Chapter 1 : Primwood: Where Love Meets Death
Chapter One
“So… was your marriage a love match?”
It was, in many ways, a question too bold for polite company.
The ladies invited to the manor had shed all formalities the moment they stepped through the door. No veils of tact, no layers of courtesy—just a flurry of curious, unfiltered questions.
Johannes Schultz, the elusive duke whose disappearance had sparked countless rumors, had returned. But not alone.
He had brought with him a wife. A woman of common birth.
Their curiosity was only natural.
Their gazes, sharp and glimmering with poorly veiled intrigue, pressed against me like a weight I could not shrug off.
“Of course. We’re completely smitten, lost in the joy of newlywed bliss.”
I replied with a serene smile, the perfect mask. I lifted my teacup with practiced grace and took a sip, as if their questions had no effect on me.
“How lucky you are, Duchess. The Duke of Schultz—every woman’s fantasy made flesh!”
“I’ve always dreamed of living in Muessen. It’s such a breathtaking place.”
“But tell us… how did you two meet? Where did your love story begin?”
With that final question, every pair of eyes turned to me, expectant and gleaming.
I sat motionless, surrounded by hungry stares and sparkling eyes, my thoughts a whirlwind.
‘How am I supposed to explain this without unraveling everything?’
“Our first meeting? Well… how did it happen again…?”
Sensing my hesitation, the women waved their hands gently, coaxing me.
“Oh, don’t be shy.”
“Truly, we’ve all shared stories like this. That’s how friendships grow.”
“Imagine it—him, a man who never let a woman near him, falling for you. It must’ve been something extraordinary.”
They thought me shy.
But I wasn’t.
I was not timid, nor was I the kind to stammer under pressure.
It’s just… the truth was too impossible to say aloud.
“Ha-ha…”
I let out a polite laugh and drank my tea again, letting the silence answer for me.
Their disappointment showed in their eyes, but one of them simply smiled.
“No matter. We’ll hear it some other time.”
Crisis averted—at least for now.
I returned their smiles with one of my own, soft and composed, while praying inwardly:
‘Please… no more questions like that.’
I turned toward the window, letting my eyes drift into the distance, the weight of emotions I couldn’t name clouding my vision.
A faint sigh left my lips—so quiet it might’ve been imagined.
In that breath, his name echoed.
The man who had turned my perfect illusion of life upside down.
A husband anyone would envy. A marriage wrapped in splendor.
And yet…
‘I think my husband is a serial killer.’
✦ ✦ ✦
This is not the world I once belonged to.
That truth had dawned on me only recently.
For a time, I believed I had it all—wealth, beauty, status, and a husband who, by all appearances, adored me.
Then a single moment cracked the illusion.
Exactly one week ago, in a conversation so casual it shouldn’t have mattered:
“What do you think of the name ‘Primwood’?”
He wanted to name the estate. We had been tossing around suggestions, and then—there it was.
“Primwood…?”
“Yes. After you. And since the manor is surrounded by forest, it seemed fitting.”
He said it with a smile.
But the moment the name left his lips, something in me recoiled.
A strange, unplaceable dread stirred in my chest.
I didn’t recall the details, but I knew I’d heard that name before.
…And not in any pleasant context.
I pushed down the unease and replied as calmly as I could:
“After me? But this estate belongs to the Schultz family. And we’ve only just married… It might be too soon. Things could change—”
“Are you implying we’ll separate?”
His voice was cool. Measured. But sharp.
He interrupted me, eyes steady, demanding an explanation.
The extremity of his response was unsettling, but I understood. Our marriage had to look flawless.
I offered a placating smile.
“That’s not what I meant. Only that we could take our time. Naming the manor after me so soon… If the late Duke were alive, I’m sure he’d be scandalized.”
“The opinions of the dead hold no weight in the world of the living.”
“But—”
“Edith Schultz.”
He called my name firmly.
Why was he so insistent on using that name? As if erasing who I was before.
But there was no use fighting him.
“…Alright.”
And so it was named: Primwood Manor.
He claimed it was in my honor, but the name made my skin crawl. Something about it was wrong.
I wanted to dismiss it as irrational. A fleeting shadow of unease.
But that shadow lingered.
Even as I returned to my room. Even as I laid down in bed.
I couldn’t sleep. I kept rolling the name over and over in my mind, trying to understand why it disturbed me so deeply.
And then—
Like mist parting before the dawn, memories surged forward. Distant. Faded. Yet unmistakable.
A different world.
The Kingdom of Dothilia—a powerful industrial empire known for its vast railway network.
Its most beautiful city: Muessen.
Guarded by none other than the Duke of Schultz.
And his estate… was called Primwood.
“Oh no. Johannes Schultz.”
My heart raced.
The floor beneath me felt as though it might collapse.
‘How could I not have realized this sooner?’
This world… is a novel.
One I read in my past life.
I can’t recall every detail. It was so long ago.
But I remember enough.
And Johannes Schultz—my husband—is the story’s male lead.
‘That should be good news, right?’
No. Not at all.
I’d stake my life on it.
“Johannes Schultz is…”
…a lunatic. A murderer in disguise.
He wore kindness like a mask. Played the perfect gentleman.
No one saw his true self—no one but the heroine.
The women he killed? Too many to count.
Eventually, he falls in love with the heroine. She redeems him. The killings stop. A happy ending.
But—
“…I’m not her.”
My face contorted in panic.
I can’t remember if I ever finished the novel or abandoned it halfway. But I do remember the uproar it caused over its ending.
I leapt to my feet and began pacing.
“I must’ve lost my mind…”
I stopped. Smacked my own forehead. Resumed pacing.
“What was I thinking? Walking into this nightmare with open arms?”
“Yes, he’s noble, tall, breathtakingly handsome. He’s perfect… on paper.”
“No. He’s kind. Isn’t he?”
“But what if it’s just an act? How can I be sure?”
I argued with myself like a madwoman.
But I wasn’t being dramatic.
I was terrified.
Because my life might truly be at risk.
“Maybe… maybe I’m the heroine.”
Hope glimmered.
“No. Impossible.”
And just as quickly, it vanished.
I had three irrefutable reasons why I couldn’t be her.
First: My name is Edith Prim. The heroine’s name is Joanna Tennant. Not even one letter in common.
Second: The heroine was described as frail and delicate. I’m beautiful, yes—but frail? Hardly.
Third—and most damning of all—Primwood Manor existed long before the heroine ever entered the picture.
Since Johannes named the manor after me, it means she hasn’t even shown up yet.
No one knows when the killings began.
He might spare me.
He might not.
‘But chances are… I’m going to die.’
What a cruel joke.
To think I walked right into this trap.
My legs carried me to the mirror, as if pulled by fate.
My hands trembled as I reached for the frame.
Long chestnut hair. Emerald green eyes.
The same features all his victims shared.
