RYL Chapter 02

Chapter 02

I woke up in this messed-up body about two months ago.

In my past life, I was an overworked IT planner who practically lived in front of a computer screen, seeing my monitor more than my boyfriend’s face.

Then, one fateful night, after finishing an important update, I decided to visit my boyfriend’s place, which was a big mistake.

I saw him cheating, right in front of my eyes. Shocked and heartbroken, I ran out and—bam—I got hit by a car and died.

Yeah… My past life had a pretty crappy ending.

***

“You’re so tacky. I can’t believe the young duke still drags you around as his fiancée.”

That snarky remark came from Sophia, who was lounging on the sofa in the reception room.

Oh, right. Sophia is the younger sister of the body I possessed—Claire.

Well, technically, she’s my stepsister, since my stepmother brought her into the family.

I looked at Sophia as she crossed her legs arrogantly, giving me a disdainful glare.

If she were my real sister, she’d be half-dead by now.

In my past life, I had a younger sister, and I made sure to keep her in line. She never dared to talk back to me unless she wanted to get her hair yanked.

Thinking about her now… Would she be sad that I was gone?

“What are you looking at? Ugh, just don’t go around telling people we’re sisters, okay?”

As I was lost in thought, Sophia sneered again.

I clenched my fists. Hold it in.

I had woken up in a body that could drop dead any moment. Making enemies right now would only put me in more trouble.

For now, at least.

I had no money, so I needed to stick with the Devonshire family for a while. And that meant staying on my stepmother’s good side.

Ugh… Whether in my past life or this one, I was always stuck trying to please people in power. What a joke.

“What, are you going to glare at me all day?”

Sophia smirked, her pretty face twisted in mockery.

I sighed and turned away, but before I could walk off, my stepmother, Ophelia, approached me.

I tensed, expecting her to side with Sophia and scold me, but instead, she gently took my hand.

Her expression was strangely serious as she spoke.

“Claire, today, you must get a wedding date from Lord Laurentino.”

Oh, not this again.

“It’s been ten years since your engagement. You’re already past the usual marrying age. If the engagement breaks, no one will want you.”

She said it so elegantly, like she was trying to sell a leftover item at a bargain market.

I bit back a groan.

The Devonshire family was practically leeching off the Laurentino duchy, so a marriage between the two houses was perfect—for them.

But why force me into it instead of her real daughter?

Simple.

Because the young duke, Mathieu Laurentino, was a well-known womanizer.

No one in their right mind would want their real daughter marrying a notorious playboy.

And more than that, Ophelia clearly wanted to pass the Devonshire estate to Sophia. Since the family had no male heir, she planned to marry me off, bring in a husband for Sophia, and have him inherit the title.

I saw through her scheme immediately, but there was no use arguing.

Claire had always been obedient, and I had no solid way of escaping this house yet.

As frustrating as it was, I had to wait.

Even though I had promised to live freely with Sabrina and Lilianne, I needed money and a home first.

I needed to build my position here before making my move.

“…Alright.”

With a resigned sigh, I nodded and left the mansion.

***

Before meeting Mathieu, I caught my reflection in a window.

Sophia’s words echoed in my mind.

Bright red hair—it was a bold color, one that could easily look gaudy.

A bare, makeup-free face.

My features were neat and delicate, but compared to the glamorous, doll-like women of high society, I looked plain.

I looked down at my dress—a dull brown one.

Was it really that old-fashioned?

Honestly, in my past life, I never cared about fashion.

All I did was go back and forth between work and home, and I always prioritized sleep over getting dolled up.

Why bother with makeup when it just smudges and fades by the end of the day?

So yeah, I wasn’t exactly confident in my sense of style.

“Hmmm…”

I stared at my reflection in the glass for a while, then shrugged.

“Doesn’t look that bad to me.”

Told you—I have zero fashion sense.

But really, if you look at just my features, I wasn’t ugly. I just looked plain compared to the glamorous ladies of high society.

Not knowing how the world saw me, I brushed it off and made my way to meet Mathieu.

***

I barely saw Mathieu once a month, but as usual, he looked like he just walked off the pages of a foreign fashion magazine.

Even with my lack of artistic sense, I could tell he was an objectively handsome man.

But that was all.

I sat down across from him without any admiration or excitement.

“Did I keep you waiting long?”

It was just a polite greeting, but he didn’t even flinch.

He stared off into the distance, looking like someone had dragged him here by force.

Well, guess what? I didn’t want to be here either.

But unlike him, I had five years of corporate experience under my belt, so I knew how to fake a polite smile.

“You must be really upset that I made you wait…”

I let out a lighthearted chuckle, trying to break the tension.

He glanced at me and finally spoke.

“You just wasted three minutes of my life.”

…Should I punch him?

This guy just got here, and he’s already acting like he’s been waiting for hours?

My blood boiled, but my face still carried that fake, social-smile.

Damn workplace habits.

Not to mention, Claire’s body had this ridiculous habit of reacting to Mathieu—fluttering like some lovesick fool.

“Aah… I see. I’ll try to come earlier next time.”

I forced out another awkward smile.

Mathieu studied me for a moment before leaning in close, his voice dropping into a smooth whisper.

“Or better yet, don’t come at all. That way, I won’t have to make up excuses to ditch these meetings.”

Was there really a need to say that in such a sweet tone?

If he was so annoyed, why did he even show up?

Honestly, I would’ve been happier just skipping this nonsense and going home.

But let’s be real—the daughter of a mere count standing up the duke’s heir? Not happening.

As I clenched my fists under the table, Mathieu smirked.

“As if you’d ever miss this meeting. I bet you’ve been looking forward to it all month.”

…If you don’t want to get punched in that pretty little face, I suggest you back off.

I forced myself to smile despite my twitching fingers.

Hold it in.

If I wanted to keep living comfortably under the Devonshire family’s roof, I had to endure this—for now.

Deep breaths.

Just five more seconds, and I would’ve lost it.

Luckily, Mathieu leaned back lazily in his chair, breaking the tension.

“Let’s just get through this meal quickly. I have plans to meet Angelica soon.”

Ah. So he wasn’t even trying to hide his womanizing.

Not that I was surprised.

Our first meeting had gone the exact same way.

In fact, before that day, I had no idea who Claire even was.

She was just an extra in the novel—mentioned in a few lines and then forgotten.

But the moment I saw Mathieu, I knew exactly where I was.

Mathieu von Laurentino.

The infamous playboy and second male lead of this story.

You know the type—the charming heartbreaker who flirts with every woman in sight… until he meets the heroine.

Then, suddenly, he’s reformed, head-over-heels in love, and only has eyes for her.

Of course, in the end, he loses the heroine to the actual male lead and spends the rest of the story suffering in unrequited love.

And who was his fiancée before all that happened?

Me.

Claire.

The pathetic side character who adored him despite his trashy behavior.

She wasn’t even important enough to have a proper death scene—just a vague mention that she had “passed away.”

But let’s be real.

She probably died of stress because of this idiot.

I swallowed my frustration and forced out another fake smile.

“Well, I guess there’s nothing I can do about that.”

I sipped my drink casually before adding,

“But before you leave, can I ask you something?”

Mathieu raised a brow, looking at me with mild curiosity.

I kept my voice light, my smile gentle.

“Our wedding… when will it be?”

At that, Mathieu let out a dry laugh.

“Wedding? You and me? Wow, Claire, you sure dream big.”

My smile twitched.

Oh, you better finish that sentence, you piece of trash.