Chapter 1

My funeral had begun.

There was a time when I hoped the weather would be clear on the day of my funeral.

It was after my father’s funeral, when cold winter rain fell. I remember thinking—anything but a day as dreary and bitter as that.

And today, the sky was clear.

People dressed in black, their veils flowing, stepped up one by one to lay a flower in front of the headstone.

Finally, it was my turn.

I placed the white flower in my hands before the grave and bowed my head.

I never imagined the day would come when I’d be laying flowers on my own headstone.

Then, the whispers began.

“How could she not shed a single tear when her twin sister just died?”

“They always said she was a fool… maybe it was true.”

“I heard she used to feel inferior. Who knows? Maybe she’s secretly glad.”

“She gives me chills.”

“She’s like a heartless person.”

Saying such things loud enough for me to hear—meant they didn’t care how I felt. Whether it hurt or not didn’t matter to them.

Sickly Irene. Foolish Irene. The burden of House Mergen.

Some people pitied her as though she were terminally ill.

That was the so-called kindness of those who thought themselves better.

But most in House Mergen saw her as a dead weight, dragging the family down.

And honestly, hadn’t I treated her the same?

A weak, bothersome girl.

Now I had gone from being Deborah, the heir of House Mergen… to Irene, overnight.

“Is it true? Deborah really died? Right after the banquet, wasn’t it?”

“I still can’t believe it. Then… who’s going to be the next heir of House Mergen?”

What mattered most to people about my death wasn’t grief over my short and bitter life.

It was worry over who would take my place.

I died the night after fighting with Irene.

The official cause was acute heart failure from poison.

My heart had stopped—but here I was, alive.

Just… not in my body. In Irene’s.

Then what about the real Irene?

Given my situation, the most logical guess was that she had died in my body.

That night, we definitely switched bodies.

This kind of ability is anything but normal.

At the very least, it would take something as extraordinary as the mysterious powers said to run through House Mergen.

But I had no reason to cause something like that—so it must have been Irene.

Why would kind, naive Irene swap bodies with me?

If she had the power to switch souls all along, why had she lived her life being looked down on?

One question led to another, with no end in sight.

‘So foolish… even to the end.’

I bit down on my lower lip. The sting was sharp.

No matter the reason, Irene had made yet another foolish choice.

A strand of soft pink hair brushed against my cheek. It irritated me.

As I straightened my back after placing the flower, the people around me fell silent—almost as if they had never been whispering to begin with.

Hypocrites.

Then, a sudden wave of murmuring rippled through the crowd.

Following the source of the sound, I turned my gaze and saw a man running toward us, his silver hair flowing behind him.

He was still in full armor—completely inappropriate for a funeral. It looked like he hadn’t even had time to consider changing.

“Abel!”

My stepmother, Chloe, greeted him with a bright smile.

The atmosphere began to shift. People stirred with excitement.

Abel Mergen.

My younger half-brother, the one who had constantly threatened my place as the heir.

‘So he really returned from the battlefield.’

He was welcomed back like a hero, basking in the admiration of the crowd, while Chloe looked at him with eyes full of pride.

Watching the two of them together, a thought crossed my mind.

Was Abel’s arrival at my funeral really just a coincidence?

There had to be a connection between his return and my death. It was too perfectly timed.

From beneath my black veil, I stared at him coldly.

Abel headed straight for my gravestone.

Even though he passed right by me, he didn’t so much as glance in my direction—as if I didn’t exist at all.

‘Heartless, through and through.’

He had never been this cold to me before—not to this extent.

I turned to watch him kneel in front of the headstone that bore my name.

His silver hair cascaded down like a waterfall. His large frame seemed to crumble. His hand clenched a fistful of dirt.

At a glance, he looked deeply grieving.

His shoulders trembled—as if he might be crying.

‘As if.’

We may have gotten along as children, but in the end, he was Chloe’s son. He was ambitious. We were like oil and water—never meant to mix.

I looked away and stepped back.

As I turned around, I could now see the full lineup of people facing me.

My grandfather, the head of House Mergen, stood solemnly at the center, surrounded by retainers buzzing like bees. Chloe, of course, stood among her allies.

