The first year when I was sent to Northern Land as part of a political marriage, Oliver Pettyfer wed his beloved Princess Sara Simons.

I was merely a stand-in princess, marrying off to the barbarian tribe in her place.

By the third year of the political marriage, Oliver's troops had conquered Northern Land, and I encountered him, this old acquaintance.

At this point, I had long since become a wife and mother.

Seeing me, heavily pregnant and desperately protecting my husband, he was on the verge of tears.

He grasped me tightly, his hands trembling as he caressed my face. "Come back to Lankersdom with me, or your husband and child will die."

I turned away, scoffing, "Stop with the pretense. Anyone would think you actually care about me."

***

I was born an abandoned child and later became a courtesan, existing in the lowest and most wretched sphere of society.

I was accustomed to the ugly side of human nature. To insincerity, my heart remained numb and still.

It was Oliver who wove a dazzling dream for me.

He made me believe that someone could truly care for me, that as long as I was good, everything would be alright.

In the end, it was all an illusion. He loved the exalted Sara, not me, the outcast.

He deemed me filthy, only ever treating me as a plaything for his empty moments.

He loved Sara, but that was something I was unaware of. As for my love for him, that was something only I knew.

Sara was forced into a marriage with the head of the Yecrak nationality, which he could neither accept nor tolerate, given that she was to marry a half-dead old man of Yecrak nationality.

Thus, Oliver cast me aside like an insignificant object, sending me to the distant Northern Land.

I hated Oliver for never loving me, for giving me light only to cast me into the abyss, and for abandoning me.

Before the envoy left the palace, I got out of the carriage to look back at the city where I had spent half my life.

It was bustling with splendor, but what did it have to do with me?

I resembled Sara to some extent, yet lived an entirely different life.

I sent a message to Oliver, asking him to come see me off. I wanted to remember his heartless face.

From now on, I would never again allow myself to be swayed by a man.

Only in becoming Sara for this fleeting moment could I dare to speak so harshly to him.

Oliver lifted the curtain of the carriage, gazing at me with the same tender eyes as before.

Seeing those eyes again, I still felt a pull, making it hard to resist. As his gaze lingered, I took out a hairpin and thrust it into his right shoulder.

His handsome face showed a mix of disbelief and sorrow, tears welling up in his eyes.

But I would no longer feel pity for him.

I laughed aloud. "Oliver, this is the first time I've called you by name, and it will be the last. You once saved me from peril and then personally threw me into a bottomless abyss.

"You care for Sara enough to ensure she doesn't marry an old man and risk death. But me? I am so insignificant in your eyes that you can discard me at will. I loved you deeply, considering you my one and only. It's better this way—I won't be deceived by your feigned affection anymore. We're clear now. We will never meet again. I hope you find happiness with your true love."

Seeing my words hit home, Olive showed rare signs of anguish and indecision.

He opened his mouth, seemingly about to speak, but I ordered the convoy to move on before he could.

As the envoy grew distant, I did not look back.

The spring scenery was beautiful, the perfect season for weddings.

I thought, "At the moment of my departure, does he feel a pang of regret for me, or is he simply relieved to keep his true love?

It must be the former.

So be it.

What happened yesterday is as dead as yesterday itself. Today is a new beginning."

From the bustling streets of Kingder City to the stark solitude of the desert, my journey had been a relentless struggle.

In this vast, unending expanse, I was once again alone—small and insignificant.

My mind kept drifting back to the events of my life.

I was an abandoned infant left under a tree—nameless, rootless, and adrift.

As a child, I wandered from place to place, begging, buffeted by the elements.

At eleven, with some modest beauty, I was chosen as a harpist, performing on the streets to earn a living.

My master, who took me in and taught me with all his heart, was a rare source of warmth in those few tender years.

He gave me the name Felicity Moore, which I cherished deeply.

The sound of the harp brought joy and relief, and every day, many came to listen.

I labored for six years, hoping to live off my art and find peace.

At seventeen, when Yecrak nationality in Northern Land invaded, the troupe scattered. I roamed the streets begging, searching for my master as I traveled north.

