Chapter 1
So this is how it ends—possessing someone else’s body, working like a dog, and then dying.
Behind the man, a halo of light streamed in. The stained glass cast shimmering colors over his hair. His face was hard to see with the sunlight pouring in behind him.
He approached slowly. The more his face came into view, the more my heart swelled.
Am I… losing my mind? Is this real?
If my hands were free, I would’ve slapped them over my mouth.
One eye the color of fire, the other the color of ice—earning him the nickname “the cursed heterochromia.”
A straight, high-bridged nose, lips pressed together yet faintly moist, a firm jawline, and a clean, slender neck.
But unlike his refined face, his chest was packed with lean muscle, and his sides were thick and solid. His frame was wrapped in a taut, deep-violet uniform—the color of his family crest—which fit him too well. My mouth watered despite myself.
Not guilty! His face alone is a pardon!
He was the ruthless villain from the web novel I had read from start to finish, commenting on every chapter—
the dark adult romance The Villainess Torments the Emperor Yet Again.
The delicate silver-haired duke who stood against the golden-haired crown prince.
Firstborn of House Dykers. Pillar of the Lunacidium Empire.
Jerome Dykers!
He was my favorite character. My absolute bias. And in person, he was dozens of times more handsome.
Bless you, Truck-kun of possession! I owe you one!
Getting hit by a truck while picking up coins and waking up in another body hadn’t been my choice—but thank goodness it happened.
“Diane Heist.”
Even his voice was perfect—deep, smooth, with a hint of sweetness and weight. It resonated low without slurring, every syllable crisp.
“Yes!”
“That’s your real name?”
“Yes. It is.”
I nodded eagerly.
“Diane Heist,” he repeated.
It was a name I had crafted with care, blending two favorite game characters—Diana and Heist.
His well-shaped brows twitched.
“Diane Heist. Since when have you been trying to get close to my family?”
The bubble of joy and excitement burst instantly.
“P–Pardon?”
“Why did you infiltrate the banquet?”
His already cool features hardened in anger. The aura around him turned dangerous.
“I didn’t!”
“Who sent you to my family?”
I’d been so absorbed in admiring him, I’d almost forgotten—I was bound. Every time I moved, the rope cut into me. His men had grabbed me while I was washing dishes and dragged me before him.
“I was just doing my job…”
The fact that my honest work was being misunderstood stung. All I had done was serve the duke’s family diligently.
“Your job, huh…”
With a sardonic smile, he tipped my chin up. The grip hurt.
Up close, his beauty was blinding. The mint scent he favored brushed my nose. I couldn’t help flaring my nostrils slightly.
“Only a very few know that I take sugar and milk in my tea.”
“That’s because—”
In the novel, he refused alcohol, claiming it dulled his senses, so I had made him milk tea. He’d downed it in one go—then acted like this.
“You also knew I hate sunflowers. How?”
While scanning the banquet hall, he had spotted a vase of them and looked ready to cut off the offender’s wrist. I had hurried to remove it.
His youngest sister—the heroine—was named Sola, meaning “sun.”
His late mother, Aileen, had loved sunflowers. He hated them because they reminded him of her death. I had cried over that part in the book.
But I couldn’t tell him that.
Spoiling the original plot is bad manners.
He let go of my chin, and I dropped to the cold marble floor. The stone was as frigid as his expression.
“It must be that bastard Charles. I didn’t think he’d dig this far. Impressive.”
Shhhk—
A sword slid from its ornate scabbard.
The Dykers family blade—Ester.
Despite its beauty, its edge was lethal. The stained glass colors shimmered along the steel.
The tip pressed to my throat, nicking my skin until blood welled.
“Ow! That hurts!”
A real wound. His mismatched eyes flashed dangerously. His gaze raked over me like he might kill me on the spot.
“W–Wait!”
“You’re a threat to my family. You know too much.”
In the novel, Jerome was cold and ruthless, never smiling for anyone. He wielded detachment as a weapon.
Overworked because of an incompetent royal family, he had also spent over a decade searching for his kidnapped sister.
And in the future, things would only get worse—imprisonment, his house destroyed in a coup, exile in enemy territory while injured.
His tragic end was glossed over in favor of the main couple’s happily-ever-after.
“Please wait!”
I’d always preferred the competent villain over the love-crazed hero—and his face was my type.
But now that I was here in person? He was just a cold-blooded bastard.
“Are you ready to answer now?”
The blade pressed harder against my throat.
“Spare me!”
“Still unwilling? Losing one hand won’t kill you.”
He moved the blade toward my bound wrist.
“But then I can’t mop! I’ll starve!”
The panicked words tumbled out.
What is this—why am I talking like some servant from a Joseon drama?
He flicked the blade in a blur, leaving afterimages.
I’m going to die. Whether I starve from losing my hand or bleed out from the wound, I’ll die!
“Quite the act of innocence. Looks like Charles finally chose well.”
Charles de Myers—the novel’s male lead. Jerome was the only one who dared to call the crown prince by name.
“I’m not a spy!”
“Then maybe I should take a hand to make you talk.”
Cold metal kissed my palm, stinging as it scraped. My pleas went unheard. If anything, he seemed more certain I was lying.
“The milk was for your mother! The sunflowers were for your father! It’s filial piety!”
I babbled lies I wasn’t even good at telling. Survival was the only goal now.
“You call that an excuse? All coincidence?”
“Yes!”
Appealing to his emotions wouldn’t work. He despised sentimentality.
What could I say? Tell him I came from modern-day Korea, woke up here, and possessed this body? Like he’d believe me.
His sword was seconds away from slicing my hand.
“Don’t expect mercy. I’ll send your hand straight to Charles—blame him.”
If just a scrape hurt this much, I couldn’t imagine losing it entirely. I was the type to scream from a paper cut.
“Wait!”
I reconsidered my situation. Out of all the characters, I’d possessed a nameless maid—maid A. No one would save me.
Guess seeing his face was my last gift before death. Even the Grim Reaper’s wearing my bias’s face.
In this era, class dictated life and death. If a duke said die, a commoner died.
He was a man who saw things through. Dying at my favorite character’s hands… maybe that was lucky.
“If you must cut something, make it my neck. Do it in one clean strike—with sword energy, if you please.”
Better my neck than my hand. At least it would be quick. Strangely, the closer death came, the calmer I felt.
“You have some spirit.”
Not the reaction I expected.
Is this that “those who seek death will live” proverb?
He looked at me with curiosity.
“You even know about sword energy? Let’s see what else you know.”
“Uh…”
His smile was twisted, like a demon’s grin on a beautiful face.
That smile was a death sentence in the novel—mocking, derisive, dangerous.
He’s not planning to spare me.
I gave up and bared my neck.
“One strike, please.”
“A dying person’s wish is easy enough to grant.”
He poured sword energy into Ester. Blue light shimmered along the blade—the same energy that could fell enemies with a graze.
And I was about to take it head-on.
“Since I’m going to die, one more thing.”
I twisted upright, kneeling properly, and extended my neck so he wouldn’t miss.
“Go on.”
“You should listen to other people sometimes—if you want to live long.”
My determined gaze met his mismatched one. I was reflected clearly in his eyes.
Yes. This is enough.
My last advice to my bias: rein in that temper and live long.
“Bold last words.”
He raised the sword high. I squeezed my eyes shut.
So this is it. Possessing someone, working, and then dying. Goodbye.
…
“Jerome Dykers!”
Just before my head and shoulders parted ways, a dignified voice stopped his blade.
