A maid stepped through the door, carrying a basin of water.
What kind of servant barges into their mistress's bedchamber without so much as a knock?
I frowned slightly at her insolence, though I refrained from reacting further. I had only just awakened in Elysia's body—I needed time to observe, to understand how best to play my role.
The maid placed the basin down with a graceless thud before me. Her hands planted on her hips, and a gleam of amusement danced in her eyes as she stared down at me.
"Time to wash up, milady."
The water looked anything but clean. Grit and sand had settled at the bottom, and strange, floating objects drifted on the surface. There wasn't even a wisp of steam rising from it—cold water.
That part didn't bother me; the air was pleasantly warm. But to offer such a filthy basin of water to the young lady of the house? These servants must have a death wish.
In the original novel, Elysia's life after her fall from grace wasn't described in much detail. All I knew was that she became reclusive, scorned by those around her. But this… this was far worse than I'd imagined.
I forced myself to stay calm. Let's see what else this wretched maid would dare try.
"I don't feel like bathing. Bring me breakfast."
The maid couldn't hold back a snort of laughter.
"Are you sure, my lady? You haven't bathed in three days."
With that basin? Even bathing wouldn't make a difference.
I waved her off, firm in my refusal. Her lips twisted into a smirk, mocking and victorious. The look on her face made it clear: she believed she'd won.
Once she left, I rose and studied the reflection of Elysia in the dust-flecked mirror.
Elysia's face was exquisite—delicate, ethereal. But her body was gaunt, almost weightless, as though a single gust of wind might carry her away. She had clearly been mistreated for a long time. It was hard to tell her age from her frail frame. I needed to leave this room and gather more information.
If I had to guess, the breakfast she was about to bring would be no more appetizing than the bath.
Osmund—Elysia's father—wasn't a bad man. Not on paper. He didn't forbid her from anything. He didn't deny her resources. As long as she stayed out of his sight, he was content to let her exist in the background. His affection was like an allowance—automatic, impersonal.
He didn't care whether she received what she was owed. For a man busy weaving his political web, a daughter like Elysia—weak, useless, lacking any value in marriage alliances—was nothing but a wrinkle in his cloak. Easy to ignore, as long as no one else noticed.
And so, Elysia had become easy prey for greedy servants. She endured them. Silently. For years.
How pathetic.
"Milady, your breakfast."
Once again, the maid flung the door open without warning or permission. Insolent to the bone.
Suppressing a laugh, I walked over to inspect the meal she dared to offer. Two slices of moldy bread, speckled with green patches. That was it.
No wonder Elysia's body had withered like this. She died at twenty, after all.
The maid didn't show a trace of guilt. In fact, she seemed pleased with herself, giggling softly. As if it were all a game.
How could they treat a girl who had lost everything with such cruelty? How could they feed her what even beggars would turn away?
The thought of her forcing down those moldy scraps without a word of complaint or resistance made something dark and bitter twist inside me.
Elysia may have endured in silence. But I wouldn't. I never claimed to be virtuous.
I turned my gaze toward the maid, still basking in her smugness.
"What's your name?"
She blinked, surprised by the sudden question. It took her a second to respond.
"Meline, milady."
I raised an eyebrow slowly. I wasn't in a rush—even if my stomach was aching.
"And mine?"
She froze, hesitating.
"Your name… is Elysia…"
Her voice faltered. She must've sensed something was different.
"Full name?"
I picked up the fork, stabbed it into a piece of moldy bread, and waited.
"Elysia Finn Esperanza…" she finally answered, this time with a hint of caution, bowing her head slightly.
"So you do know who I am. Then tell me… what is this?"
I lifted the plate, hand trembling—not with shame, but with fury. Fury at the image of Elysia swallowing her pride, day after day.
I hurled the plate to the ground. It shattered at Meline's feet. A shard of porcelain slashed her ankle, drawing a red line of blood. She fell to her knees, clutching it, eyes wide with fear.
I approached slowly, crouching to her level. Pressed the fork—still bearing the bread—toward her mouth.
"You gave this to me to eat?" I asked, voice calm, eyes sharp enough to peel away her smug façade.
Meline recoiled, all trace of confidence gone. She shrank back. But I wouldn't stop.
"Then you eat it."
"M-Milady… I was wrong…"
Her fear was real now, but not desperate yet. Still didn't believe I'd go through with it.
Elysia wouldn't have.
But I'm not her.
Without a word, I pried the bread from the fork and shoved it into her mouth. Her eyes went wide in shock.
As she began to struggle, I clamped both hands over her mouth.
