To Twist You Destiny – episode 02
She hadn’t known the future from the very beginning. If anything, it was the opposite.
At first, the dreams were nothing more than vague, fragmented scenes.
Each time she dreamed, different moments would appear. Sometimes it was a man and a woman arguing; other times, a man suffering from heartbreak.
But there was one thing that never changed—the people who appeared in those dreams.
At first, they felt hazy, like pale smoke that faded upon waking. But as the dreams repeated, the memories grew clearer, until eventually they formed a single, complete story.
There was one peculiar detail: the story was told in a first-person observer’s perspective, narrated by someone.
The narrator of Under the Rose Tree was the closest friend of the woman the protagonist loved.
She watched, on the brink of her own death, as her friend became entangled in a chaotic love.
She witnessed how the man who loved her friend clawed his way up, how he clung desperately—and how he ultimately met his ruin.
In the end, as she lay on her sickbed, she heard of the man’s downfall from her friend.
“He’s dead. You know he killed his business partner, right? They say he was killed in revenge. It’s terrifying…”
“…Then you shouldn’t be here. What about the funeral?”
“Don’t say that! How could I go there when you’re this sick? I came running because I was afraid you might die…!”
Her friend’s voice was filled with concern and sorrow—but it was hypocrisy.
Even now, she was merely being used as a convenient excuse for her friend to avoid him.
What a pitiful man. You threw everything away for love, only to meet such an end.
Everything had been hollow—his love, her life.
They had struggled desperately to cling to illusions, clawing through sand in pursuit of a mirage.
Never realizing that the future awaiting them was one of endless sinking…
She closed her eyes.
We will meet again. In a place where we no longer have to struggle.
Before the trajectories of all those misfired bullets that crossed paths.
With the narrator’s monologue, her life came to an end—and the novel concluded as a perfect tragedy.
Why would such a story appear in my mind?
It was far too vivid to dismiss as a mere dream.
After waking, Evelyn often questioned it, yet could never find an answer. Or so she thought. At the time, the names of the characters in Under the Rose Tree had not yet become clear.
Until last night’s dream—
When she realized that the narrator of that book was “Evelyn Primrose.”
The narrator who watched her friend’s love and ultimately died… was herself.
Please… let it just be a dream.
Her breath caught. It was a wonder she hadn’t collapsed on the spot.
Was it because she would die in a year? Or because she now knew the future?
The narrator’s calm declaration—that her life had been nothing but a facade—echoed endlessly in her mind.
At last, Evelyn staggered slightly. Had there not been a hand to steady her, she might have fallen.
“My, Eve.”
Fortunately, her older brother, Clarence, who stood beside her, caught her in time and kept her upright.
He gently smoothed her damp hair and asked with concern,
“You look pale. Are you feeling very unwell?”
“No, it’s not that…”
“That’s a relief. Then you should pull yourself together. Anyone seeing your face like this would start questioning your health. You know today is important, don’t you? If things go wrong, Father will surely be furious.”
The “important matter” Clarence referred to was Evelyn’s marriage.
With a gloved hand, he pointed toward a man across the hall.
“Don’t forget, Evelyn. When the first dance begins, you are to go to that man.”
His name was Arthur Grenville, a promising twenty-eight-year-old officer. He had attended an elite boarding school reserved for prestigious families from a young age—proof enough of his family’s influence.
And that made him exactly the kind of match the Primrose family needed—a family with noble lineage but comparatively less influence.
Evelyn stared blankly at the man who was to be her future husband. Then, impulsively, she spoke.
“Clarence… what would you think if I only had one year left to live?”
“…What? What are you talking about?”
Clarence’s brow furrowed immediately.
“I see. It must be that quack doctor from before. He must have said something to you, didn’t he? Whatever it was, ignore it. You’ll recover soon enough.”
Her breath tightened. Without realizing it, Evelyn clenched her fist against her chest.
“That’s not it. Listen to me. I’m just asking—if I only had a year left to live, should I still go through with this marriage?”
At that, Clarence’s thoughtful expression shifted into confusion and irritation.
He was never one to entertain unrealistic assumptions. Still, for the sake of his sister, he tried to be patient.
“First of all, Eve—you’re not going to die. But even if that were the case… yes, you should still marry. You never know what might happen. It’s better to be prepared. For your own sake.”
“Even if… it’s not something I want?”
At last, Clarence’s patience wore thin. Letting out a shallow sigh, he grasped her shoulders.
“I don’t understand why you’re acting like this, Evelyn. Even if you don’t want it, our parents do. You’ve always been obedient—why the sudden change? There are many people watching, so stop this—”
“What if I said I wanted to inherit the family instead?”
In that instant, all softness vanished from Clarence’s expression. He let out a cold, disbelieving laugh and looked down at her.
“Evelyn? You? You don’t even know anything, and you think you can inherit the family?”
Of course, Evelyn knew she could never inherit it. She had no desire to do so, either. It had only been a passing remark.
She hadn’t expected such a sharp response.
I can’t breathe.
It was the same suffocating feeling she had whenever her mother repeated, for ten years straight, that she would recover.
If it were truly possible—if, as they said, anything could happen—
Then why had no one ever asked her about her future?
Why had no one ever given her a choice?
It was both kindness and a shackle—a line drawn under the pretense of her health.
A boundary no one, not even Evelyn herself, had ever tried to cross.
“I understand you’re having all sorts of thoughts before your marriage, Evelyn. But everyone has their place. You must do what is permitted to you—not what you want.”
What is permitted… and what one desires.
As Evelyn repeated those words in her mind, music rang out, signaling the start of the first dance. At the same time, a gentle smile returned to Clarence’s face.
“Now, it’s time. Go and do what you must.”
He turned her around lightly. Her gaze naturally followed—
Toward the man who was meant to be her husband.
And toward Dylan, the protagonist of Under the Rose Tree.
From the moment the music began, Dylan had been looking at only one place.
His deep-set green eyes were fixed intently on a single point. There was no need to follow his gaze to know what lay there.
Daphne…
Yearning for Daphne was never something Dylan was “allowed” to do. Even standing in this hall was beyond what should have been possible for a man of common birth.
And yet, he had come.
He desired Daphne.
He pursued what he wanted to the very end—even if it was nothing more than chasing an illusion.
Even if it was something he was never meant to have…
I only have one year left to live.
Her life had been one without desire. Only what was “allowed” and what was “required” had existed.
Now she finally understood why, in the book, she had called her life a facade.
And what she truly wanted, in this very moment.
As if possessed, she took a step forward. Once she did, the next steps followed naturally, like wheels rolling down a slope.
But the direction she walked in was not toward the man her family had chosen for her.
Instead, the blue-blooded princess—who had lived her whole life in obedience—stopped before the rebel of high society.
Some might call it a misfired bullet.
And that was exactly what Evelyn wanted.
“Dylan Fitzroy.”
Her voice trembled slightly. She could feel her heart pounding.
She hadn’t even run properly since she was ten—when had she last felt her pulse so vividly in her throat?
At the sound of his name, Dylan’s green eyes finally shifted.
His gaze was utterly indifferent. Up close, his face looked far harsher—and far more rebellious—than it had from a distance.
And for that very reason, Evelyn liked it.
What she was about to do could only be called rebellion.
So she opened her lips and said—
“Marry me.”
My life may have been decided ten years ago—
But yours hasn’t.
Evelyn chose to save Dylan.
Driven by a wholly impulsive decision—
And in the most romantic way possible.
