Martur, are you? Hm? You mean your own family, the Duchy of Larson, right?”

“Hah. Yevgenia Martur. Please, don’t be stupid.”

“W-what did you just say?”

Raymond, shaking his head as if genuinely disgusted, set down his teacup with elegant composure.
Not even a clink—its perfect placement told just how calm he was.

Looking straight at the flustered Yevgenia, he said coldly,
“This marriage is happening because you wanted it. For your pathetic love.”

“……”

“So shouldn’t my love be respected too?”

It was utterly insane.

Yevgenia’s shoulders began to tremble with fury, and Raymond rose to his feet, indifferent—
as though her tears had nothing to do with him.

Behind him, her dress rustled.
Thinking she was coming to cling to him again, Raymond turned with a weary expression.

And then—

“Ma–Martur, what are you—”

“Raymond Larson, you son of a *****!”

Whack! Thud! Slam!

“Die! Die!”

“Ugh—ahhh! Agh!”

The heavy shoes studded with diamonds—the only pair like them in the empire—were practically a lethal weapon.
The sharp heel came down on his shoulder, his back, his arms—no mercy anywhere.

“Urgh—stop, Martur, you lunatic! Agh!”

Raymond curled up and tried to crawl away, but Yevgenia wasn’t done.
Even as he was beaten, he still called her “Martur” so formally—
and that made her even angrier.

When they were children, back when he was just a boy nibbling on bread soaked in milk,
he used to call her “Zhenya,” so sweetly!

Even limping with one shoe off, she chased him relentlessly.
Only when the heel cracked against his forehead—thud!—and drew blood did she finally stop.

“Haah… Martur, you’re actually insane—”

“Yes, I’m insane! But you’re worse! You come in as a son-in-law and dare say the heir will be Stella’s child?! The more I think about it, the madder I get! Take some more!”

“Argh! Aghhh!”

The relentless heel assault continued until Raymond’s fine clothes were a shredded mess.

After several attempts, he finally staggered away, clutching his bleeding forehead, and shouted,
“You—you crazy woman! You pretend to act all refined in front of me, but now that your Name has manifested, you think you don’t have to anymore?!”

“Bullshit. You want more of this, huh?”

“…N-no matter what you do, nothing will change. Acting crazy won’t make me—won’t make me look at you…”

There was no need to let him finish.

With her red-stained heel raised just a little, Raymond’s face went pale.
He scrambled out of the drawing room, fleeing in disgrace.

Click.

Yevgenia set down her shoe and clicked her tongue.

“Why the hell did I ever fall for a bastard like that? Is this… what they mean by narrative constraint from the original story?”

Yevgenia Martur — the legitimate daughter of the Duchy of Martur, one of only two ducal houses in the Empire.
A famous beauty of high society… and a notorious madwoman.

Despite having already had her coming-of-age ceremony, Yevgenia was still unmarried.
Because she had been hopelessly in love with her childhood friend, Raymond Larson.

Every engagement proposal that came her way—she rejected them all.
And any proposal directed to Raymond—she blocked them too.

Naturally, she’d always assumed she would be the one to marry him.

Until she appeared—Stella Aer.

A mere baron’s daughter! How had she managed to seduce the duke’s heir?
Yevgenia had glared at her with murderous eyes.

“Stella’s the heroine, and Raymond’s the male lead. That’s unbeatable…”

Why hide it?
This world was from a romance novel titled The Baron’s Daughter Who Defied Fate—
and Yevgenia had just regained memories of her past life.

The heroine and hero roles were already taken.
So what was left for her?

“Well, if I were an evil woman with a guaranteed future, that’d be something… but no.”

Execution by fire? Hanging? Beheading?
Any of those would’ve been better than her fate—
Yevgenia Martur starved to death in prison.

“There was even a line saying everyone celebrated her death with a festival. How do you even live a life that ends like that? I wasn’t that bad, was I?”

As she muttered, the “book” in her mind flipped through its pages, replaying all her deeds:

Throwing a steak on the floor because it wasn’t grilled right.
Beating a maid because her hair was curled two degrees off.
Self-harm to get Raymond’s attention.

Even just a week ago, she’d stood on a windowsill, begging him to love her.

“The wind that day… was a lot stronger than I expected…”

Raymond had only clicked his tongue and turned away.
Afterward, she’d smashed furniture, torn sheets—and then…

“That’s when I remembered my past life. Well, I guess it wasn’t that sudden.”

Her fingers traced her collarbone.
On the smooth skin, like a tattoo, were black letters:

Raimund Larsen.

The name of the man she had just driven out in a fit of rage.

“Ugh. A ‘Name’? That’s even more fantasy-like than reincarnation.”

According to the founding myth of the Empire—the setting of the original story—
long ago, the gods used to designate each person’s destined partner by imprinting their Name upon them.

After over a thousand years, it had become nothing more than myth.
But of course—that wasn’t true.

Why do you think the title of the novel was The Baron’s Daughter Who Defied Fate?

“It’s just a convenient plot device, really—to mess with the main couple’s romance.”

If only she’d hidden her Name right after awakening!
But she hadn’t been in her right mind then—too much pain.
By the time she recovered, the news had already spread through both ducal houses.

Servants whispered that her and Raymond’s engagement was practically set in stone.
No one would believe otherwise now.

So, she decided to act like every reformed villainess before her—
to become a better person, to stay on good terms with the male lead.

…The result?
She’d just experienced the sensation of smashing someone’s head with a heel.

“Honestly, was that even my fault? He said something no human should say!”

Ever since her past memories returned, her burning love for Raymond had vanished completely.
She didn’t even feel a flutter seeing his face.

That had seemed like a blessing—
who could’ve guessed his skull would turn out to be the tragedy?

“Was he always this awful? My love was thicker than adamantium!”

How could he say, right to her face, that he’d end their bloodline for another woman’s child?
He was either insane—or he trusted her love way too much. Ugh.

Considering her past behavior, it was almost certainly the latter.

“No. Forget getting along with the male lead—that’s impossible.”

If she could beat him with a shoe after one meeting,
imagine what would happen after two or three.

“Murder’s off the table, though. Obviously.”

And if she couldn’t get close to Raymond, she couldn’t get close to Stella either.
To that lunatic Raymond, every kind gesture from her would just seem twisted.

She had planned to talk things out and break off the engagement nicely,
but from the way he’d already made heir plans, it was clear he had no intention of letting go.

“He demands respect for his love while turning his lover into an adulteress? What a maniac.”

And to think he believed such madness was perfectly reasonable!

Maybe in the original story, the “mad” Yevgenia had helped forge their unbreakable love through conflict.
Which meant—unless she went as crazy as her original self, Raymond’s heart would never change.

But Yevgenia Martur was not someone who gave up easily.

“You think I’ll just let it happen like that? We’ll see about that.”

With a sly smile, she rang a small bell—ding-ding.

“Did you call for me, my lady?”

“Yes. Where’s my father right now?”

If Raymond’s mind couldn’t be changed—
she’d just have to change the mind of someone more powerful.

For example…
His Grace the Duke of Martur, who loved his late wife’s look-alike daughter more than life itself.