Chapter 3: 3

Bertille Raspede was born as the youngest child of the prestigious noble Raspede Marquis family of the Kingdom of Justorne.

She had flaxen hair inherited from her mother, gray eyes, and facial features that also resembled her mother, and she was the only girl among her siblings.

It seemed that both her parents and her brothers had longed for the birth of a daughter, so under normal circumstances, she would have been doted on and raised with love.

However, that did not happen.

The reason was simple.

A few hours after giving birth to Bertille, her mother, the Marchioness, passed away.

Her mother had been dearly loved, or so it was said.

Starting with her husband, the marquis, she had been loved by her sons, the servants, and even the people of the territory.

Her death cast the entire marquisate into grief.

Because natural disasters struck the territory after Bertille’s birth, that grief and dissatisfaction eventually transformed into hatred directed at Bertille.

A child born in exchange for her mother’s death, who even brought about disasters.

She was deemed ominous, like a demon whose very existence was cursed.

After her mother’s death, the marquis family made the royal capital their base of life and rarely returned to their domain.

The reason they did not leave Bertille at the estate in the territory was likely not just for appearances, but to ease the dissatisfaction of the people even a little.

However, perhaps because Bertille strongly resembled her mother and reminded him of her, which caused him great pain and anger, the marquis drove Bertille out to a separate residence.

Her brothers also hated her and never came to check on her.

At the separate residence, the servants continuously harassed Bertille.

Her meals were mostly moldy bread or leftovers, and it was not uncommon for her to be given nothing at all.

Her room was not cleaned, and her clothes were rarely replaced, so they were either too small or worn out.

She was placed in an environment where it was a wonder she was even alive.

A change in that environment occurred when she was ten years old.

There were no daughters of suitable age in the ducal families within the country, and since she was close in age and from the powerful Raspede family among the marquis houses, Bertille was chosen as the fiancée of the second prince.

From then on, she moved to the main residence to live there.

However, her treatment improved only slightly.

Because she had regular meetings with the second prince, perhaps out of fear that it would be exposed that the marquis family did not even provide their daughter with proper meals, her food became proper.

She was also given dresses.

However, all of it was only the bare minimum, and not once were Bertille’s preferences or opinions reflected.

Her father remained indifferent, her brothers cursed her whenever they met, and their relationship—where they had never once had a proper conversation—did not change.

The servants did not improve their attitude either and continued to treat her roughly.

As long as it did not become known outside, the stance of the marquis family was that they could treat her however they wished, and they never properly involved themselves with her.

They did not recognize Bertille as a person.

Perhaps that was why.

Half a year ago, even when the person inside Bertille suddenly became a complete stranger after she collapsed from illness, they only felt a slight sense of discomfort at her changed personality but accepted it as memory loss.

They did not even suspect that Bertille was no longer Bertille.

And gradually, they began to accept her.

The younger sister they had hated for seventeen years, they accepted in just a few months.

The fact that those memories existed within this body felt extremely unpleasant.

The idea that someone else had been inside her body was also deeply disturbing.

She did not understand the mechanism.

Minori, too, had been a victim of an abnormal phenomenon where her soul had entered someone else’s body without understanding how—perhaps it could be called possession—but in any case, it was not something she had wished for by her own will.

It would be unreasonable to blame her.

Even so, Bertille found it impossible to accept.

It was not something she could ever come to terms with.

The things Bertille had never been able to obtain, she had grasped easily.

And she had done so as Bertille.

If Bertille had died and Minori had continued living as Bertille, she would not have had to feel this miserable.

(…It would have been better if she had never come back.)

Sitting on the windowsill in her room, gazing lazily outside, Bertille muttered that in her heart.

By the day after she regained consciousness, Bertille had almost perfectly recalled the memories of the six months during which another person had possessed this body.

This windowsill, too, had been simple until half a year ago.

However, the maid who had come to trust Minori had thoughtfully prepared a comfortable seat and soft cushions for it.

It was consideration that had never once been shown to Bertille.

As time passed with her simply gazing outside, a knock broke the silence.

Bertille remained absentminded, without responding.

Then, there was the sound of the door opening without permission.

Come to think of it, she had forgotten to lock it.

When she glanced toward the door, her eyes met those of her youngest older brother, Tristan.

He was the one who came to check on her most frequently.

“You were told to rest, weren’t you? Stay in bed.”

“Please do not enter without permission.”

When she said that while turning her gaze back outside, a moment of silence followed before a quiet voice fell.

“I want to talk.”

His serious voice sounded slightly trembling.

Bertille sighed and got down from the windowsill.

“Very well.”

At that reply, Tristan’s expression softened slightly, as if relieved and pleased.

However, Bertille had not agreed with any intention of accommodating his wishes.

When she began walking and passed right by Tristan instead of heading to the sofa or bed, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“Since you will not leave, I will simply leave instead.”

She said it with a deliberately bright smile and reached for the doorknob, but Tristan hurriedly stopped her.

“Alright! I’ll leave, so just stay and rest quietly!”

Thinking that if he had done that from the beginning, she would not have been tired from a pointless conversation, Bertille opened the door.

“Please.”

When she urged him to leave quickly, Tristan moved his mouth instead of his feet.

“At least let me tell you this. The second prince will be coming to visit this afternoon.”

The second prince.

Bertille’s fiancé.

Her father or someone must have informed the royal family that she had regained consciousness.

“I see.”

“What, you’re not happy?”

“Why would I be?”

A short, cold response slipped out, and Tristan’s eyes widened.

Bertille lowered her gaze slightly.

“Please refuse him.”

“Hey, he’s a prince, you know? Do you understand that?”

“I do. He is someone who would not even uphold the most basic duties and etiquette as my fiancé when we were out of sight, yet once his fiancée lost her memory, he suddenly took interest and began treating her like a completely different person, acting all gentlemanly, isn’t he?”

Though a calm smile appeared on her face, her voice carried intense contempt.

Tristan’s eyes widened even further.

“…He treated you that badly?”

“Compared to you all, wasn’t he kinder? At least he did not hurl insults at me.”

Unable to argue back, Tristan pressed his lips together tightly.

It seemed he was at least aware that he could not criticize the second prince while ignoring their own actions.

“But in the end, you are all the same. I do not think there is much difference between you.”

They were nearly identical.

They treated Bertille as a nuisance, regretted it on their own, and got hurt on their own.

Even though Bertille was the victim, they now acted as if they were the ones wronged.

They did not even realize how insensitive that was.

“In any case, I have no intention of meeting him, so please send him away.”

“…And if I can’t do that, will you be the one to leave?”

“You’ve learned well.”

When she urged him with her gaze, Tristan looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he said nothing and finally left the room.

Bertille firmly locked the door behind him.

That day, it seemed her brother managed to persuade him successfully, and the second prince did not appear before Bertille.