I saw a few nobles whose families had business ties with ours, and beside them—

‘Henry.’

My fiancé.
Or rather, Deborah’s fiancé.

‘That engagement will be over soon.’

There was no love between us.

It had always been a strategic match—neither of us had ever wanted anything more.

‘In that sense, we were the perfect pair.’

Even now, I found myself calculating the political and financial losses that would follow the end of our engagement.

Then suddenly, I let out a dry laugh.

What was the point of worrying about that now?

Just as I tried to look away from him, our eyes met.

I gave him a polite nod and quickly turned my gaze.

And right then—unfortunately—my eyes landed on an even more unwelcome guest.

‘Lahan…’

Duke Lahan Bahel.

He ruled the land bordering Mergen’s, and we had clashed countless times. He was my constant rival.

People called him my lifelong enemy.

Had he come to gloat over my death?

Then again, no matter how bitter the rivalry, death has a way of softening people.

To be honest, I had never liked him.

Bold, carefree, too honest for his own good—he was everything I couldn’t stand.

I had no defense against people like him.

‘It seems everyone has arrived now.’

I paused for a moment, slowly taking in the crowd that had come to mourn me.

And I thought—

‘Who killed me?’

Maybe… I hadn’t lived such a good life after all.

Anyone I looked at… each of them seemed to have at least one reason to want me dead.

Creak.

A soft noise echoed from the mirror as my fingers brushed against it.

I had been staring at my reflection for over thirty minutes, completely lost in thought.

My skin looked pale—almost ghostly.
Pale pink hair lay scattered like threads across my nightgown.
My faded blue eyes looked like pieces of a quiet stream.
Every blink made my long lashes flutter, casting delicate shadows on my cheeks.

Then, suddenly, the memory of Irene’s face from the night I died came back to me.

“I made a recovery potion. For you, Sister…”

“Please, stop doing useless things like this.”

It had started as concern.

Or at least, I think it did.

I didn’t like that she was pushing herself to make a recovery potion, especially with such a frail body.

“If you were really thinking about me, you should’ve come to the banquet! That’s the only way to put people at ease!”

But I didn’t have to be so cruel.

“Was it my fault again…?”

She had looked so small, so hurt.
What had I said to her next?
I couldn’t remember exactly, but it probably wasn’t kind.

“I envy you, Sister.”

After all our bickering, those words spilled out of her like a confession—and that’s when I lost control.

“Do you know what I hate most about you? You always bring out the worst in people.”

I told her she made me feel like the villain. Like I was filthy just for being around her.

“Enough already.”

I told her to stop acting like a child.
That she wasn’t the only one struggling.
We were just living through different kinds of hell.

And how did that conversation end?

“I don’t have time for your privileged whining. If you want to cry, go find someone else.”

Of course it didn’t end well.

But if I had known it would be the last time we ever spoke,
I never would’ve let it end like that.

“Is this really happening? Or have I lost my mind?”

Yet the girl in the mirror stared back at me as if to say it was all real.

She wore an expression Irene never could—a cold, sharp gaze.

With all the warmth gone from her face, I finally saw it.

We really did look alike.

“…Irene.”

My fingertips, smooth and uncalloused like someone who had never even held a pen, hovered in front of the mirror.

When I touched the cheek in the reflection, the sleeve of my nightgown slipped down, revealing a pale wrist.

It was so thin, it looked like it would break if I touched it too hard.
Blue veins were visible beneath the skin.

Then I saw the marks—needle scars.
Not just one or two. There were several.

Did Irene go through treatments like this?

I stared at the scars for a while before finally looking away.

Well… she was always sickly.

“…Ha.”

My head was a mess.

Deborah is dead.

And the most suspicious person?
The one who gave her the potion the night before—Irene.

Which means… me, now.

“What a nightmare.”

They say death is the end.
That the dead are silent.
That death brings peace.

But none of that applied to me.

The family matters I was managing, the business deals I was working on, the responsibilities I carried—
Even in death, they continued to spin in my head like gears that refused to stop.

But right now, none of that mattered.

“…First, I need to keep this body alive.”