Chapter 1
I was gravely ill. The only known cure-a rare herb called “Comfrey”-was bought out at an exorbitant price by Duke Sebastian Blackthorn. He gave it to Ophelia Frost, who merely had a cold.
I ignored the doctor’s advice to wait and instead drank a potion that would erase all pain-at the cost of a slow, agonizing death three days later. My organs would rot and I would bleed from every orifice.
For these final three days, I gave up everything.
When I handed over my flourishing shop-which I had built from scratch-to Ophelia, my parents nodded in satisfaction.
When Sebastian presented me with the divorce papers and I signed them without hesitation, he sighed with relief, saying I had finally learned to be obedient.
When I urged Alexa to call for Ophelia’s mother, he smiled brightly and said, “Mother is the best.”
Even when I gave away all the dowry properties to Ophelia, not one of them sensed anything was wrong. For once, they
looked me in the eye and said, “If only you had been this sensible sooner, you wouldn’t have suffered so much.”
But I wondered, once I died, would any of them even remember me?
I downed the pain-blocking potion under the watchful, hesitant gaze of the doctor. The countdown had begun: I had three days left to live.
Afterward, I returned to Nocturne House and went straight to Ophelia’s room.
Inside, my father was gently fanning her with a fan while my mother fed her pudding.
The moment they saw me, their expressions turned frosty.
“What now? Faking an illness wasn’t enough? You had to come stir up trouble for Ophelia again? I’m telling you, don’t
even think about it!”
My father glared at me, his voice ice cold.
“We raised you under strict discipline in the Nocturne family, yet look at what you’ve become. Petty. Jealous. A common shrew who would harm her own sister?”
“I should never have given birth to you!” my mother spat, pointing at me.
Meanwhile, Ophelia sat there smiling smugly, her eyes filled with arrogance.
I lowered my gaze. In the past, I would have argued with them, even exposed Ophelia’s lies in front of everyone, even though they never believed me.
But now, I was tired. I had given up. I no longer had the strength to fight.
“You’re just in time,” my father suddenly said, his tone brooking no refusal. “I have something to discuss with you.”
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I smiled faintly. “What a coincidence, Father. I have something to say too.”
“Ophelia’s been wanting my shop in the southern district, hasn’t she? I’ve decided-she can have it.”
Father froze. Mother looked up, startled.
“How did you know I was going to ask you about that today? And you’re agreeing to it?”
I gave a small, bitter smile. Their surprise was understandable.
Ophelia had coveted that shop for a long time. My parents had tried everything-kind words, guilt trips, manipulation-to get me to give it to her. I had never given in.
But now that death was at my doorstep, none of it mattered to me anymore.
Seeing how serious I was, Mother finally sighed. There was even a flicker of approval in her eyes.
“It’s good you finally came around. Ophelia has always been sharper and wiser than you since childhood. Even now, sick
and frail, she still outshines you effortlessly.”
“We’re relieved you’re entrusting your business to her.”
I smiled faintly as I handed the deed to Ophelia.
Once she signed it, my parents beamed and clutched my hands, calling me a good child over and over.
A deep sense of irony welled up inside me.
Ever since I was young, they only smiled at me when I surrendered something to Ophelia.
But I wondered-when they finally saw her true face, and realized I was gone, how would they feel then?
That evening, I returned to the manor.
I saw Duke Sebastian and his son Alexa setting the dinner table in the main hall.
Perhaps my steps had grown too light with illness, because they didn’t notice me right away. They were chatting and
smiling.
Sebastian was plating an omelet when he finally turned and saw me. The smile on his face froze briefly before returning
to his usual calm.
“Eleonora, when did you get back? Why didn’t I hear you come in?”
I quietly stared at the dish in his hands-an omelet, Ophelia’s favorite. Judging by its presentation, it looked like something prepared by a royal chef.
How ironic. I was on the verge of death, and only now did I learn that the man who shared my bed for five years was
actually a talented cook.
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When I asked him to help in the kitchen, he would brush me off, claiming that noblemen shouldn’t step foot in such
places.
Even when I cooked and brought the food to the table myself, he would still turn up his nose.
Under his influence, even Alexa began to dislike my cooking.
I had poured my heart into this home, yet not once had I been met with respect.
In the past, I would have gone mad, smashing dishes and screaming.
But now, I just walked past them in silence and sat by the window in the courtyard.
Sebastian followed a moment later. Seeing me sitting there quietly, he hesitated, then walked over.
“Eleonora, I have something I want to discuss with you,” he said, rubbing his nose awkwardly.
He hesitated, then finally spoke. “It’s about your sister, Ophelia.”
My heart sank. A terrible feeling began to rise.
And then came the blow: “Ophelia’s cold isn’t improving, and her mood has been very low. Your parents visited a witch who said her luck is poor and needs something auspicious to counter it.”
“They suggested that I marry Ophelia to lift her spirits.”
