Chapter 1

“The imposter is dead.”

The voice was flat. Gopher didn’t immediately comprehend it, but his mind mechanically processed the words. His mouth opened, delivering a result.

“Did you kill Bleria?”

It was his own question, yet it sounded so absurd.

His throat felt tight. He reached to loosen his cravat, only to realize he wasn’t wearing one.

‘How did I make such a mistake?’ More questions followed.

Why was it so hard to breathe if nothing was constricting his throat?

It felt as if smoke filled his mouth, suffocating him from within.

The man across from him spoke.

“She’s not ‘Bleria’ anymore. You must have heard the rumors. Before anything could be done, she took her own life. I saw the corpse myself, so there’s no need to worry about her being alive.”

He handed over some documents.

Gopher attempted to review the densely written pages, but the words wouldn’t focus. His gaze kept slipping, and no matter how many times he reread a line, he couldn’t grasp its meaning.

“…Lord Gopher.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

Gopher barely registered the sound of his name being called and lifted his head. Out of habit, he pulled his lips into a smile, confident his expression looked normal.

Yet something seemed off today—the man’s reaction was unusual.

“Why do you look like that? I thought you’d be pleased.“

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You nearly married an imposter. Luckily, she’s dead now, so she won’t be marrying you. You’ll never speak to or see her again. If she has any decency, she won’t even haunt your dreams. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Gopher opened his mouth to respond, but the man didn’t give him the chance.

“Upon His Grace’s suggestion, you decided to break the engagement recently. Isn’t that why you went to Egle Mountain to deliver the notice?”

The man rattled off a formal apology before pausing, tilting his head as if searching his memory. His voice slowed.

“Now that I think about it, that imposter relied on you quite. Didn’t she jump after speaking with you? Maybe you pulled the trigger yourself.”

Gopher continued to smile, but his throat constricted tighter. He forced words through strained vocal cords.

“I’ll review the matter at home.”

He didn’t know whether that was an appropriate response. Regardless, he took the documents, stood, and walked steadily.

Just as he reached the door, a faint, inconsequential curiosity arose—small enough to have no impact on his life.

Gopher asked, “What did you do with the body?“

“Burned it.“

“...”

“If you’d like, I can gather the ashes—”

The door slammed shut, cutting him off.

The man left behind chuckled instead of showing displeasure.

“It’s better to never meet bastards like him again.”

He knew precisely how Gopher Allnight had controlled Bleria. Not that he was in a position to judge.

Leaning back against his chair, he let out a long breath. And, as always, his thoughts turned to the fake sister who had run away without a goodbye.

She had spent five and a half years in this house. How long would it take to forget her?

He didn’t resist the weight pressing down on his eyelids. He longed for a cigar.

***

A man strode in and sat across from her, easily folding his long legs.

“Name, family, status—though I can guess.”

He spat out the fragmented words, then lit a cigar after cutting off the tip. Pale smoke obscured his face.

Mel guessed he was about ten years older than her. She glanced at his pale face beneath dark hair but lowered her head before their eyes could meet.

The man tapped the table. The ring on his finger didn’t suit him. Where had she seen it before? Realizing something, Mel hurried to speak.

“Mel Slopey. No family. A commoner.“

“Anyone who’d notice if you disappeared?”

She hesitated at the ominous question but had no time to pause.

“Just midwife Norma?“

“Dewey, too! Dewey’s Norma’s lover, so we meet often. And Gridd and Granny Sally—“

“How many would cry and search if you vanished?”

“…Only Norma.“

“Of course. She probably thinks it’s a waste to let you go now that she’s found a buyer.”

Mel remained silent, twisting her skirt in her hands.

“Which side did your hair color come from?“

“I had a fever as a child. It turned white after that.“

“Who knows about that?“

“No one. My parents abandoned me when I got sick. Norma, to whom my parents owed money, took me in. She never saw my original hair color.”

