Chapter 1 —
I stepped into my room, the Countess’s bedroom, and came across something shocking: the Count and a maid tangled in my bed.
The Count — I know him well — was crude. The maid was half-covered by a blanket. They froze when they saw me.
“I swear to God, no divorce.” the Count had boasted to the maid. Now they both trembled when I appeared.
Mad with anger, I calmly said:
“Get off my bed—now.”
Neither moved. So I ordered the maid — trembling — to fetch help: “Bring servants, quickly.”
She wavered but left, and the Count pulled the blanket tighter. I thought: They deserve this shame.
I needed somewhere else to rest. This room belonged to me now—the real Countess— so I’d reclaim my space.
Two months ago, I woke up plus-sign-swapped into this strange world. I didn’t know why at first—thought I’d gone crazy. But reality hit when I found myself in a carriage, clothes I’d never seen, and a maid calling me “milady.”
Later, I learned this body belongs to Carla, the Count’s wife. And this is a novel. A trashy adult romance. A novel where Carla is a tragic woman: married, naïve, deeply in love, but secretly betrayed by her husband.
Carla had no family to support her, and her husband used her money to build his empire. She even gave him her bridal allowance. She had nothing, only heartbreak.
Her diary was heartbreak: questions like “Will he ever love me?” and “Why can’t I have a baby?” Tears blurred the pages.
And when I found her evidence—train tickets, receipts for gifts to his mistress—I was furious. Carla didn’t divorce, didn’t fight back. She just suffered. I decide to fight for her—give Carla back at least some of what she lost.
This morning, the Count and I had breakfast. He awkwardly called the wild situation yesterday a “hallucination.”
I replied smoothly, “I saw a stray cat on my bed. I must be weak.” He stiffened but had no better lie.
I reminded him, casually enough to embarrass him—this room is mine; my new sheets were ruined.
Then, I brought up our anniversary — soon. Most people in this world give grand gifts like diamond mines. Carla’s dowry included a small diamond mine. I said:
“For our anniversary, I want that mine. It’s romantic.”
He agreed—looking pale.
And I added: “Also—your butler will be docked two months’ pay. He lost the keys.” That hit home.
Back in my room, Bella, my maid, followed me. She was worried, spit-take white. I asked for some rest, then had her comb my hair, decorate it with pearls. It was peaceful—one small joy in this crazy world.
Finally, Bella reminded me about the invitations that need sorting — the world goes on, even when everything else is falling apart.
