Chapter 5: A Series of Failed Marriage Meetings

“Yes, my lady—”

Mirabel, who had been mechanically responding, suddenly stopped.

She was just as heartbroken as Lise over what had happened.

After finally mustering the courage to marry—something she had never considered seriously before, aside from her obsession with Cain—this disaster had struck.

Mirabel couldn’t forgive that Rubent (or was it Event?) bastard.

But that wasn’t the issue now.

“You still have to get married, my lady. Madam said she’ll find you a proper nobleman this time. I’m sure another meeting will be arranged soon.”

Mirabel’s words turned out to be true.

Not long after the incident, Lise’s mother summoned her.

“What happened was unfortunate, but let’s consider it a blessing in disguise.”

“A blessing in disguise…?”

Lise repeated the words blankly.

Her mother continued with conviction.

“Think about it. What if you’d married that man without knowing? At least we found out before the wedding. Once you’re married, there’s no going back.”

Well.

Lise couldn’t argue with that.

No matter how much she wanted a family, she couldn’t possibly tolerate a husband with a mistress. She wasn’t that magnanimous.

“Baron Valroze has sent a marriage proposal. He recently inherited his title and is ambitiously managing his territory. I’ve done thorough background checks this time—nothing disgraceful like last time will happen.”

“…Are you really sure?”

Lise narrowed her eyes skeptically.

Knowing her mother’s tendency to be careless, she couldn’t help but doubt.

“I’m certain. Should I have your uncle look into it instead?”

Her mother brought up her uncle.

Count Clemence, Lise’s uncle, had once worked as a royal census administrator, gathering information on nearly every noble—financial status, romantic affairs, even drinking habits.

After retiring, he put his skills to use as a high-society matchmaker, with great success. He now enjoyed both prestige and hefty commissions.

Right. If we’d just asked him from the start, this mess could’ve been avoided.

But—

“No, it’s fine.”

Pride, perhaps?

Lise didn’t want to involve family. It felt… pathetic.

“Anyway, this time, we’ll proceed straight to marriage without any hiccups. I’ll have the butler notify Madame Véronique in advance. We’ll need to start on the wedding dress.”

Her mother barreled ahead as if failure were impossible.

But Lise, having already tasted disappointment, wasn’t so optimistic.

“Isn’t it too early?”

Who knew how this would turn out?

“Too early? Do you know how famous that dressmaker is? Some ladies reserve her the moment they come of age. If you don’t, you’ll never get a dress in time.”

Then wasn’t it already too late?

Ugh. Whatever.

Do as you please.

“I’ll head back to my room now.”

With that, Lise took her leave.

Back in her chambers, she took out her embroidery to distract herself. Nothing cleared the mind like repetitive work. She picked up where she’d left off—a half-finished rose—and pricked the needle through the fabric.

“Ouch!”

A sharp sting made her jerk her hand back.

She’d forgotten about the second needle still stuck in the frame.

A bead of blood welled on her fingertip.

Pressing her thumb against it, the droplet grew larger.

An ominous feeling crept over her.

There was a superstition: If you prick your finger before finishing an embroidery, your marriage will fail.

In her past life, Lise had been superstitious.

Before important exams, she avoided seaweed soup. She only cut her nails on Tuesdays.

Once, absentmindedly, she’d trimmed them on a Friday—and was promptly abandoned by the man she’d loved for four years.

“Tch. Superstitions are just superstitions.”

She tried to reassure herself.

But the gnawing unease made every little thing feel like a bad omen.

And—

Her dread was justified.

---

Baron Valroze stood her up.

After two hours of waiting, a single letter arrived via servant.

“After much deliberation, I hope you will understand my decision. No matter how I consider it, I am utterly unworthy of the beautiful and noble Lady Berium. Realizing this has pained me greatly. You shine so brightly that the thought of dimming your light terrifies me. I fear I would only bring you sorrow. Thus, I must step aside for someone who can cherish you as you deserve…”

The lengthy excuses boiled down to:

“Not coming. Never meeting you again.”

Her mother, furious, threatened to cut off all business dealings with the Valroze family. Mirabel was even more livid.

“That bastard…”

But Lise herself remained eerily calm.

She’d expected this.

Ever since pricking her finger—no, ever since learning about Rubent’s mistress—she’d had a feeling.

This won’t be the last time. It’ll keep happening.

At this point, she wondered if it was really coincidence—or fate disguised as chance.

Was it always destined to be this way?

A life without love, ending in tragedy.

The thought cast a shadow over Lise’s face, dimming the fiery determination she’d had just days ago.

Now, only ashes remained.

As Lise slumped in defeat, Mirabel tried to console her.

“Don’t worry, my lady. Madam will find you a good match this time.”

Mirabel fretted, terrified Lise might give up on marriage altogether.

Truthfully, Lise was close to doing just that. But seeing Mirabel so anxious, she couldn’t say it aloud.

“You don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

Mirabel exhaled in relief.

Then, glancing at the clock, she clapped her hands.

“Oh! I completely forgot—it’s teatime! You must be hungry. I’ll go fetch some refreshments.”

Once Mirabel left, Lise dropped her forced smile. Frowning, she sank into thought.

Am I asking for too much?

It wasn’t like she wanted to be crown princess. She knew Lilia was destined for that.

All she wanted was to be a loved wife and mother. Was that so impossible?

Why was marriage so easy for others, yet so hard for her?

Her chest tightened. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. She needed fresh air.

She couldn’t wait for Mirabel. Rising from her wheelchair, she took a few slow steps.

Her legs felt steadier than before. Today, she could probably manage the stairs without help.

Leaning against the wall, she carefully made her way to the staircase. Gripping the railing with both hands, she took the first step down.

Success!

No wobbling like last time. She could definitely go further.

She made it down one flight. Just one more, and she’d reach the lobby. Turning at the landing, she was about to take another step when—

“My lady!”

The voice she least wanted to hear froze her in place.

Damn it. Not today.

“Going for another walk?”

Cain approached, smiling warmly. His voice held a hint of delight.

Lise felt none of the same.

“…Yeah.”

She answered curtly, avoiding his gaze. Before he could offer assistance, she added,

“I’ve gotten stronger. I can manage the stairs better now.”

But her words were wasted.

“Then let me help you down.”

“N-No need.”

She waved him off hastily.

“Go do your own work.”

Too rude?

Cain’s smile faded slightly. His eyes seemed to sharpen for a fleeting moment, making Lise flinch inwardly.

If fate can’t be changed… if I’m destined to die no matter what…

Then maybe I won’t die for tormenting the female lead. Maybe I’ll just die for annoying this man.

Just as she was panicking, salvation came in the form of a soft, demure voice.

“Cain.”

Lise turned toward the sound.

There stood a woman with snow-white skin and emerald eyes—graceful and pure as a daffodil.

The novel’s heroine.

Lilia.

---

Lilia Berium.

A year younger than Lise, she was the half-noble daughter of a tenant farmer under the Berium estate.

Her mother had been only eighteen when she was born. Lise had seen her once, at age five, during a visit to the territory with her father. She’d been puzzled—Lilia’s mother wasn’t particularly beautiful.

It wasn’t until much later that she understood.

For noble men drawn to commoner women, beauty wasn’t the deciding factor.

Even an ordinary appearance could captivate, given the novelty of crossing class boundaries—and the right timing.