Chapter 2
“Good morning, Lady Clarissa!”
Good my foot.
Hearing the overly energetic voice of her personal maid, Marie, first thing in the morning left Clarissa in a foul mood.
Never—not once in all her years of living as Clarissa—had she hated mornings as much as she did today.
If I’d known it would feel this awful, I’d rather never have remembered my past life at all…
Clarissa splashed her face with lukewarm water.
Just before she could finish voicing her pointless complaints, the horrific ending that awaited Clarissa in the original story flashed through her mind.
A chill ran down her spine. Her body shuddered.
“Oh! Was the water too cold?”
“N—no.”
Yeah. Quit whining. You’ve got it better than most.
Clarissa wiped her cheeks with the soft towel Marie offered and took a steadying breath.
If anything, she ought to get down on her knees and thank whatever god had shown her the past. Nothing in the world was more powerful than knowing the future.
And yet, even as she thought that, a quiet weight settled in her chest.
Unbidden, the face of the male lead—Aryan—floated into her mind, just as she had last seen him yesterday.
Though he was a year older than her, he looked five years younger: his gaunt frame and face, the ill-fitting luxury shirt far too big for him, and the cheap, flashy jewelry that clashed with it all.
“Lady Clarissa, are you sure you’re not feeling unwell?”
Used to Clarissa’s usual unruly behavior, Marie finally couldn’t stand how listless she seemed today and asked after her in concern.
Clarissa’s normally sharp golden eyes looked dull as they settled weakly on Marie.
Then her small lips moved, and a clear, fragile voice slipped out.
“Marie.”
“Yes?”
Sensing that something serious might follow, Marie swallowed hard and focused on her young mistress.
A fair amount of time passed. The second hand of the clock ticked its way around, returning to its starting point.
“You lived such a hard life… and it turns out there was someone who ruined it for you. But apparently, they didn’t mean to. It just… kind of happened.”
“Lady Clarissa?”
Having finally started, Clarissa spilled out words that were difficult to make sense of.
Marie’s eyes widened despite herself as she tried to grasp her meaning.
Under normal circumstances, Clarissa would have snapped at her for that look—but today, she didn’t seem to care in the slightest.
Even as Marie belatedly realized she might have made a mistake, Clarissa kept talking.
“And one day, that person realizes what they’ve done. They apologize. But what good is that? My life’s already in the gutter because of them.”
Clarissa’s voice grew a little sharp with emotion, but her gaze was deadly serious.
And Marie was shocked for an entirely different reason.
Come to think of it, this was almost the first time she had ever heard Clarissa speak in full sentences instead of barking things like Hey! No! Do it!
“You’re… very articulate today,” Marie said honestly, impressed.
“I know I’m amazing. Save the flattery.”
She hadn’t meant it as praise, but Clarissa’s talent for interpreting everything her own way was as strong as ever.
Yep. That’s the Lady Clarissa I know, Marie thought, tilting her head.
Clarissa urged her on again.
“Anyway, if that were you, what would you want that person to do?”
“Hmm… I’m not sure.”
Meeting Clarissa’s unfamiliar gaze, Marie rested her chin in her hand and thought.
“At the very least…”
Ruined something, Clarissa had said.
Naturally, Marie thought of her childhood—of the stuffed rabbit her older brother had ruined.
She had cried her eyes out, clutching that toy with one ear torn clean off. Back then, there had been only one thing she wanted.
“If they broke something… wouldn’t you want them to fix it?”
Is this really the right move?
Clarissa now stood at a party hosted by Toddga von Lavender, the eldest son of the Count of Lavender.
According to the original story, this was where Aryan would suffer a major humiliation—and gain yet another piece of trauma.
Where is Aryan?
Clarissa’s eyes darted around.
The water she had already spilled in the past couldn’t be taken back. She’d come out hoping to clean up the mess somehow, but she had no real plan.
Park, if you were going to write character settings, you could’ve been a bit more detailed.
Aryan’s past was only ever briefly mentioned—fleeting recollections during conversations with the female lead.
That meant the information Clarissa had was painfully limited.
When exactly does it happen? Where? And how?
Anxious, Clarissa chewed at her nails.
It was a terrible habit she had picked up living as Clarissa.
The young ladies of Baron Cantabile and Count Fresimo, who were always glued to her side, cautiously spoke up.
“Um, Lady Clarissa… are you feeling unwell?”
“Yes, you don’t look well at all.”
“Oh, I’m uncomfortable, all right.”
Crunch. Crunch.
The sound—grating and unsettling—rang clearly in the girls’ ears.
Clarissa’s eyes snapped into focus.
“Th-then perhaps you should return—”
“What? No!”
“Eek!”
At Clarissa’s thunderous shout, the young ladies’ faces went pale.
Her near-screech drew glances from all around before people quickly began to avert their eyes.
No one here wanted to catch the attention of Clarissa, infamous for her foul temper and fickle moods.
And the more that happened, the more anxious Clarissa became. Among all those gazes, Aryan was nowhere to be seen.
Don’t tell me he’s already being bullied somewhere…
Clarissa’s face slowly drained of color.
Just as helplessness threatened to close in, a loud burst of laughter echoed from somewhere nearby.
Clarissa knew instantly.
There!
“L-Lady Clarissa?”
“Where are you going?”
“Milady!”
Shaking off the voices trying to stop her, Clarissa hurried forward.
With every step, her unease grew.
Hang on, male lead! I’m coming!
It hurts.
Aryan curled into himself amid the crowd of children surrounding him.
His shoulder, shoved hard. His knee, scraped raw when he fell. His twisted ankle—all of it hurt.
But what hurt more was—
“See? I told you it wouldn’t even last a year!”
“How did you know? That’s amazing.”
“Wow, long time no see, Aryan. You remember us, right?”
“……”
Cruel words that dug into wounds he had barely managed to cover.
Aryan hunched over, pressing a hand to his chest.
“Hey, answer us!”
“You got all full of yourself just because Clarissa glanced your way for a bit…”
“So what now? Dumped already?”
From the start, the engagement had been arranged as if he were being sold off—thanks to the spoiled whims of the Marquis of Lisette’s only daughter.
To both the Count of Mathias and his wife, it was proof enough that they hadn’t truly wanted him.
Even then, Aryan had cried in silence.
And yet, he had endured. Even if it had been nothing more than curiosity, even if it had been a passing fancy—at least that arrogant marquis’s daughter had seemed to want him.
But even that…
…was over now.
The boys mocking him weren’t wrong about a single thing.
That was why, the moment Clarissa told him yesterday that the engagement was over, Aryan thought he had already suffered every wound life had to offer.
He had hurt as much as one could hurt. He believed there would be nothing left that could pain him.
Yes—he had believed that.
But—
It hurts.
It hurt. And it was humiliating.
At least he wasn’t crying. That was the only comfort he had.
“Hey, are you ignoring us?”
Tap. Tap.
Toddga, who seemed to be the ringleader, nudged Aryan’s leg with the tip of his shoe.
Aryan simply stopped breathing, like a dead man.
“So what if you’ve got a pretty face?”
That reaction only fueled the sadism of a boy who had never once been chosen—who had twisted himself into knots from rejection, never earning even a fleeting glance from the girl he wanted.
Toddga clenched his fist.
“Now that Clarissa doesn’t want trash like you anym—”
He was just about to stomp on the boy barely half his size—
When a voice cut in.
“And what about me?”