Wait. Come to think of it, Louis had even forbidden me from reading the newspapers. If I learned about the outside world, every lie he’d fed me would be exposed.

In truth, I only knew that the books lining the shelves were nothing more than reissued editions with new covers because of a newspaper. When was it again? One time, the servants failed to clean up a paper Louis had read and tossed aside. I don’t remember which regression it was, but by sheer chance, I read an article with Louis’s photograph splashed across it in huge print.

Something about thanking readers for loving his work.

I couldn’t recall every detail of the article, but one thing was clear—nowhere in it was my name mentioned.

“I’ll help you keep writing. So please, don’t give up on your dream, Mia!”

Louis, who had claimed he would help me realize my dreams and nurture my talent, had erased me completely.

“Yes, I’ll do my best.”

In any case, right now, my very existence was essential to him. He had gained fame by publishing the works I wrote as if they were his own. Without me—the shadow writer—he would, of course, be in trouble.

And then, all at once, a good idea came to me.

A way to reclaim my lost wealth and fame in full.
Absurdly enough, it had been right beside me all along.

“Louis, my throat’s dry. Could you bring me a glass of water?”

Whenever I was writing, Louis always stood behind me. It was to keep watch, to make sure I didn’t try anything foolish. I only learned that after countless regressions. If I hadn’t happened to overhear the servants talking, it would have been something I never discovered, no matter how long I lived.

“Get it yourself.”

“I’ll finish the manuscript within two days. Please.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I promise.”

Only after hearing my assurance did Louis finally leave his post. I knew he was wary of me trying something, but with a mind that slow, he was bound to leave an opening this easily.

Scoffing at his stupidity, I set my quill in motion.

What I slowly inscribed onto the paper were characters I had already revealed in a previously published work—characters Louis could never read.

Louis was so consumed with gaining fame and wealth through the books I wrote that he had no idea what my works actually contained. He didn’t even know their genres. At most, he skimmed them lightly when reporters visited.

So of course he wouldn’t recognize these characters.

Especially since the script I created looked, at first glance, like nothing more than simple drawings. But I had embedded a consistent rule in their arrangement, making them decipherable by comparison with existing text. Any devoted reader who had never missed one of my works would surely understand.

[Please save me.]

The first line on the paper began with a message of desperation. After that, I calmly noted the page numbers of the manuscript I had written so far. I used my invented characters for this as well.

Though I wondered who could possibly decipher the script I had explained many volumes ago, I had to believe that at least one among my countless readers would understand it…

Click!

As soon as I heard the door opening, I maintained the most casual expression I could muster. Then I slipped what I had just written behind the manuscript, hiding it from Louis’s sight.

“Here, drink.”

“Thank you.”

I took a sip of the water Louis had brought. Though not refreshing enough to completely ease my mind, it did relieve some of the tightness in my chest.

“Now that you’ve had water, get back to writing.”

I let his distinctly unkind words go in one ear and out the other.

Writing an entire book in two days was undoubtedly an arduous task. It meant sitting in a chair without eating, sleeping, or relieving myself, constantly working my mind and weaving those thoughts into a story.

But that would only be the case when creating something from absolute nothingness.

Thanks to my countless repeated lives, I moved my quill without deep contemplation.

And for good reason.

And that was because what I was doing was no longer creation.

It was merely an act of recording—pulling out what was already neatly arranged in my mind and setting it down on paper.

“Yes, Louis.”

I had written this book dozens of times. Hundreds… perhaps even more than that. Creating written works with my own hands was something I did every single day while trapped in this estate. So no matter how many lives I repeated, the content itself remained the same.

There might be minor differences in wording, of course.

In any case, the manuscript was completed as scheduled, two days later. As always, the moment it was finished, Louis took it away. I had slipped in a small “gift,” disguised as part of the manuscript—but seeing that he said nothing, I suspected he hadn’t read it at all.

What’s more, Louis didn’t question the pictographic symbols I had added to the very last page. When he asked what that extra page was, I told him it was a bonus for devoted readers, and he seemed pleased.

Hopelessly simple-minded, that man.

“Then I’ll be off.”

Louis beamed as he clutched the manuscript I had written. Come to think of it, he had always smiled like that every time I handed him a manuscript, even in my past lives. And each time, he bestowed what he believed to be his greatest “kindness.”

Calling it kindness was ironic, really. What Louis considered his greatest favor—what he called a reward—was the trashy act of raping me.

No matter that we were husband and wife, unwanted s*x was unquestionably r*pe. It was being forced to do something I despised.

But back then, foolish as I was, I believed it was a duty I had to endure as his wife. No—more than that, I clenched my teeth and endured it out of fear that if I refused, I would be beaten.

“Have a safe trip.”

Once the manuscript reached the workshop today, at least twenty copies would be pre-published within five days. Those were reserved editions for people of high standing who had been waiting for my work. For the book to be released to the general public, it would take a full two more weeks.

At the latest, it would be out by the end of the month.

In the meantime, I needed to figure out possible routes to escape this estate. With so many people employed here, it was obvious that slipping away unnoticed wouldn’t be easy. So I decided to take my time and carefully survey every corner of the house.

While I was at it, maybe I should take a look around Louis’s room.

“You are not permitted to move outside the designated areas.”

When I rose from the sofa and tried to head upstairs, the house steward standing guard by the door spoke in a sharp tone. There was something unmistakably condescending in his gaze, as though he were looking down on a subordinate.

No matter how high his position as house steward, a servant was still a servant. And yet, the sheer audacity with which he dared to look down on me left me speechless.

“I intend to go up to my room and rest.”

At my words, the house steward briefly curled his lips into a sneer before wiping it away.

“The only space permitted to you, Madam, is that sofa. Please remain where you are.”

Not even the living room—the sofa?

“How insolent. Giving orders to the mistress of this estate.”

“Madam. The sole master of this estate is Louis Regie Simon—him alone.”

“……”

“Not you, Madam.”

The house steward smiled.

“In the master’s absence, he has entrusted all matters to me. I am merely carrying out his orders, so please do not take offense.”

He spoke with a smile, but it was unmistakably a warning.

At this rate, it would be difficult not only to carve out an escape route, but even to scout my surroundings. For a moment, I considered provoking him—but decided against it.

He was nothing more than a dog that obeyed Louis’s commands without question.

No matter what I said, he would let it go in one ear and out the other. And if I acted recklessly, he would undoubtedly subdue me by force. I had learned that lesson the hard way in a previous life.

So it was better not to ruffle his feathers. Even if I followed my temper, it wasn’t as though I could escape this estate right now anyway.

Waiting for the right moment was unbearably tedious, but the more patience it required, the more solid a plan I could build. I decided to endure it.

Besides, I already knew the layout of the house. Setting aside the countless regressions, who wouldn’t know a place they’d lived in, sick of it, for over twenty years? The reason I’d wanted to look around wasn’t to learn the structure—it was to figure out how to shake off the people watching me.

But thinking about it now, what good would that even do? How was I supposed to shake off that many people on my own?

After all, the biggest problem was that I had no allies. Under constant surveillance, I couldn’t even try something like a pen-pal scheme. All I could do was wait for the book to be published.

“Fine. I’ll stay right here and behave.”