Chapter 3
Live as My Sister
“Ugh…”
A ragged, cracked groan escaped my lips. My head throbbed sharply. When I collapsed with Aileen, I’d smacked my head on the floor, and the dizzying shock still reverberated in my skull.
“Ugh… blegh…”
Nausea rose up. Something was wrapped around my head—bandages in poor condition that had slipped down over my face. A musty smell invaded my nose.
“You’re awake? I thought I was going to have to haul away a corpse. You’ve been out for three days.”
“Who… ugh—”
Was this heaven?
I forced my eyes open and saw nothing but pink. Bed sheets, curtains, the sofa—everything was garishly pink. I closed my eyes, and the navy blue, the complementary color to pink, floated into my mind.
“Throw up in here.”
“Lucy?”
Once I’d finished vomiting, my vision cleared a little. It was Lucy—the same girl I’d met right after I possessed this body.
“Twice in one day you almost died. You’ve got terrible luck.”
She patted my back in concern. When we first met, she’d had long brown hair like mine, but now it was cropped short and dyed pink.
“If you want to crack your skull, try finding a harder mineral to smash it on. Or change your method.”
Despite the cold words, she handed me a potion. The moment I downed it, the headache and nausea melted away as if by magic.
“What are you talking about? I plan to live a long life.”
The body’s original owner, apparently full of zeal, had volunteered to clean a chandelier. A dazzling, glittering chandelier—hanging from the ceiling of a banquet hall about three stories high.
This era didn’t exactly have safety equipment.
She’d climbed up there without a second thought, and the wooden ladder had snapped. Looks like the original me either didn’t value her life…
Or was just stupid.
No one was going to call a doctor for a mere temporary maid brought in for a banquet. Luckily, Lucy had been there; with her extensive knowledge of herbs, she’d treated me. This time, too, I owed her my life.
“Where’s madam?”
“The duke.”
Lucy rose and offered a polite greeting. Duke. If Jerop was the duke now, that meant the previous duke was no longer in this world.
So… what time period had I ended up in?
He approached me—then took several steps back. Upon seeing the state I was in, he wrinkled his nose and pulled out a handkerchief to cover it.
“Where is madam? I want to see her right away.”
It stung a little, but Aileen’s well-being was more important. I was worried—she had coughed up blood.
“—Ack!”
As I darted toward the door, he grabbed me by the scruff of the neck.
“Mirror.”
He took a hand mirror from Lucy, still holding his nose with the other hand, and thrust it toward me like a priest warding off a demon with a cross.
Fine—since it was in front of me, I took a look. My face was in even worse shape than I’d thought.
The cloth wrapped around my head was a dingy, filthy color, streaked here and there with green from the herbal poultice. No wonder anyone would recoil.
With a jerk of his chin, he motioned for me to follow.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he just wanted to get away from me—he walked that fast.
Even when we reached the elegant, semi-transparent screen shielding a bath, Jerop didn’t leave. Hot water gushed from the tap, steam billowing into the air.
“I’m going to bathe.”
“Bathe.”
“I have to undress.”
“Undress.”
“You’re telling me to take off my clothes in front of a man who’s not my husband?”
He couldn’t see me behind the screen, but I crossed my arms over my chest.
“I have no interest in your body.”
It was like he’d studied how to phrase words specifically to wound people. Each remark was so cutting that anyone with a tender heart might burst into tears.
“Yes, yes, of course.”
Having now experienced Jerop’s personality firsthand, I couldn’t help but sigh.
Only I would put up with this—because I had a wide heart… and because I liked his face in the original novel.
Resigned, I started hanging clothes over the top of the screen to block my silhouette.
I untied the ribbon at my back and slipped off the apron. I managed to undo the top button on the back of my dress, but the rest were out of reach. I needed someone else’s hands.
For servant attire, it was awfully troublesome—ribbons knotted everywhere.
‘And she was wearing a corset, too.’
Grunting, I loosened the corset laces.
“The maid who fell while cleaning a chandelier.”
“Wow… I must be famous.”
Finally, I peeled the clothes off. People in this era had it rough—how did they wear and remove this every day?
“Ahhh…”
I sank into the hot bath with a sound like an old man enjoying hangover soup. My tensed muscles relaxed.
I unwound the cloth around my head. The stench was coming from that makeshift bandage. I tossed it far away and scrubbed the herbal paste from my hair.
“There’s no Diane Heist on the employment roster.”