In Kingder City, a place of such splendor, I found no refuge. I was found half-frozen on the street by a brothel madam, who took me in to perform music and provide entertainment and services.

Initially, I resisted, but survival left me no other choice.

The madam gave me a stage name, Malus, which suited me well enough—it spared my master from hearing my name sullied.

At eighteen, I began taking clients, which was relatively late. Most were nobles and wealthy men seeking pleasure.

Though every encounter made me sick to my stomach, I had no choice but to flatter and please them.

My life was always of little worth, and I understood that staying alive was the most important thing.

I never intended to fall into such degradation, but survival outweighed all else. Maintaining a reputation for purity was for highborn ladies.

I was not one of them.

As I languished day by day in the brothel, I often wondered about the meaning of my existence.

Why was it me who had to endure such inhumane suffering?

Just as I thought my life would never end, I met Oliver.

During a festival, he and a few friends visited the brothel, and I was ordered to play the harp.

Dressed in a crown and elegant attire, Oliver was striking and tall.

Yet, to me, he seemed no different from other patrons.

I played my music with my eyes downcast, lost in the melody.

But he, inspired by my music, began reciting poetry.

"Time and tide wait for no man, and this regret endures forever."

At his clear, melodious voice, I looked up at him.

Oliver caught my gaze, momentarily losing himself before blushing like a young lover.

He sat down and watched me play, his eyes fixed on me.

When I finished, his friends left, and only he remained.

I initially assumed he was just another patron seeking a fleeting night of pleasure.

But when I started to undress, he turned away and helped me put my clothes back on.

Confused, I wondered about his intentions.

Oliver then announced he wanted to buy my freedom.

There had been others before who promised to redeem me, even a foreign man who claimed he would buy my freedom and asked me to wait three days.

I didn't believe the man, but a small part of me hoped for the best.

As expected, nothing came of it.

That night, I went home with Oliver. Even the worst fate was better than continuing to sink in the brothel.

He settled me into a guest house and left, assigning me two maids and a servant.

At first, I thought he was only interested in my looks, but he never touched me and never came to see me after buying my freedom.

To this day, I was not entirely sure of my place.

Since then, I had had three months without seeing him.

From the servants, I learned he was Oliver, the Marquis' heir.

Every day, I practiced the harp in the morning, tended to flowers, and entertained the servants.

This was a life I never thought I would have, and it felt like my dream had come true.

Three months flew by in the blink of an eye. Outside the window, snowflakes drifted down like feathers, yet inside, the warmth felt like early summer.

One morning, Oliver suddenly burst into my room, shivering and drenched in cold. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around me.

Feeling the chill from his body and the weight of his sorrow, I held him close and gently stroked his back.

My neck rested against his cheek, and I could feel his heartbeat quickening along with mine.

I thought to myself, "This man is so deeply sad. Who could have done this to him, making him suffer so?"

The warmth from my body seamlessly transferred to him like a gentle current of heat.

Perhaps feeling my comfort, he shyly lifted his gaze and said, "After all this time, I still don't know your name."

I replied softly, "I don't have one. Once, I was called Malus."

I thought to myself, "Let the name Felicity remain pure and untarnished in the past."

His eyes, filled with tenderness, softened even further as he gave me a new name—Sarah.

I soon moved to the grander, more opulent main hall of the front courtyard.

The servants began to jest about how my fortunes were about to change since the Marquis' heir had shown favor to me.

But I knew better. The heart of a prince was deep and inscrutable. Affection at the bedside could be as easily discarded as it was bestowed, and a thousand favors could vanish in a day.

Oliver came to my room more frequently, almost every night.

Yet, he never touched me. We shared the same bed but slept separately.

At first, I thought Oliver found me unclean, but every night, he still held me close as we slept.

He taught me chess and painting, treating me like a lady of high standing.

Not long after, news of his dalliance with a courtesan reached his mother, Belinda Pettyfer, and she was furious.

One snowy day, Oliver held a warming pan for me, gently warming my hands. He built a snowman with my name—Sara—written on it.

