To Twist You Destiny _Episode 01
Everything moved without a single misstep, like a finely crafted clockwork.
“This banquet is quite splendid as well. They say Count Whitewood spares no expense when it comes to his daughter…”
“I heard he even built this party hall just for her wedding. Truly an incredible fortune.”
Evelyn Primrose, the second daughter of the Primrose Count’s family, slowly swept her violet eyes across the banquet hall.
The place where she now stood—the newly built party hall of the Whitewood family—was crowded with influential figures of great reputation.
This was a party hosted by her closest friend, Daphne Whitewood, to find a suitable marriage partner.
Daphne’s father, Count Whitewood, was one of the wealthiest men in the Castier Empire.
Among the nobles of the capital, there was no one who did not know that he had lost his wife early and raised his only daughter, Daphne, with utmost devotion.
It was also widely known that the fortunate man who married Daphne would inherit all of Whitewood’s titles and wealth.
Moreover, Daphne herself was lovely and beautiful, making her openly regarded as the most desirable bride in high society.
It was no coincidence that so many noblewomen who took pride in matchmaking had gathered in the hall today.
However, if they had been aiming only for Daphne, the hall would not have been this crowded.
Though Evelyn herself did not realize it, the gazes of those considering marriage were also firmly directed at her.
After all, she was considered one of the most eligible brides after Daphne.
Naturally, those seeking such charming young ladies would never miss today’s banquet.
If they could share the first dance with Daphne, all the better. If not, it was still an opportunity to grow closer to Evelyn. And with all the prominent figures of high society gathered in one place, what better occasion could there be to build connections?
A chandelier powered by electricity—something only a select few in the capital could afford—cast its brilliance across the lavish hall. Beneath that dazzling ceiling, a noisy tangle of ambition and desire intertwined.
Yet Evelyn had no time to concern herself with any of it.
As she listened to the conversations around her, she missed someone calling her name by a beat.
“Evelyn, are you feeling unwell?”
“…Ah.”
Turning her head, she saw her closest friend Daphne looking at her with concern, her blue eyes shining.
“You haven’t been listening for a while… and you look pale. Are you alright?”
“I’m sorry, Daphne. It’s just… I was thinking about a dream I had last night.”
“A dream? You’re more innocent than I thought, Eve.”
Daphne covered her mouth as she laughed lightly, as if surprised.
“I couldn’t sleep thinking about choosing a husband today. Were you the same?”
If only that were the reason.
If it had been, her thoughts wouldn’t be so tangled, nor would she hesitate this much to even mention the dream.
Inside the banquet hall, each scene unfolded slowly and precisely—like a ballerina atop a music box—disturbing Evelyn’s mind.
The reason was simple.
All of this… were scenes she had seen in a certain “book” within her dream.
The conversations passing among the people around her.
The cream smudged on a servant’s cheek as he handed out finger foods.
“Huh? One of the chandelier lights went out.”
A filament burning out inside a bulb—
“Honestly, Father. I told him we shouldn’t use electricity for a banquet.”
Even Daphne’s small complaint.
If everything was happening exactly as it had in her dream, who would believe her?
‘A prophetic dream…’
What she was thinking now was far from normal.
If she said it out loud, Daphne would surely react the same way anyone would.
And yet, Evelyn almost wanted to hear that denial. After a moment of hesitation, she finally opened her mouth.
“The truth is…”
At that moment, the doors of the hall opened, and a stir spread through the crowd.
If everything was truly unfolding exactly as in her dream—
Then there was someone who was supposed to appear right now.
“Oh my, the rebel of high society has arrived.”
“What did he acquire this time? A mine?”
“A pig iron mine. My husband hasn’t stopped talking about investing in it.”
“Well, it’s no wonder. Anything that man touches turns into gold.”
Amid the murmuring noise, Evelyn froze and looked toward the door.
There stood a man, carrying the chill of the outside air as if it clung to him like rain. A coldness that seemed impossible to shake off was the first thing that caught her eye.
Then came his sharp cheeks, and a loosely worn tie that hinted at his unruly temperament. His boldly defined brow bone and sculpted features—like a statue—drew the gaze one after another, embodying his rebellious nature.
A man so out of place, as if cut from a lurid magazine and pasted onto a philosophical book.
Everything about him seemed to declare that he did not belong here.
And so she knew. She couldn’t not know.
‘It’s you.’
That man would fall in love with her friend—and die for it.
Because he was the male lead of the book she had seen in her dream.
At that moment, Evelyn had no choice but to accept it, as if swallowing nails.
Her fate would follow the story of that book—
And she would die before this winter was over.
Evelyn Primrose, the cherished daughter of the prestigious and long-standing Primrose Count family.
The way society referred to her was simple:
The Princess of Blue Blood.
Born into a wealthy household, blessed with loving parents and a kind, respectable older brother, Evelyn had lived her life surrounded by affection, lacking nothing.
With the beauty she inherited from her mother, a gentle and kind personality, and a faint air of melancholy about her, people naturally found themselves drawn to her.
Moreover, the Primrose family cherished her so deeply that it was often said that seeing Evelyn in high society was as rare as holding an angel’s hand.
A noble lineage rivaling the imperial family, stunning beauty, and a loving, affluent home—if Evelyn was not a desirable bride, it would be stranger if she weren’t.
Everyone said the same thing about her:
“Evelyn must have nothing to envy. She has everything!”
But the gods are fair. Or perhaps that is precisely why.
If Evelyn truly had everything, then perhaps it was only just that her life itself be cut short.
Evelyn was terminally ill—living with a ticking bomb in her heart.
Her condition first revealed itself in the autumn when she was ten. After suffering a seizure while riding a swing in the garden, a doctor diagnosed her with heart disease and said:
“There is no cure. At this rate, she will be lucky to live past twenty-five.”
Her parents were furious, rebuking the doctor for such words to a mere ten-year-old child.
Dismissing him as a quack, they decided to keep Evelyn’s condition a secret.
“Children’s health can worsen and improve. There’s no need to spread unnecessary rumors already.”
“Your father is right. Ignore what the doctor said. You look perfectly fine…”
But a child’s intuition is often sharper than an adult’s.
From that day on, ten-year-old Evelyn sensed that the way her parents looked at her had changed.
It was the gaze of a gardener looking at a shrub whose roots might already be rotting.
A look that knew it could not yet be certain, but one day, the expensive plant might have to be dug up and discarded.
Yet the gardeners of the Primrose family were generous.
They brought renowned doctors, sought out every remedy said to be good for her health, and always spoke hopeful words to her.
“Don’t worry about anything else, Evelyn. Just think about your health. You will surely recover.”
Every time she saw her mother speak such hope despite no improvement for over ten years, Evelyn felt both gratitude and sorrow.
But at times, she also felt suffocated.
Because occasionally, she couldn’t help but think that all that hope was nothing more than a facade.
‘Does Mother truly believe I will recover?’
Or was it all a lie—and deep down, did her family wish for her to die?
Whenever such thoughts pierced her heart, Evelyn quickly erased them.
‘That’s a terrible thing to think.’
She knew better than anyone how much her parents had done for her treatment.
Seeing her mother’s face, burdened with worry and expense because of her, always filled Evelyn with guilt.
Perhaps that was why.
As if punished for such dark thoughts, she suddenly collapsed from another seizure not long after.
In her fading consciousness, she saw a book.
The title was Under the Rose Tree.
It was the story of a man who rose in status by loving a noblewoman, only to meet his ruin in the end.
His name was Dylan Fitzroy.
And in that story—
Evelyn was destined to die, watching over his love.
