When I first arrived in this world, I was cautious, keeping my true identity hidden. But he—sharp and perceptive—discovered almost immediately that I was a soul from another world. Instead of turning me away, he grew intrigued, drawing closer to me with a persistent intensity that I couldn't resist. Soon, it was no secret to anyone: he loved me fiercely, as if his very life depended on it.

For five years, I believed in that love. I married him, trusting in the future we were building together. Then, one day, everything changed. He welcomed a princess—one who had been raised in secret—into our home. Their child was already three years old.

"The bloodline of the Bridgerton Family must be acknowledged," he said.

"The princess is noble and precious, yet she’s willing to share a husband with you. You should be grateful," he added with cold detachment.

In that moment, I realized the harsh truth: no matter how much he claimed to love me, we were from different worlds. I could never truly belong in his.

With a heavy heart, I gave up my place as his wife, accepting that our love was not enough to bridge the vast divide between us. I chose to let go, stepping away from the life I had built and setting off on a journey back to my own world.

But when I disappeared, he lost himself in a desperate search, refusing to let me slip away completely. Even after everything, he could not bear to live without me.

——

I first met Jonathan in the second year after arriving in this world.

At that time, I was the second daughter of the loving couple, raised quietly within the confines of the boudoir. Having crossed over from another realm, I remained cautious, wary of the eyes around me. Though I was not particularly noticeable in the mansion, the fear of being exposed haunted me. Every day felt like a balancing act between maintaining my facade and guarding my true identity.

It was at a spring banquet, held in the splendor of blossoming flowers, that fate led me to Jonathan. Miss Horan, the daughter of my father's fiercest political rival, had always harbored a grudge against our Sheraton family. That day, she took her disdain to new heights, belittling us with biting words and veiled insults. She dared to question my father’s wisdom and character, mocking the legacy of the Sheraton family as though it were beneath her.

Fury welled up inside me, too intense to suppress. Against my better judgment and the risks of exposure, I found myself standing up to her. Words of defiance escaped my lips, defending my family’s honor with more passion than caution. But in a flash of cruelty, Miss Horan, with her sharp smile, shoved me into the stream beside us.

Cold water enveloped me and for a moment, I was resigned to my fate. Perhaps this was how my secret would be exposed—by a moment of impulsive anger and a reckless confrontation.

But then, through the cold and chaos, a strong hand pulled me from the water.

Jonathan.

He stepped between me and the crowd, shielding me with his broad shoulders and the warmth of his presence. His long, noble coat covered me, protecting my dignity from the watchful eyes of curious onlookers. With just a few authoritative words, he dispersed the gathering, silencing the whispers and punishing Miss Horan for her actions. In those moments, I felt as though I was being rescued not just from the water but from the weight of all my fears.

From that day forward, Jonathan began to appear in my life more often. His noble status and commanding presence drew attention wherever he went. Countless young ladies from aristocratic families secretly admired him, but he seemed to have eyes only for me. With a teasing smile, he would call me “Sister Lana,” his voice always light with affection, his gaze always warm.

Despite my efforts to keep my distance and avoid entanglements in this unfamiliar world, I found myself slipping deeper and deeper into feelings I couldn’t control. How could I not? Jonathan, with his unyielding devotion, made it nearly impossible to resist.

When I finally graduated, he confronted me directly, no longer hiding his intentions.

“I knew from the first moment I saw you,” he said, his voice steady and sure, “that you were different. It was as if you didn’t belong here, like a spirit from another world.”

His words struck a chord deep within me and I felt exposed in a way I hadn’t before. Yet, his next confession caught me entirely off guard.

“I’ve loved you since that very first moment,” he admitted, his eyes soft yet unwavering.

It was both a declaration and a promise. And I, unsure of how to respond, tested him lightly. Jokingly, I told him, “If I really were from another world, I could never accept the customs of this one—especially not the idea of three wives and four concubines.”

Without hesitation, he met my gaze and swore to me, “You will be my only wife. I would never take another. If I ever break this vow, may I lose all love forever.”

His vow was solemn, spoken beneath the soft glow of the moon. I could feel the sincerity in his voice and I was deeply moved by his words. How could I, faced with such devotion, refuse him?

Even when my cousin Roma, who like me was a soul displaced from another world, came to me with news of a way to return home, I hesitated. She urged me to leave, warning that my future here held nothing but regret. But at that moment, with Jonathan’s love so fresh and his promises so sincere, I couldn’t bring myself to believe her.

I chose to stay.

And yet, looking back now, I realized Roma had seen the truth long before I did. The warning she gave me echoed in my mind in the years that followed, as Jonathan’s promises crumbled before my eyes.

I never imagined how right she would be.

Five years ago, Jonathan married me with a grand ceremony that made me feel like royalty. I wore a wedding gown that rivaled those of true princesses and the life that followed was nothing short of a dream. He spoiled me relentlessly, giving me everything I could have imagined and more. His love seemed boundless and though it had been difficult for us to have children, I was content. I never dared to ask for anything beyond the happiness we shared.

That was until the day he welcomed back Princess Hilton, a woman who had been living among the people, in front of everyone’s eyes. The air at the estate changed in an instant, heavy with the weight of her arrival.

It was only then that I learned the truth—the husband I had believed loved me beyond measure had actually been in love with another woman for many years. And even worse, they already had a child. That boy, now three years old, bore an unmistakable resemblance to Jonathan.

Jonathan stood beside Princess Hilton, gazing at their child with a look of pure affection. As Maria, Jonathan’s mother, held the boy in her arms, cooing at him as he nuzzled into her. The smile on her face was one of triumph, the weight of her family’s future now cradled in her arms.

