Chapter 2

The Countess’s name was Carla. As pretty as the name was, she was a pitiful woman.

She had wholeheartedly believed it was a love marriage, but it wasn’t. She had been deceived by the Count’s lies.

He had weighed and calculated which woman would benefit him the most and ended up seducing one—unfortunately, that one was Carla.

“Even if she was blinded by love, giving up her inheritance rights for it? That’s not innocence—that’s stupidity.”

I swallowed my contempt for her. Pure and devoted love? I couldn’t even scoff at that.

It wasn’t something I read in a book or something someone told me. It was all written in Carla’s diary.

Not long after I possessed her body, I searched every corner of the room looking for clues. It was hard to accept that the world had changed. It felt far more reasonable to think that I had changed, not the world. But the things I saw with my own eyes kept shaking that belief.

Even after ransacking the entire room, I hadn’t found any clear evidence that could explain the situation. Had I not discovered the cracked marble beneath the bed, I probably still wouldn’t believe I’d entered the world of a book.

Beneath that thin slab of marble were proof of the Count’s affairs that Carla had collected and her tear-stained diary.

I read it bit by bit in secret when the maids weren’t around.

“Crazy. She’s crazy.”

I must have said that at least 500 times.

Carla had not just ruined her life—she had buried it in the mud.

Since her marriage had practically severed ties with her parents, she couldn’t even bring her nanny.

She had once worked as a royal maid, but lost all her friends after the marriage because they opposed it. She had no one to lean on.

She was completely alone.

If she had no people, at least she should’ve had money—but the entire dowry she brought was used as seed money for the Count’s business. She didn’t have a penny to her name.

She even saved from her annual household allowance and gave it back to the Count.

She had nothing but misfortune. No—that wasn’t true. She had futile hope.

At the end of every diary entry, she always wrote the same line:

[Will he ever come to love me someday?]

Of course not. A man who could have loved her someday wouldn’t be fooling around with other women after marriage.

Count Icarus was rotten to the core. To him, Carla was nothing more than a tool to expand his wealth.

Does love put food on the table?

Actually, it can. The Count had grown his business with the dowry Carla brought.

But I had no intention of feeding a man I didn’t love. He could eat dirt for all I cared.

[If only I could hate him. If only I could stain my hands and blade with his blood! I don’t even have the tongue to expose his immorality or the hands to stab him.]

The final page of the diary always felt like a plea for revenge. The pitiful Carla who gathered proof with tears but couldn’t blame her husband—she no longer existed. Only a stranger remained at the end of this story.

I wondered if there was anything I could do to bring even a sliver of comfort to Carla’s miserable life. If the Count suffered misfortune—even if not as much as she had—it would feel like a fair trade for me using her body.

First things first, I decided to reclaim the cost of the bed sheets. At the very least, I wanted to retrieve everything listed in her dowry.

Luckily, the Count gave me a perfect excuse.

Fortunately, he didn’t reject my suggestion to have breakfast together. Considering they rarely saw each other even once a week, it was a good start.

If Carla had known, she would have been thrilled—even if it was only because the Count was being cautious.

“Oh my, today’s breakfast is quite extravagant. The chef must’ve really shown off his skills.”

I looked in awe at the spread on the table.

There was simmered carrot soup, soft-fried eggs and bacon, a salad made of assorted vegetables, and a roast of some small bird.

Judging by the size, it was likely a quail or something similar.

I couldn’t help but swallow; it was a luxurious breakfast. Could it be that the Count felt a little guilty?

“I heard you’ve been seeing hallucinations lately, so I ordered food that’s supposed to be good for the eyes,” he said with a twitch of his lips.

Not understanding what he meant, I just blinked until he elaborated.

“I heard you called a servant last night thinking someone was in your room.”

Ah. Now I understood the kind of nonsense he was trying to pull.

He was trying to dismiss what I saw yesterday as a mere hallucination.

What a bastard. Not only did he refuse to admit fault, but he even picked a fight. If your personality’s awful, at least be smart. Clearly, he failed at both.

“Oh dear, hallucinations? There was a stray cat in the room.”

I picked up a spoon and began eating the soup. An empty stomach makes it harder to think straight, after all.

Pretending to dab my lips with a napkin, I hid the sly smirk that crept across my face.

“The filthy creature climbed onto my bed. I was so frightened! You know how weak I am. Imagine how shocked I must’ve been to see something like that on my bed.”

I carefully brought up the previous night’s incident while pretending to be clueless. People tend to get angrier when you mock them subtly than when you insult them outright.

Judging by the way veins bulged on the Count’s clenched hand, I must’ve hit a nerve.

But perhaps he knew he was in the wrong—he couldn’t blow up in front of the servants.

So his pride still mattered. I smirked internally and lifted the corners of my lips in mock sweetness.

“Really, how could it have gotten in?”

The Count couldn’t answer right away. He just let out a sickly groan and nodded.

“Y-yes… That’s a good question…”

I turned my gaze away, pretending to focus on cutting the roast bird on my plate.

If Carla could have seen him deflate this easily, she would’ve been delighted.

I held back the urge to hum in victory.

“Ugh, it’s such a shame the sheets got dirty. I had just replaced them.”

The dining room fell into silence. Apart from the occasional clinking of cutlery, there was no sound.

Even the servants seemed to be treading carefully.

I wasn’t actually angry, but I knew how to look angry when others were watching.

Thankfully, Carla didn’t have an expressive face, which helped sell the act.

The Count began rolling his eyes, probably trying to find a way to appease me.

“My Lord.”

The Count flinched and turned to me at the sound of my voice.

God, he was ugly. Swallowing that thought, I smiled brightly and continued.

“Our wedding anniversary is coming up, isn’t it?”

Strictly speaking, it was still a long way off, but I decided to use it as a pretext.

Last year, the Count had gone on a trip with his mistress during their anniversary. The evidence Carla collected included two train tickets. On the crumpled stubs was scribbled: Count Icarus + 1 female companion.

As a so-called gift upon returning, he had tossed Carla a necklace—made of visibly cheap ruby.

The attached receipt, however, listed a diamond necklace, which had driven Carla into despair.

It was obvious who had received the real necklace. I didn’t buy it myself, but I couldn’t help feeling offended.

Poor woman.

Carla truly was pitiful. Even after two months in her body, I still hadn’t gotten used to being treated like her. Sometimes, it felt suffocating.

“I heard it’s trendy to give a mine as a gift in the capital these days.”

I spoke bluntly.

If I said something vague like “I want what’s trendy,” a brainless man like him might come up with some absurd gift.

“For this anniversary, I’d like to receive a diamond mine. It’s romantic, don’t you think?”

The Count owned a diamond mine—it had been listed in Carla’s dowry, so he should still have it.

It wasn’t large enough to be called a vast fortune, but it was still a decent anniversary gift.

I daintily placed a shredded bit of meat into my mouth with a fork and looked at him.

After some thought, the Count nodded with a dying expression.

He must’ve decided that giving away a small diamond mine was cheaper than having his mistress’s hair torn out by me in a rage.

“Is there… anything else you want?”

Giving a mine to a wife might be fine, but giving it to a mistress would be scandalous.

He would probably spend the next few days struggling to pacify her. What could be more fun than that? I might laugh so hard I’d hurt my back if I saw scratch marks on his face.

I shook my head. Then, pretending to remember something, I added with a gasp:

“The butler is to be docked two months’ pay. He was negligent with key management.”

 

The Count said nothing. The roast bird was delicious, but had far too many tiny bones.