Chapter 2

My funeral was held hastily the day after I died.

That could only mean one thing—Grandfather wanted the incident covered up quickly, rather than finding out why it happened.

Since it was an unfortunate event that took place within the family, he must’ve thought it best to silence the chaos as fast as possible.

In the end, my death was probably the cheaper price to pay on his scale of priorities.

As Deborah, the heir, I understood the choice.
But as Deborah, the granddaughter… to say I wasn’t hurt would be a lie.

“How could something like this happen? They said she drank poison.”

“I heard a rumor… that she took her own life.”

“No way! Lady Deborah would never! She looked so happy at the banquet!”

I could hear the maids whispering in a hallway corner.

Even though the funeral was over, the entire house still felt tense and uneasy.

This was probably the most shocking event House Mergen had experienced in years.

And I was no exception.

It was shocking. And deep down, I still couldn’t believe it.

Normally, I believed in moving forward and cleaning up the mess—but this time, I couldn’t. I was still stuck, trying to make sense of it all.

So, after the funeral, I decided to take things step by step and get to the bottom of it.

First, I’d start by tracing my final actions.

My room… it was practically the crime scene.

It was where I’d taken the recovery potion that night, before falling asleep and waking up like this.

The room had been sealed off with a red rope to block entry, but I didn’t care.
I brushed it aside and opened the door.

The moment I stepped inside, a familiar scent washed over me.

It was cedarwood—cool and calming. The scent I’d always liked.

My eyes scanned the space I knew so well.

Everything was in its place. The room was neat and orderly, just like always. I didn’t even need to try to find anything—I knew where everything was.

There was nothing suspicious.

Naturally, my gaze went to the nightstand where I had left the recovery potion.

The vial I had emptied that night was gone.

Was it taken for investigation?

I ran my fingers across the windowsill.

It was smooth and clean—not even a trace of dust.

No signs of forced entry…

Everything here is just as it was. Only I disappeared.

My mouth went dry with bitterness.

Click.

Suddenly, the door opened behind me.

“What are you doing here?”

A deep, low voice pierced the silence and landed squarely on me.

I turned toward the door.

“Abel.”

He was leaning against the wall, now changed into everyday clothes.
His silver hair shimmered faintly, and his violet eyes looked sharp and cold.

“How dare you step foot in here?”

His words were odd.

I knew this room better than anyone.
If anything, he was the intruder.

And yet…

“‘How dare I,’ huh?”

Abel didn’t have the right to speak to me like that.

I let out a quiet, faint laugh without meaning to.

But to Abel, it must have sounded like mockery.

His eyes narrowed with hostility.

Then, pushing off from the wall, he strode toward me with firm steps.

“Irene Mergen.”

At the sound of my name, I had to look up.

Up close, I realized the height difference was greater than I remembered—at least two handspans.

Had he gotten taller during the war?
Or was it because Irene’s body was smaller than mine had been?

Whatever it was, it felt unfamiliar.

He smelled faintly of soap.

Abel leaned in close.

Even though no one else was around, he lowered his voice and whispered—

“Did you kill your sister?”

“……”

Abel was asking me a question, but strangely, there was a hint of certainty in his voice.

“You’ve got quite the imagination.”

Why would Abel—who had spent years on the battlefield—suspect Irene of all people?

At my response, he took a step back and crossed his arms.

His eyes narrowed as he studied me, clearly trying to read my reaction.

He wants to see how I respond.

Honestly, could anyone be more unfairly treated than me right now?

A sudden wave of bitterness rose in me.

“The one who stands to gain the most from Deborah’s death… isn’t it you, not me?”

At my words, Abel’s brows instantly drew together.

He’s already reacting? Just from that?

His obvious frustration at such a minor provocation was oddly satisfying.

“They said you were the one who made the recovery potion she drank.”

When had he even investigated that?

For someone who had just returned from the battlefield, his information was surprisingly up to date.

“So? Was there poison in it?”

I genuinely wanted to know.

If I could get the answer from Abel, things might unfold more easily.

But he didn’t say anything. Not directly.

“That means no, then.”

He didn’t need to speak. His silence gave me the answer I needed.

And then Abel spoke again.

“You’re the only one who could have killed her.”