"My grandson!" Maria exclaimed, her voice filled with pride. "With the blessing of our ancestors, the Bridgerton Family finally has an heir!"

She was so overwhelmed with joy that she nearly stumbled backward, all the while casting covert glances in my direction, her lips curling into a barely concealed smirk. The whole scene unfolded like a cruel play—one that had been rehearsed and I had unknowingly become part of.

Princess Hilton, for her part, stood quietly by Jonathan’s side. There was nothing grand about her demeanor, no royal airs that one might expect from a princess. Instead, she looked more like a concubine, long accustomed to life in the shadows. Her presence was soft, meek even, as if she had long accepted her role in this twisted narrative.

Jonathan, aware of the gravity of his actions and perhaps sensing the storm brewing inside me, attempted to smooth things over. His voice was gentle, but the words stung.

"Lana," he began, his eyes searching mine for understanding, "don’t worry. The princess isn’t difficult to get along with. She has agreed to treat you as a sister, regardless of age."

He paused, his tone shifting slightly, as if preparing me for a deeper betrayal. "But in front of others, I’ll have to ask you to make a small sacrifice. For the sake of the royal family’s face, you’ll need to step back slightly. I hope you can understand her position."

I stood there in silence for a long time, the weight of his words pressing down on me like stones. The vows he once swore under the moonlight seemed to mock me now. He had promised to take no other woman, to love only me and yet here we stood—before a princess, a child and an entire family who had erased me from my own marriage.

Finally, I spoke, my voice cold and sharp like a blade.

"You once promised that I would be your only wife. I’m sorry, but Jonathan, you cannot become a prince consort."

The room went silent. Princess Hilton’s eyes immediately welled with tears. She tried to hide her sobs behind delicate hands, but her sadness filled the space. The child, sensing his mother’s pain, turned to her, his small voice rising in distress.

"Don’t cry, mother. If you cry, Quincy will be sad too…"

Maria’s face twisted in distress as she tried to comfort the child, all the while casting me an accusatory glare. "Good child, don’t cry. As long as Grandma is here, no one will bully your mother!" She then turned her sharp eyes on me, her tone turning cold. "The princess is willing to share a husband with you and yet you’re making trouble!"

But I had already made up my mind. My voice was steady as I repeated, "I said, Jonathan will not marry another woman."

Without waiting for a reply, I turned and walked away, never looking back.

Back in the room, Jonathan followed closely behind me. "Lana, are you angry with me?" he asked, his voice soft yet probing.

I felt a wave of bitterness rise in my chest, so thick I couldn’t bring myself to respond. My silence only seemed to irritate him. His tone shifted, tinged with frustration, as he said, "Lana, I know I’ve wronged you, but please—think about me and the Bridgerton Family..."

His words hung in the air, but they felt empty. I remained quiet, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts, but instead of addressing his plea, I asked calmly, "Do you want me to give up the position of the main wife?" My voice was cold, distant.

Then, I added the question that had been haunting me, my tone sharp, "The child... he looks big. How old is he?"

Jonathan's face stiffened and instead of answering, he slammed the door and stormed out of the room.

It was the first time we had quarreled so bitterly, the first time I had felt such an ugly rift between us. I had always believed our love was built on trust, but now I wondered when he had started to betray me.

Not long after, Roma, my ever-reliable cousin, helped me uncover the truth.

It all began four years ago. Jonathan had been sent south to help control the floods. During his time there, he rescued a woman, Wendy Hilton, who was living among the common folk. From the moment he laid eyes on her, he fell in love. The details of their story, the way he heroically saved her, felt like a cruel parody of my own life, a bitter satire.

Wendy became pregnant and before long, she gave birth to their child. Jonathan arranged for them to live in a secluded courtyard outside the city, hiding them away like secrets he couldn’t bear to share. I stared at the letter in my hands, my eyes lingering on the name of the courtyard: William Jonas— "Pearls and Jade Garden." The name was painfully fitting. They were his pearls and jade, his most treasured possessions, hidden away from the world.

But fate had other plans. A short while ago, Wendy’s residence had been discovered by accident and it was then that Jonathan learned she wasn’t just a common woman—she was Princess Hilton, a royal living in disguise. Now that the truth was out, Jonathan couldn’t keep her hidden any longer. How could he, when his lover was a princess?

So, he brought her and their child into our home, no longer needing to pretend.

It wasn’t long after that Princess Hilton sought me out herself.

When she entered my home, her wide, innocent eyes shone with a dewy mist, like a lost fawn seeking refuge. There was a fragile beauty about her, one that seemed to inspire pity in those around her. She walked into the room with an air of gentle grace and the servants, quick to show deference to her royal status, led her to the main seat.

I, the mistress of the Marquis's Mansion, the wife of Jonathan, could only stand by her side in silence, watching this absurd spectacle unfold. How ironic that the princess, my husband’s mistress, would take my place in my own home.

Her eyes fluttered demurely as she raised her hand to brush her fingertips over her eyebrows—eyebrows that I recognized immediately. They were delicately drawn with Persian snail-shaped black ink, the same rare kind Jonathan had gone to great lengths to procure for me. He had struggled to find even two shades of the ink and I had foolishly believed he had given one to a colleague.

But now I saw the truth clearly. He had saved it, treasured it, not for me, but for her. For the woman he had hidden and cherished these last four years.

The weight of it all crashed down on me, the absurdity of my ignorance pressing on my chest. How had I not realized it before? How had I been so blind to the distance growing between us, to the fact that my husband had fallen for another?