"Swallow."
My voice was low, hard, final.
This was how Elysia must have struggled—weak and trembling—under Meline's hand. And what did Meline do then? Did she show mercy?
Or did she, like me now, feel a dark satisfaction at the fear in her victim's eyes?
Eventually, Meline gave in. Tears streaming down her face, she swallowed the moldy bread—the same filth she'd been feeding Elysia.
I let go, wiped my hands—now smeared with her tears and snot—on her maid uniform like it was a rag.
"Oh, and one more thing."
I turned, lifted the basin of dirty water, and dumped it onto the floor. Filthy water splashed onto Meline's dress. She flinched in disgust, crawling backward.
"I spilled it. Bring fresh water for my bath."
It wasn't a request. Meline knew that. It was an order. A warning.
"Y-yes, milady…"
She staggered to her feet, cradling her bleeding ankle, and limped from the room, pale as death.
I turned away, unwilling to meet her terrified gaze. I had done it—the thing Elysia had never dared. Yet, there was no relief in me.
I looked down at my own trembling hands, still humming with the remnants of rage. Inside, something remained unfulfilled.
Was this… satisfaction?
Or emptiness?
I'm not Elysia. I'm not a good person. But even devils have their reasons, don't they?
Was this… satisfaction?
Or emptiness?
I'm not Elysia. I'm not a good person. But even devils have their reasons, don't they?
Maybe Meline was only following orders from someone higher. But I didn't regret what I'd done. In the novel, she was said to have served Elysia since childhood. And yet she could treat her like this?
What I did today—I did for Elysia.
After the confrontation, Elysia's frail body was exhausted. I collapsed onto the dusty bed. Still, I drew a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
So… I really did die back in my world, didn't I?
Like Elysia, I'd lost everyone I loved—stolen by a sweet-talking sister with poison in her smile. But I didn't suffer.
I was twenty-four, nearing graduation, finally studying what I wanted after years of chasing my mother's expectations. I'd moved out in my first year—cut ties with that wretched family and started fresh. My life was finally becoming my own—free, full of light.
If only I hadn't gone to that party.
If only I hadn't held onto a gift from someone who only ever saw me as a nuisance.
If only… I had let go.
The ceiling above blurred. I didn't think I'd cry—but the tears came anyway, unstoppable.
I did nothing wrong. Neither did Elysia.
Maybe our only sin was being born into the wrong families. Families who discarded us the moment we failed to serve their ambitions.
Enough. Let the past die where it belongs. What's done is done. Regret won't change anything.
Now, I must survive and make this world mine.
Knock knock.
A tentative voice followed. Meline.
"Milady, your bath is ready. If you'd please come to the bath chamber."
Ah, so she's learned some manners.
"I'll be there."
I stood, slipped on a light robe and followed her. So, there was a proper bathroom all along—and yet she had expected Elysia to wash in a filthy basin in the bedroom. Disgraceful.
Well, no matter. At least she knows her place now.
But I knew this wasn't over. Not with Meline. One look at Elysia's room was enough. It was far too bare for a noble daughter. Only a few worn dresses and accessories remained. Osmund would never allow Elysia to appear in public dressed like that—it would reflect poorly on him.
This wasn't just neglect. It was orchestrated.
Any long-standing abuse always has a key. In this household, that key was the one who managed the servants—the steward.
But he couldn't have pulled this off alone.
Someone above him must have been protecting him. Or controlling him.
And who else could it be? Who had the power to oversee staff while Osmund was away?
Only one other person had that kind of power: her. The woman who called herself "Madam Esperanza"—but never treated Elysia like a true member of the family.
If it's really her, this will be more complicated than I thought.
To expose this long-running abuse, I needed a witness—someone powerful, someone outside this nest of vipers.
If news spread that the noble House of Esperanza allowed a maid to torment their daughter, Osmund's pride would take a public blow he couldn't ignore.
But who?
As I mulled it over, I stepped out of the bath chamber and bumped into someone rushing down the hall.
"Forgive me, milady!"
A maid. She offered a rushed apology and disappeared around the corner.
"Are you alright, milady?" Meline asked, suddenly full of concern.
I ignored the fake sympathy.
"Where was she hurrying off to?"
Meline flustered to help me stand. The act almost made me laugh. Playing the caring servant now?
"The Crown Prince has arrived unexpectedly, milady. The household is rushing to receive him."
The Crown Prince?
My amethyst eyes gleamed.
To expose the truth, I need a stage.
And here comes my perfect audience.
How timely, ex-fiancé.
* * *