The rain finally gave a truce and the timid sunlight bathed the House Vane garden through the clouds that parted melancholically.
I was standing before the office window, observing the coldly beautiful landscape forming, when Abigail's precise voice cut the silence like the turning of a page.
— For my mistress's move to the East Wing — she said, consulting a flawless clipboard — I have surveyed the needs as requested by Mr. Orestes: new bedding, wardrobe expansion, hiring of two more exclusive maids, reorganization of the bathroom and the anteroom.
She paused to breathe.
— It will also be necessary to dedicate standard servant accommodations for my person, so that I may be close by to attend to the daily needs of the future duchess. Mr. Orestes said I should present this list to you for budget approval.
I didn't turn around.
— Approve everything. And ensure she lacks nothing.
A pause. A cautious hesitation.
— The East Wing is the ducal family's quarters — Abigail commented, emotionless, like someone merely stating the weather forecast.
— I am aware of the geography of my own house.
— Naturally, Your Grace. — She inclined her head in a minimal gesture.
I turned and saw her staring at me.
— Say what you are thinking, bluntly.
— It would not be appropriate, sir.
— Consider it an order from me then.
She considered me and nodded, keeping the tone neutral, respectful, and professional.
— My mistress does not express it, but she feared you were opposed to this union. I am grateful to know that this fear was unfounded.
— Did you deduce that just because I ordered her to be installed in a room close to mine?
— Not by the move, Your Grace, by the timing.
— By the timing? — I asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.
— Yes. Such a move only occurs after the marriage ceremony. According to custom, by moving her before, you signal that you already view her as your wife in your eyes.
Ah. So that was it. In the eyes of others, I seemed anxious. Well, there were no advantages in striving to correct them.
I took a deep breath, still aiming at the garden.
— Tradition is slow and expensive — I replied, using the same tone I used to cut absurd arcs that would add nothing to dramatic authors' works. — She is here. She is my fiancée. Keeping the daughter of an influential baron in secondary quarters would be an insult and I have no desire to antagonize him.
Abigail accepted the answer with a nod.
— Understood.
The sound of the quill returned, but my mind was no longer in the present.
The original script hovered over me like a ghost.
In the manga, Lucian didn't put Livia in the East Wing. He isolated her in the north tower, in a windowless room. Provoked. Served meals that not even dogs would accept. Waited for her to transgress etiquette, to then demand annulment.
And the worst part?
After that she would be vulnerable, nameless, without protection. He would then kidnap her.
Not out of grudge, but out of "love".
A sick, corrupted love, childish in its ferocity. He wanted absolute control over her destiny. Possession. A bird locked in a golden cage.
My stomach protested. An instinctive reaction that was new to me.
"Be careful not to make him take actions just for shock value."
We were in a karaoke room, already quite drunk when I gave this tip to Hana.
I remember her answer: "Few in the plot have a shred of morals. The duke will just be an extreme example of the world's cruelty."
When I was Ryuuji I accepted the argument, but continued to think that this was... extreme.
And for the first time, I fully agreed with my past self.
— Livia will be my wife. Tell her I have no intention of revoking the agreement celebrated by our fathers. — I spoke with a tone of finality.
Abigail didn't stop writing, but her hands slowed down.
— Your decision will be communicated to my mistress — she said.
Yes. A political marriage, cold, bureaucratic. No betrayal, no psychodrama, no emotional torture.
Simple.
Livia seemed different from the manga. Stronger, conscious, and strategic.
Maybe Shizuo was in control. I remember that the reincarnated protagonist knew the villains were dangerous and actively avoided them.
Or maybe it was the two together, an alchemical mixture of which I still didn't understand the formula.
A movement in the garden caught my attention.
Livia walked slowly along the pebbled path, holding a book against her chest. The wind moved some curls that escaped her braid. Everything about her was modesty... but not fragility.
And then, another figure appeared from behind a statue.
Of course. He even managed to impress me this time. He had been staying at our residence for two days and only now decided to make his move.
Fergus.
He walked up to her with the arrogant stride of a man who is sure the entire world is nothing but a private amusement park.
Livia stopped. Raised her chin. Subtle. Contained. But alert.
The prince leaned in to speak to her, ignoring any acceptable distance of etiquette and invading her personal space.
Livia retreated half a step.
He advanced half a step.
From where I was, I couldn't hear the words, but that dance told me more than any sentence.
He raised his hand, trying to touch her hair... maybe her face. That gesture that mangas insist on labeling as "romantic".
From where I was, it looked just like harassment.
Livia reacted like a hare.
Didn't run. Didn't freeze. Didn't accept the touch.
She bowed in a fluid motion, turning the retreat into courtesy, pivoted her body and pointed toward the mansion as if saying: "The conversation is over."
And left.
Fast, elegant, and untouchable.
Fergus didn't follow her. He just stood there... watching her leave. He looked at her with frustration. Instead, his eyes were fixed at the height of her hips.
The damn guy was decided: he wanted her.
Desired her because she didn't bow to him and in his sick mind that elevated the pleasure of the hunt.
My jaw clenched.
As if perceiving my gaze, Fergus raised his eyes to the window.
Upon seeing me, he smiled. A slow, lazy... poisonous smile.
Then raised his hand and waved.
Not a polite wave.
A wave that said: "She interests me. Do something about it."
My fist gripped the windowsill with such force that the wood creaked.
— Abigail — I called. My voice came out low. — Finish that checklist later.
— Your Grace?
— I am going to my quarters. Ensure no one disturbs me.
While crossing the hallway, only one thought took my mind.
The first route had just begun. The First arc that elevated "I Reincarnated" to the level of national phenomenon.
And if I waited even one more minute...
Fergus would destroy her.
I wouldn't allow this world to advance upon her as it did in all other versions of the story.
It was time to intervene.
It was time to talk to her.
It was time to rewrite the route.
It was time to disappoint Hana.