Chapter 3: A Failed Plan

“Poor Lady… Why does every path in her life have to be lined with thorns?”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Ugh, I can’t help it—I just feel bad for her. If I were in her place…”

“Maybe it’s for the best.”

Through the haze, familiar voices could be heard.

The muffled murmurs grew clearer, as if they were speaking right beside her.

…Is this heaven?

While Leilia struggled to open her heavy eyelids, the conversation continued.

“For the best, for my lady? What are you talking about? And with the Duke of Liston, no less. You’ve heard the rumors about him, haven’t you? His eyes are slitted like a snake’s, and they say his irises are red!”

“He’ll be your mistress’s master soon enough. Watch what you say.”

“That’s not all. They say his whole body is covered in scars.”

“Well, he was a mercenary before he became a duke, so it’d be stranger if he didn’t have any.”

Leilia flinched at the voices, recognizing their tone.

She squirmed slightly under the covers.

“But that’s not even the worst of it! Not long ago, all the maids who worked at his house ran away. They say he’s violent, and he’s so lustful that there’s a new woman in his bed every night!”

“Stop with the nonsense and get moving if she wakes up. Whatever you do, don’t give anyone a reason to find fault with us.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll make sure she’s dressed up as the empire’s greatest beauty.”

And at that, with Timo’s voice, Leilia instinctively realized—these were the same words she’d heard in her previous life, and the one before that, and the one even before that.

“I didn’t disappear?!”

Leilia shouted and shot upright, immediately scanning the room.

Familiar air, a familiar space, and familiar faces.

Nothing had changed from before she closed her eyes.

“Oh, my lady. Is something wrong?”

Timo asked cautiously, her eyes wide.

She glanced sideways, exchanging a look with Margaret, and then added,

“We found you collapsed in the attic, so we moved you to your room. You usually toss and turn so much, but this time you slept so deeply, we were actually worried.”

“This can’t be happening.”

“Just in case, Lady Margaret and I cleaned up the attic. The Marquis will never know, so don’t worry.”

“I followed the instructions perfectly… There’s no way it could be wrong.”

Leilia muttered to herself, biting her lip in disbelief.

She’d spent five years secretly researching the recipe, hidden from everyone’s eyes.

She’d even handed over her mother’s heirloom just to obtain the key ingredient—the Alibu berry.

So why tomorrow had to come after all?

Leilia shuddered, burying her face in her hands.

Her lowered head let silver hair spill like mist across the blanket.

Sensing something amiss, Margaret mouthed a silent “take care” and quietly slipped out, leaving an icy air hanging in the room.

Uneasy eyes were fixed on Leilia, but she didn’t move.

“Ahem. Um, my lady? The Duke of Liston is scheduled to visit today. We only have about two hours left before the appointment, so it’s barely enough time to get ready…”

“What happened?”

“Huh? What do you mean…?”

“The berries. You said you got them. Why didn’t they work?”

“What do you mean they didn’t work? They were more potent than ever!”

If they’d worked, I wouldn’t be alive right now!

Leilia bit back the words rising in her throat, glaring at Timo, who blinked back at her in innocent confusion.

Leilia struggled to regain her composure.

“You didn’t really hand over my mother’s heirloom, did you?”

“You said any price was fine…”

“That only applies if the goods are genuine.”

Leilia’s tone turned threatening as she bit down hard on her lower lip.

Timo, startled, shrank back a step.

“But the shopkeeper swore it would let you sleep soundly. I risked my life going to the black market, and now you say this—honestly, it hurts my feelings.”

“It was a fake.”

“…What? What do you mean, a fake?”

“We were scammed. Everything’s ruined!”

Leilia’s eyes went wide as she shouted, her voice echoing in the room.

Five years of perfect planning—shattered in an instant.

***

Visitors arrived at the quiet Charlotte estate.

The guest was Carlisle Liston—the man who would be Leilia’s husband exactly one month later.

Despite soon being family, an icy tension filled the space between the two men.

Their gazes were like wolves squaring off over territory.

“Is Princess Leilia not ready yet?”

“It’s her first meeting, so I suppose it’s taking her longer to prepare. My daughter has always been very cautious, you see.”

“Leaving a guest waiting like this…”

Carlisle swirled his teacup with a cold smirk, his eyes drifting slowly around the parlor before letting out a faint, mocking laugh.

“It seems there’s much she’ll need to be taught—manners, discernment.”

The Marquis’s brow twitched ever so slightly.

He knew Carlisle’s words weren’t directed solely at Leilia.

An ex-mercenary daring to put on airs in front of a pure-blood noble grated on Pielon’s nerves, but he restrained himself.

With an affable smile crinkling his aged eyes, the Marquis spoke in a gentle tone.

“It’s because her father is lacking. She grew up without a mother, so there are many things she’s missing.”

