[Rosalie's POV]

Rosalie stared at her reflection in the mirror as her maid carefully groomed her. Today was the day she had prepared for as long as she could remember—her engagement. As a noblewoman, her future had always been clear: to support her husband, bear children, and participate in society’s grand gatherings. All her training, her carefully crafted poise, had led her to this moment—an engagement to the heir of the prominent Cromwell House.

Her parents were proud, showering her with the best of everything until the day she would marry. Yet, as Rosalie gazed out the window, watching birds soar freely through the sky, a wistful thought crossed her mind. If only I could be a bird…

A knock at the door interrupted her reverie. Turning, she saw him—Ethan, the man she was destined to marry, the heir of the Cromwell House. Her maids quickly exited the room, leaving them alone.

Instead of the warm, celebratory atmosphere that often accompanied engagements, the air between them was cold and tense.

“Greetings, my lord,” Rosalie said, bowing with perfect formality.

Ethan gave a curt nod in return. She had met him a few times since childhood. Back then, he had been a boy full of innocence, but now, all that remained was a cold, distant figure.

“So, the day is nearly upon us,” she said, trying to break the silence.

“Yes. I assume you’re prepared for what’s to come,” Ethan replied flatly.

“One can never be truly prepared for such things. But duty calls,” Rosalie answered, her tone steady.

A brief pause followed, the tension thickening between them.

“Duty, yes. That’s all this is. You understand that, don’t you?” Ethan’s voice was sharp, leaving no room for warmth.

“I understand,” Rosalie replied coolly. “We are bound by obligation. Nothing more.”

“Precisely. This is an arrangement for the benefit of our families, and I have no interest in pretending otherwise.”

His words stung, but Rosalie maintained her composure, the years of noble training keeping her expression calm. “I see. Then we’ll both play our roles… as expected.”

Ethan regarded her for a moment, the coldness in her tone mirroring his own.

Before either could say more, a butler entered the room and bowed. “The party is about to begin, my lord, my lady.”

Ethan offered his arm, gesturing for Rosalie to accompany him toward the grand hall. The room filled with guests who congratulated them—not on their union, but on the alliance between their families.

Rosalie wore a practiced, polite smile, one as artificial as Ethan’s. Together, they moved to the center of the hall, where they danced with grace and precision. To the onlookers, it was a picture-perfect moment, yet devoid of any true warmth or affection.

After a while, Ethan excused himself to greet other guests, leaving Rosalie alone. She made her way to the terrace, a glass of wine in hand, and stood beneath the moonlight, grateful for the brief moment of quiet.

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In the stillness, her mind replayed their earlier conversation. I always knew this day would come, but I never imagined it would feel so cold.

She looked up at the stars just beginning to twinkle in the evening sky. The weight of her family’s expectations pressed heavily on her. This engagement, though prestigious, felt like the loss of her freedom—a step into a life dictated by duty rather than desire.

Will he ever see me as more than just a pawn in this game? The thought of being reduced to a mere piece in a strategic alliance was disheartening. She longed for something real, a connection beyond the cold formalities. Is this how love dies in noble circles? Reduced to political maneuvering?

I suppose this will be my fate, she thought bitterly. I was never meant to feel warmth, even as a child. It’s always been about duty and perfection.

As she took the last sip of her wine, a wave of dizziness washed over her. She frowned—she’d only had a small amount. Why do I feel so light-headed?

The world around her began to blur, her thoughts slipping away as her consciousness faded into darkness.

＊＊＊

Rosalie awoke to the harsh light from the ceiling shining directly into her eyes. She blinked, trying to shield herself from the glare, but as she raised her hand, she felt something odd—a tube was attached to the back of her hand. Confusion washed over her as she glanced around, noticing a blue curtain encircling the bed she lay on. The room was entirely unfamiliar, unlike anything she had ever seen before.

Where is this place? she thought, her heart racing.

As she tried to make sense of her surroundings, her gaze fell upon a blond man sleeping beside the bed. His presence startled her. He stirred at her movement and opened his eyes, revealing a familiar face—the face of someone she will spend years with, devoid of love.

Ethan?

But something was different. The cold, distant demeanor she had always known was gone, replaced by genuine concern. His brow furrowed with worry as he sat up.

“Are you okay? You just tripped and passed out,” the man asked, his voice soft but filled with care.

Rosalie stared at him, bewildered. There was no mistaking it—this was the man who looked exactly like her fiancé. But why was he acting so different? Why did she feel no tension between them?

“May I ask where I am?” she asked cautiously.

The man looked confused. “You’re in the hospital. I brought you here. By the way, why are you speaking so formally? That’s not like you.”

Not like me? Rosalie’s heart skipped a beat. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in a nearby mirror. It was her face, but… her hair was much shorter, unevenly cut, and dark circles hung beneath her eyes.

What is the meaning of this? Rosalie’s thoughts spiraled in disbelief.

＊＊＊

Rosalie sat in a chair, watching the man who looked exactly like her fiancé as he went to settle the hospital bills. Her gaze drifted around the unfamiliar surroundings, taking in the people and the strange devices. What kind of place is this? she wondered. Everything was so different—nothing like the world she knew. Was this a dream? But the dull throb in her bruised knee reminded her painfully that this was no illusion.

When the man returned, he knelt in front of her, his eyes searching her face with a kind of concern she had never seen in Ethan before. “Are you really okay? Should I take you home?”

Rosalie blinked, taken aback by the genuine worry in his tone. Unsure how to respond, she simply nodded.

He turned around and gestured for her to climb onto his back. She froze, shocked at the casual, almost indecent offer. How could someone, a noble, suggest something so improper?

“You’re injured, and it might be hard for you to walk,” he explained, as if reading her thoughts.

Feeling self-conscious but unable to refuse, she gingerly got onto his back. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. How did I end up in such a ridiculous situation? She pressed her lips together, hoping he wouldn’t notice her flushed ears.

“You’re awfully quiet. Are you still upset that I left you earlier?” he asked softly. “If so, I’m sorry.”

Hearing an apology from someone who resembled Ethan felt surreal. “Actually, I don’t remember why you’re apologizing,” she murmured.

He stopped abruptly and gently set her down on a nearby bench. His face drew closer to hers, and she instinctively held her breath. He placed his hand against her forehead, his brow furrowing in concern.

“Calla, are you sick?”

Calla? The unfamiliar name echoed in her mind, sending a shiver down her spine.

Who is Calla?