Chapter 17

Alone once again, Bleria looked down at the object in her hand. After noticing her hair color, the servant had assumed she was the locket’s owner.

But it wasn’t hers. Whose could it be, then?

‘I should leave this with Count Redbirds.’

Out of habit, she opened the locket. Though the thought of its owner unsettled her, the action itself felt meaningless.

However, when the portrait inside came into view, it profoundly impacted Bleria’s life.

The fog clouding her mind lifted entirely. She now remembered where she had seen it.

The girl wore this necklace in a childhood portrait of Bleria Heaven.

***

In the pale dawn, Bleria rose from the bed. Draping a shawl over her chemise gown and carrying a lamp, she stepped into the hallway.

The guard stationed at her door was gone, having ended their watch at some point. Her quiet steps carried her to a room at the far end of the third floor.

Though the door was locked, it wasn’t an issue. The Duke had given her a spare key, telling her she could enter anytime. However, the metal scraped around the keyhole, failing to align correctly.

Her hands trembled too much. Even as she pressed the lamp against the doorknob, it was difficult. Then—

“Bleria?”

She turned to find the Duke. Was he up at this hour? Bleria opened her mouth but didn’t know what to say.

“Why aren’t you asleep? What are you doing there…?”

“The door won’t open, Father. Could you help me?”

He hesitated but approached without questioning further, taking the key. With a click, the lock disengaged, and the lamp’s light illuminated the room.

Inside were low tables and chairs, scattered fairy tales, and educational books. The cheerful curtains bore doodles—a bear painted in red.

This was Bleria’s actual room, not a replica.

“My dear, why are you here?“

“There’s something I want to see.”

Without turning on additional lights, she moved toward the inner wall. Pulling down the preservation cloth revealed a portrait of the room’s rightful owner, and she brought the lamp closer to examine it.

“Spring, Year 388. Bleria Charlotte Heaven.”

It depicted a young girl in a red dress. The painter’s skill was extraordinary, making her plump face appear almost lifelike.

Her silver hair flowed with strength, her cheeks were rosy, and her round brown eyes glistened. Lowering her gaze, Bleria noticed the pendant around the girl’s neck.

‘It’s the same.’

“That locket… It was a gift from Damian,“ the Duke said. “It contained your childhood portrait. You loved it so much that you never took it off. You lost it during the accident, though.”

Bleria looked again at the child’s face. It was the same person as in the locket.

“Did you remember the pendant?“

“No,“ she replied immediately, lowering her gaze. Her eyes met a mirror’s reflection.

Holding only a lamp in the dark room, her cheeks appeared especially pale. Her disheveled silver hair clung like cobwebs to the glass.

She looked like someone on the verge of death—or someone already dead.

‘This face… it’s different.’

Staring into the mirror, Bleria spoke in a flat voice.

“I’m sorry, Father. I don’t remember anything.“

“There’s nothing to apologize for.“

“The gift, the locket, the portrait—none of it. I won’t ever remember. What should I do?”

The Duke embraced her. His warm, comforting hands gently patted her back. Yet, the warmth didn’t reach inside her.

‘What should I do, Father?’

Her eyelids drooped wearily.

***

Even after returning to her room, Bleria couldn’t sleep. She stared at the pendant until dawn broke. Lucy brought in a basin of water.

“Good morning, my lady! How was the ball?”

And so, another day in Bleria Heaven’s life began.

Despite not sleeping at all, she pretended nothing was wrong. No one noticed except the Duke, who glanced at her repeatedly during breakfast.

Afterward, back in her room, she sat motionless until her thoughts slowly began to flow.

‘Does Gopher know something?’

He had made that woman resemble Bleria—revealing her silver hair, gifting her a matching ring, and covering her face with a mask. Why did he go that far to bring her to the ball?

At first, she thought he simply liked the woman and had disguised her to avoid troublesome rumors.

Now, another possibility emerged.

Gopher’s comments about noticing something, the woman’s silver hair, and her possession of Bleria’s pendant—perhaps they were all connected.

‘Does that mean… the real one is still alive?’