In the meantime, he’d already investigated me. How very Jerop Dykers of him.
“That’s a fake name I made up.”
“Fake name.”
“I don’t even know my real name. I lost my memory in the fall.”
Even if he questioned me, I had no answers—I genuinely knew nothing.
“Lost your memory?”
“Yes. I only look fine on the outside.”
“The statue in the hallway—shattered.”
‘Don’t tell me I damaged that general-looking figure…’
That sounded like something worth getting stoned for.
“Do I have to pay for it?”
He didn’t answer.
Since I was already undressed, I checked my right thigh, which had ached when I fell. No wound, but there was a black stain—so dark it was like staring into a void deeper than black itself.
Even scrubbing hard, it wouldn’t come off. The body’s original owner must have had a tattoo there. If it was on the inner thigh, it must have hurt terribly. Looking closely, the twisting lines looked like letters.
Not Korean… maybe English?
It was too small to make out clearly.
‘If I were just a little more flexible, I could see it.’
I bent forward further to try to read it—
Swish—
The screen was yanked aside.
“Eek!”
I nearly flashed the duke. Flustered, I dove deeper into the tub.
“Who is it?”
Thankfully, it wasn’t him.
“Ugh, what’s that smell?”
Women dressed like me approached.
“Hey! Where are you touching?!”
Hands roamed into all sorts of private places. Maybe I should’ve waited.
“The duke said to scrub you clean—every inch.”
“Aaah! Stop!”
If the duke heard my screams, he ignored them and walked away.
Jerop strode far ahead of me, the distance between us widening. With his martial training and long legs, I couldn’t catch up—did he fold the ground beneath him?
“Hah… hah… Can we rest a bit?”
I was about to split at the seams trying to keep up. My breath hitched; at this rate, I’d drop dead from a burst heart.
“You’re slow.”
“These clothes are too big. It’s hard to walk.”
Layer upon layer of heavy fabric, and high heels I’d never worn before—utterly cumbersome.
“At least give me something that fits. Whose clothes are these? They’re huge.”
The dress prepared for me to meet Aileen was off-the-shoulder—and, of course, deep pink.
‘I can accept the color… but what’s with the size?!’
The sleeves that should’ve sat on my shoulders sagged halfway down my arms. The bodice was so loose we had to stuff it with fabric, and the waist was cinched with extra folds. The skirt was so long it trailed behind me.
I was probably sweeping all the hallway dust into my skirt.
“They’re my size.”
So the fabric stuffed in my bodice… was meant for Jerop’s muscle mass?
Jerop Dykers was a fundamentally diligent man, with the solid, well-trained muscles to prove it. The novel always praised his build—broad back and chest, yet never embracing anyone. Even in his neat uniform, the rise and fall of his chest was obvious when he breathed.
The “tragic, sexy icon” of The Tyrant Pressures the Villainess.
“Is cross-dressing a hobby of yours?”
Imagining Jerop’s muscular frame in a dress… it wasn’t bad.
He suddenly stopped and whipped around, his glare full of unspoken curses. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot.
I was just curious. No need to curse me with your eyes.
“My mother prepared it.”
Ah. Unlike him, I was easily moved by filial piety—and I’d just insulted someone’s mother without meaning to.
“My body’s at fault, then. My height’s set, so I’ll just have to build some muscle.”
Inadvertently, I’d turned into a fiery daughter devoted to his mother, and now I scrambled to smooth things over.
“Sola Dykers. Learn some manners.”
Apparently my way of speaking grated on someone born the son of a duke.
“So you’re acknowledging me as your sister?”
“I don’t have much choice.”
His resigned voice trembled strangely.
“Live as my sister.”
His tone dropped low—this wasn’t anger.
“For as long as Mother’s here.”
Sadness.
It seemed he knew her time was drawing to a close. His reddened eyes… maybe he’d even cried, though it was hard to imagine.
I fiddled with the ribbon in my hair, the glossy strands spilling over my shoulders. I had no idea how to comfort a grief that large.
In the quiet hallway, only our footsteps echoed. To keep up, I had to half-run.
“Ah!”
He stopped abruptly, and I crashed face-first into his back. His solid muscles didn’t budge. My made-up face was now stamped onto the deep-purple uniform on his back.
The Duke’s uniform, branded with “Diane Heist.”
“Mother, Sola is here.”
Without a hair out of place, he knocked on the door.
