Chapter 1: Stop
"Is this really a ridiculous plot!?"
Returning to the marquess' mansion, I found myself alone, lightly punching a cushion.
Honestly, I wanted to vent by pounding it, but with my slender arms, all I could manage was to make it lightly sink in.
Earlier, I had indulged in a slightly sentimental mood, swept away by my lingering feelings of love, but as time passed, anger slowly bubbled up.
To be reincarnated into a role meant only to die for dramatic effect? It’s completely absurd. What do they think a person’s life is?
My memories of my past life were hazy overall, and the story I remembered was just a vague outline.
On top of that, it was about Duke and the love story that unfolded after my death, which only left me feeling sad.
What’s worse is that I didn’t even know why I ended up dying. All I could recall was some vague involvement with a neighboring country.
Even if it’s a romance-centered story, if they’re going to avenge my death, they should at least reveal the reason behind it.
“It’s nothing but a pointless death.”
I bit my lip in frustration, then tried to take a deep, calming breath.
While the information was practically useless, I figured it was better than dying without any preparation.
All I could grasp was that I’d lived in a different world before, but the details of that life were too vague to make sense of.
That’s why this reincarnation didn’t change my personality, boost my abilities, or provide me with any advantage that would allow me to enjoy my current life.
I, Felicia, am still just me. My feelings and memories of loving Duke remain the same.
However, I could tell that my personality in my past life seemed more straightforward than it is now.
Though I’d always been a devoted, selfless type, it’s my own love, my own feelings. Still, the emotions now welling up inside me—like questioning if things are truly okay as they are—are entirely new to me.
I was born the youngest child of the affluent Albright marquess family, and because of the close ties between our parents, I frequently spent time with Duke, the eldest son of the Wolford ducal family, as childhood friends.
When I was ten, our parents suggested we get engaged if our compatibility seemed fine, and we became betrothed, just as they planned.
Spending time together, I found myself falling in love with Duke, so I was overjoyed at the arrangement.
His mature and composed demeanor, along with the occasional kindness he showed, had me smitten, even as a child. To me, Duke was my prince.
I never outright voiced my love for him to others or to Duke himself, but my feelings were embarrassingly obvious from my behavior.
And Duke, who rarely showed much reaction to anyone, went along with it, and our engagement was sealed smoothly, thanks largely to the enthusiasm of our mothers.
It might have seemed lighthearted, but even from a social and political standpoint, the match wasn’t bad, and everyone agreed we were compatible.
So, there I was, living a privileged life, engaged to the person I loved, and destined to become the duchess. It should have been an enviable life—until now, when a major issue arose.
“No way. Why do I have to die?”
I refuse to be a character whose death adds depth to the hero’s struggles or justifies his love for the heroine.
The story begins in earnest with my murder as his childhood friend and fiancée.
Only after I’m gone does the hero realize how much I had done for him, regrets his loss, defeats his enemies, grows stronger, and ultimately connects with the heroine, finding solace and love. The story ends happily ever after, with even my avenger defeated.
It’s utterly ridiculous.
As Duke’s deceased fiancée, I exist purely to add emotional weight to the story.
And yet, why must I endure being told I should be happy for the heroine?
Am I supposed to feel joy watching the man I loved risk his life for revenge while another woman stays by his side, cheering him on?
Seeing him show vulnerability, smile, and open up in ways he never did with me—how could I possibly celebrate that?
I pressed my tear-streaked face into the cushion, hiding my frustration as the tears continued to flow.
“It’s all so absurd.”
Even if Duke regrets losing me, it’s already too late.
If only he had cared and paid attention to me from the beginning.
Though this lingering affection is frustrating, being part of his revenge story only to strengthen his bond with someone else is ultimately nothing more than self-gratification for them.
My death was just a plot device for their story. Nothing more, nothing less.
Why did I have to die? Why was I killed?
None of these questions were answered. The hero’s revenge supposedly makes everything right, but how does that bring any closure to me?
“What a meaningless life…”
Even in death, my feelings remain unfulfilled.
I’d been content simply having him make time for me as his fiancée, believing that someday he’d treasure me as family.
I’d devoted myself to him with unwavering faith, cherishing him wholeheartedly.
But, in the end, wasn’t that just my own selfish satisfaction?
If I complain about Duke’s indifference, I’d be no different from the grievances I have against him in the story.
“That’s it. I’ll start by giving up.”
No matter how hard I try, I’ll never reach him.
No matter how much effort I put in, if he’ll only end up with someone else and I’m doomed to die anyway, what’s the point of living?
To sort through my feelings, I grabbed paper and a pen and sat at my desk.
Pouring my thoughts out, I scribbled furiously, taking deep breaths to calm myself.
Stop tailoring my schedule around Duke.
(Though I willingly adjusted my day-to-day life to align with his, it often left me overexerted. It was something I enjoyed doing, but it’s exhausting.)
Stop bringing towels to his training sessions.
(I always brought refreshments and snacks, but since Duke barely seemed to notice, I doubt he’d care if I stopped.)
Stop writing him letters.
Stop visiting him.
Stop coming up with conversation topics to fill the silence when we meet.
(Duke probably wouldn’t even notice. Just writing this down feels depressing.)
Stop attending parties just to be a wallflower.
(I always thought just being near Duke was enough, but that’s no longer satisfying. I refuse to settle for being invisible anymore.)
Stop holding back.
(I constantly tiptoed around Duke out of love, but if nothing I do changes him, there’s no point in making the effort.)
…Stop.
…Stop.
…Stop.
…And finally—break off the engagement.
This last point was the most important.
If I’m just a character meant to die, distancing myself from Duke might reduce the risk of my death.
It’s not certain, but it’s a possibility worth considering.
I put down my pen and stared at the list.
It was filled with nothing but things I’d stop doing.
Writing it out left me feeling hollow, as though a hole had opened in my heavy heart.
For as long as I could remember, Duke was my world.
All I ever did was look at him, chase after him, and try to keep up.
Duke never asked for this; I chose this path for myself, and it made me happy—until now.
But now that I remember the story, I can’t keep going like this. It’s too unfair to myself.
Finally, I added the last item to the list: stop loving Duke.
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