The words she whispered aloud gave her chills. Her mind sharpened, painfully aware of reality.

‘Then what happens to me?’

There was no time to wallow in self-pity. If the real one had returned, there was no place for her.

Her identity would be exposed. She would be branded a liar, accused of deceiving everyone. She would pay for her sins—likely with her life.

‘I have to run.’

Bleria shot to her feet. She opened a drawer, pulled out a jewelry box, and selected plain, easily sellable gems.

Though she had never devised a specific escape plan, her priorities were clear.

As she moved with urgency, a sense of déjà vu crept in. Her actions felt strangely familiar. That inexplicable feeling sank her heart until she finally remembered.

“Grab the gold first! You can melt it down and sell it anywhere!”

“Wait, wasn’t there a stash of pearls over here?”

“You blew everything last time, you idiot! Get lost, Mel! You’re nothing but a nuisance! Even selling you off wouldn’t be enough!”

More than ten years ago, her parents had looked just like this.

“Ah.”

Bleria dropped the jewelry box. Gems spilled across the floor, and a lingering vision she thought long buried reappeared over them.

The chaotic, desperate image of her parents fleeing their debts. Those pathetic people, who had ultimately abandoned even their sick daughter, now seemed to sneer at her.

“That’s your bloodline. Did you really think acting refined would change anything?“

“No.”

‘I’m not running away because I did something wrong. I…’

Bleria cradled her head in her hands, lowering it. She didn’t want to abandon everything and flee. Leaving behind what she had gained was too painful.

The warmth of a home, fine clothes, exquisite food, and a family that cared for her—all things she could only have by wearing someone else’s skin.

And Gopher.

“Ugh…”

If the truth ever came out, he would discard her without hesitation. Just the thought of his face made her chest tighten.

There was no other way. If she didn’t run, the only option left was to accept her fate and die. 

‘What am I supposed to do?’

Despite all her efforts, she remained hopelessly indecisive. She wished someone would tell her what to do.

No matter the outcome, she wanted someone to give her an answer—whether it was the right one or a convincing lie. Anything would do.

‘Gopher, what should I do?’

Knock, knock.

A familiar sound interrupted her thoughts.

***

He attended the masquerade ball because someone said they needed to talk without the watchful eyes of guards. Whispering while dancing to avoid eavesdroppers, he played along.

What he heard was the most pathetic secret he’d ever been told.

“Count Dice is obsessively clingy. I want to break up with him. Can you help me?”

A lovers’ quarrel with Mixel Luke Dice?

Gopher chuckled at the clumsy lie. A blank sheet of paper lay on the desk. It hadn’t always been blank. Moments ago, it bore a note from Eos Liche, asking him to accompany her to the ball.

Now, even the traces of that writing had vanished.

Someone who grew up sheltered using invisible ink? How utterly believable.

It’s clear she’s in cahoots with Mixel.

Her intentions were obvious. The night before, Gopher had seen Bleria at the ball.

Only Eos Liche knew he’d decided to attend. Yet, Bleria—who didn’t even like balls—was wearing a wig and present in the hall.

What had she heard, and from whom? The answer lay at the end of that path: Mixel Luke Dice.

After the wedding, Gopher would become a Duke. He planned to strip Mixel of the few things he had left—the position entrusted to him by Stella, his organization, and even his smug head perched on his neck.

Gopher pressed his pen against the blank paper, the ink pooling into a dark blot. The red hue made it look like something else was staining the page.

“Poor Mixel.”

As he dragged the pen down, the nib snapped, tearing the paper.

A few dark crimson drops splattered onto Gopher’s cheek. He wiped them off with a handkerchief and tossed it onto the desk.

Stretching his stiff arm, a wave of energy coursed through him before fading into lethargy. He leaned back lazily in his chair.

It’s only a matter of time, anyway.

Something small and white caught his eye, fluttering through the open window.

Lifting a single finger from the armrest, Gopher waited. The butterfly hesitated, circling, before finally landing on his fingertip.

‘So, when will my dear Bleria bring me the pendant?’