However, it wasn't quite right, he said with a sheepish grin, claiming it was a mistake.

Oliver breathed warm air on my icy hands. As I watched his hands redden from the cold, my heart felt a crack of warmth.

The love between us was palpable.

As I held his hand and we prepared to return inside, Belinda stormed in without a word and ordered that I be thrown into the river.

I was paralyzed with fear, my legs trembling.

Oliver pulled me behind him and spoke softly to his mother.

Belinda gave me one last glance and walked away without a word.

Oliver held me close, soothing me with tender strokes of my hair.

At that moment, I felt there could be no greater joy. To be loved, even if just through simple gestures, was enough.

No matter how busy he was with state affairs, Oliver made sure to have dinner with me every evening.

There was always a dish of Boeuf Bourguignon on the table. At first, I thought it was his favorite, but he said it was something I would like.

While I preferred the shark fin soup over Boeuf Bourguignon, I never mentioned it, fearing it would disturb his pleasure.

Another three months passed, and spring arrived, bringing with it a vibrant renewal.

One evening, as we lay together, talking about past birthdays, he learned I was an abandoned child. He promised a grand celebration for my birthday.

Even though it was just a promise, it filled me with immense joy.

To my surprise, the very next day, Oliver took me out on the street, disregarding old acquaintances and the curious eyes of the neighbors. We walked confidently down the main road.

From then on, people knew that the Marquis' heir was keeping a woman, and it became quite a sensation.

He took me to Kingder City's finest restaurant for a feast, treated me to opera, and we galloped across the wide-open spaces.

I felt utterly exhilarated.

From then on, every March 7th was my birthday.

That night, I expected Oliver to stay with me, but he said he had important business and left.

I waited anxiously, but he never returned.

I believed that his love for me was strong enough not to be swayed by such small matters.

I knew well that jealous women often faced dire consequences and could become burdensome to their partners.

So, I remained gentle, obedient, and demure.

Oliver stayed out all night, and I couldn't sleep a wink.

In the early morning, finally unable to keep my eyes open, I fell asleep. When I awoke, the sun was bright, and I turned to get out of bed.

Oliver was sitting on the edge of the bed, gazing at me with an intensity that spoke of genuine affection.

After breakfast, Oliver went to attend the morning court.

Meanwhile, I prepared some meals in the kitchen. My maid, Lucy Lane, stood beside me, giggling as if she had something to say.

"Lucy, if you have something to say, just say it. It can't be comfortable being all pent up like that," I prodded.

Lucy's face flushed with embarrassment at once.

She whispered, still giggling, "You don't know. Mr. Pettyfer stood by your bedside for two hours, staring at you. And he even secretly kissed your face."

Hearing this, I was taken aback. Oliver had never kissed me before.

My heart swelled with joy.

It was strange that Belinda, who despised me so much, had not come around to scold me again.

My days passed smoothly.

My once-broken heart slowly healed, nourished by the tender feelings that had begun to mend my fractured self.

Oliver's father was a distinguished military official, having served as a general under two different reigns and earning honors for his contributions to border peace.

Belinda, being the daughter of the late king and the current king's sister, was of the highest nobility.

Oliver, favored by his royal uncle since childhood, enjoyed great prestige and was full of youthful exuberance.

Yet, with such prominence, there were always those who harbored ill intentions.

One night, while Oliver and I were already fast asleep, I heard the faint sound of footsteps near the window.

In my cautious early years, I never dared to sleep soundly at night. Upon hearing the noise, I moved to check.

Oliver stopped me with a firm hand and got up, drawing his sword.

It turned out he was awake, too.

Suddenly, the window swung open, and two assassins slipped in, their presence barely noticeable in the shifting moonlight.

Oliver engaged them in a fierce battle, but one of the assassins tried to sneak up behind him.

I threw myself in the way, taking a sword strike meant for Oliver. Seeing me bloodied and wounded drove him into a rage.

Both assassins lost their heads in the ensuing fight.

Oliver laid me gently on the bed and summoned the physician.

My injuries were severe, and despite the swift treatment, I lost consciousness from the pain and blood loss.