“Thanks to that, we get to become family. I suppose that’s a stroke of luck.”

The Marquis’s lips twisted in an ugly sneer at the provocation.

They say he’s unspeakably rude—how true.

If not for the business his family had built over a lifetime, he would have cut out that insolent tongue long ago.

“You won’t regret your choice, Marquis Charlotte.”

Carlisle’s mouth curled lazily, a deep contempt flickering in those red eyes.

It amused him to see the head of the great Marquis Charlotte—so often called noble—forced to swallow his pride for money.

“But there’s something else.”

As the Marquis began, Carlisle’s gaze slowly lifted.

“Before the wedding, shouldn’t we settle on how we address each other? We’ll be family soon, after all. ‘Marquis Charlotte’ sounds rather cold.”

“Is that so?”

Carlisle replied indifferently, setting down his teacup.

He offered a faint, careless smile, waiting for the next words.

“I’m still the elder here. It wouldn’t look good in front of others, Duke Liston.”

What he really meant was, I’ll be the one in charge.

Carlisle nodded silently, and the Marquis’s shoulders rose with arrogance.

“I see your point. But perhaps that’s something to settle after the wedding, Marquis Charlotte. Unfortunately, the Lady of Charlotte is just one of many candidates for my wife.”

At those words, Pielon’s face turned crimson.

Carlisle watched him coolly, clicking the metal in his hand—a pocket watch, rare even within the Empire, glittering faintly against his scarred knuckles under the crisp white shirt.

Perhaps it was the pressure he gave off, but even the servants held their breath in his presence.

“It seems you haven’t reached an agreement with your daughter yet.”

“……”

“Or is the authority of Marquis Charlotte only this much?”

Carlisle scoffed, low and mocking.

With one insult after another, the Marquis ground his teeth and struggled to keep his composure.

“I’ll have her brought. If she doesn’t cooperate, I’ll drag her out myself.”

“That’s unnecessary. I don’t have much time. I think my ties to the Charlotte family end here.”

Carlisle glanced at his pocket watch, his tone dry.

Rising to his feet, he strode across the parlor with his long legs.

As he approached, the servants at the entrance hesitated, glancing nervously at the Marquis before reluctantly opening the door.

It was then that his dispassionate gaze looked straight ahead, and Carlisle’s steps came to a halt.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

It was the fifth meeting between Carlisle and Leilia.

***

Heavy silence hung between the two as they sat facing each other.

The once-warm tea had long since gone cold, and a chill filled the room.

“Leilia Charlotte.”

The deep, low voice prompted Leilia to raise her head wordlessly.

His crimson eyes glinted like a predator about to pounce.

Whenever Carlisle wore that look, she’d always been terrified.

Slicked-back black hair, squared shoulders with not a wrinkle on his crisp suit, eyes sharp and expressionless, crimson irises devoid of warmth—even his hands and fingernails were immaculate.

He was the very image of the one she’d once admired and suffered for, her unreachable love.

This life, she’d resolved never to meet him again.

Just being near him suffocated her, made it hard to breathe.

But perhaps because she’d already given up everything, she felt nothing at all.

‘Just stop this and get up already. It’s almost time. The Duke of Liston has already entered the city gates.’

‘Not going, so you can just forget it.’

‘Please, my lady. If you refuse again, I’ll be the one to die. You know what the marquis is like. I’ll find a way to get the real fruit, I swear. So please… please, just spare us.’

Leilia almost considered refusing outright the moment they met, but the thought of what would happen to Timo and the other servants stopped her cold.

Besides, even if she turned away now, her father—mad for money—would never back down so easily.

It was better to play along, pretend to comply, and buy some time.

If she could just get her hands on a real Alibu fruit somehow… she might finally escape this hell.

“Please speak.”

Leilia’s upright posture made Carlisle tilt his head, intrigued.

He gave a low, scoffing laugh and met her gaze.

Like a serpent sizing up its prey, his red tongue slowly traced his lower lip, savoring the moment.

“It seems the young lady has no intention of getting on my good side.”

“That was already a foregone conclusion.”

Leilia answered curtly, closing off the conversation.

She tried to act nonchalant, but she knew exactly how much Carlisle needed the Charlotte family as a shield.

A pure and lofty bloodline that could cover up all his flaws—yet still pliant enough to be thoroughly crushed.

That was the current place of the Charlotte family, and it was only too late that she realized that was how Carlisle Liston saw her.

“An interesting answer. Then what reply will you give to this? I’m looking forward to it.”

Even faced with this provocation, Leilia didn’t waver.

She simply stared at her teacup with an indifferent expression, maintaining her silence.

Perhaps he took her attitude as a form of defiance, because the duke’s lips curled ever so slightly.

He spoke.

“Marry me.”