Maybe it was the sense of danger, but the words flowed like she spoke about someone else. She didn’t feel ashamed. Had the man shown pity, it might have been different. But he didn’t care about her tragic story.

Smoke curled from his cigar. As she struggled to stifle a cough, the man tossed something onto the table—a stack of papers.

Mel’s eyes darted to the top page. That was enough.

“Mel Slopey. Age 18. Third house on Razvin Street, Greenboard.”

It was her story.

“You knew my story.”

He was merely testing if she’d be honest—or perhaps just curious if she was more perceptive than a fool. Submitting quietly had once again been the correct answer.

“Good. At least you’re not a clumsy liar. I’m not sentimental enough to indulge a brat who doesn’t know her place.”

For the first time since entering the room, the man smiled.

“Let’s pretend this conversation never happened.”

He picked up the first page and lit it with a match. The paper began to burn.

“Don’t respond if someone calls your name. If anyone asks about your past, say you’ve forgotten. Keep your mouth shut about your original hair color. And this—”

Blackened letters curled and melted into ashes. When the last of it crumbled, he slammed his hand on the table.

Bang!

“This is your new name.”

Startled by the sound, Mel looked at him. On the freshly revealed sheet, the name Bleria Charlotte Heaven was written.

A middle name—it signified nobility.

‘That’s supposed to be my name?’

Mel blinked, too stunned to ask for an explanation. She remembered what Norma had taught her: when a noble speaks, listen silently.

“Bleria was my sister. She died nine years ago, and we never found the body. She was seven then, so if she were alive now, she’d be sixteen—two years younger than you.“

“Yes…“

“She had silver hair, too. Her eyes were light brown—not much different from your orange ones. A child’s face changes a dozen times as they grow.“

“...”

“Do you remember what the old man said when he clung to you, sobbing?”

Mel tried to recall.

She’d come to the capital on an errand for Norma. While looking at a map, someone had embraced her—a noble-looking old man. He had cried and taken her to this enormous mansion, saying:

“You’re alive, my child…”

The moment the words slipped from her lips, she understood the old man’s misunderstanding.

“He’s senile. And in front of all those witnesses, no less.”

The man leaned back in his chair, gazing at Mel as if he could see right through her.

“But here’s the thing: if word spreads that the head of the Heaven family has lost his mind, it’ll cause problems for me. So, you’ll have to help me.”

The tip of his cigar touched the paper with her new name: Bleria Charlotte Heaven.

Mel gasped, her mouth falling open as she realized what he meant.

“You… You want me to impersonate your late sister?“

“A long-lost noble daughter returns from the brink of death. Makes for a spectacular headline, doesn’t it?”

A commoner pretending to be nobility! If she got caught, what would happen to her?

“I’ll be killed,“ she whispered.

“That’s only if you get caught.”

There was no way she wouldn’t be. Nobles and commoners were said to have different blood—how could she pull it off?

Her jaw trembled, teeth chattering uncontrollably. She couldn’t refuse a noble’s command, but agreeing felt just as impossible. Her cheeks grew cold.

The man watched her panic, puffing leisurely on his cigar. Even with it in his mouth, his words came through clearly.

“Why did you come to the capital?“

“N-Norma sent me on an errand. She asked me to deliver a letter to a friend.”

“And who was waiting for you?“

“Well…“

“Norma Rings? That friend? Or Baron Totten?”

The floor seemed to give way beneath her.

Since Mel had come of age, Norma had been searching for a husband for her—someone willing to pay the highest price. Rich old men, perverts, lunatics—she had evaluated them all. Baron Totten was the only noble among them.

Mel, who rarely said no to anything, had sobbed as she refused him one night. Norma hadn’t said anything afterward. Mel had thought Norma cared for her after all those years together.

‘She tricked me.’

Had Norma been worried Mel would run away like her real parents?

Just imagining what might have happened if she hadn’t ended up here made Mel feel sick. Her vision darkened.

“Better to become the daughter of a senile old man than marry one, don’t you think?”