“…Ha.”

I had been holding it in, but that finally made me laugh.

Hearing those words from Abel of all people—it was almost funny.

“So, this body looks that capable to you?”

No one in this house had ever seen Irene that way.

She was the terminally ill girl—frail, weak, barely holding on to life.
Who would ever see her as some ambitious schemer aiming for the heir’s seat?

Everyone in House Mergen had ignored her.

And Abel thought she was threatening?

Unless he knew something about Irene that I didn’t…
More likely, his long absence had made him too out of touch to see things clearly.

“I’m done here. I’ll be leaving now.”

I had no interest in wasting time with Abel any further.

I didn’t have the patience to entertain his ridiculous theories.

I walked past him —or tried to.

A sudden pull on my right arm stopped me, and I looked down.

My wrist was caught tightly in his firm, calloused hand.

His skin was darkened by the sun, while the wrist he held was pale and thin—so fragile it looked like it might break if he applied any more pressure.

The stark contrast irritated me.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I shot him a glare, making no attempt to hide my annoyance.

Abel’s grip only tightened as he spoke.

“If you’re the one, who did it… I’ll kill you myself.”

His voice was low and tightly restrained—like a beast growling through clenched teeth.

If it had been the real Irene, she probably would’ve started crying right then.

Did Abel really hate Irene this much?

Now that I thought about it, the Abel I remembered, wasn’t quite like this.

Five years ago, before he became a full-fledged soldier—when he still hadn’t grown out of his boyishness—Abel was simply a quiet, obedient boy.

He’d always nod and say, “Yes, yes,” to everything. Sometimes, he’d smile for no reason or follow me around without any real purpose.

And that’s exactly why I had been so wary of him.

Because that bright, innocent side of him… I was afraid I might grow attached to it without realizing.

I knew from the moment my stepmother looked at me with those sharp eyes—Abel would one day become a threat to my position.

So I drew a line.
I made sure Abel could never truly become part of my family.

But even then, Abel never complained. He never made a scene. Not once did he push back or even show that he was upset.

That made him harder to deal with.

Because I could never tell what was going on behind that calm smile.

Compared to my stepmother, who was openly ambitious and easy to read, Abel was far more difficult.

And I always wondered…

Was it my own twisted lens that made me so suspicious?
Or was he really someone hiding something underneath?

And now, to see Abel truly angry…

“What did you say? You’re going to kill me?”

I gave a delayed smirk, twisting my lips slightly.

Abel, kill me?
Now that was a joke.

“Isn’t that what they call insubordination?”

Even if Irene was weak and forgettable—and even if they shared no blood—she was still his older sister.

And now he was throwing around wild accusations without proof?

To me, this version of Abel looked like nothing more than a scared child looking for someone to blame.

I raised my free hand—the one he wasn’t holding—and brought it up under his chin.

My fingers lightly grazed his jaw… then held it firmly.

“Go on. Do your best.”

With Deborah gone, if Irene disappeared too, Abel would have the perfect reason to become the next heir.

The only reason I—Deborah—had ever been allowed to take that position instead of him was because Abel didn’t carry Mergen blood.

He was just Chloe’s child, brought into the family.

Someone like him should never have even been considered for succession.

But the problem was, the only true blood heirs left in House Mergen were me and the frail Irene.
And even though Abel wasn’t of Mergen blood, his accomplishments on the battlefield had earned him the public image of a war hero.

My stepmother had been gathering support—winning over the family retainers, expanding her influence—all to make Abel the next heir.

I thought her ambitions had cooled when Abel was sent off to war with no guarantee of return.

But judging from this situation… maybe they hadn’t.

Had they planned to get rid of me from the start?

The truth was, I had always wanted to know.

Not just about Chloe’s ambition—but about Abel’s hidden side, too.

I wanted to know if the unease I had always felt around him was justified.

I needed to prove it.
That behind the mask of family, he had been watching me just as closely.
That he was just as rotten as I was—just better at hiding it.

Tap.

Abel slapped my hand away. I smiled and slowly pulled back my tingling fingers.

“You feel a lot more familiar to me now than you ever did before.”

With that, I walked past him.

His face was tight with anger.

I could feel his burning stare trailing behind me.

But I didn’t look back.