“This family can only bear so much disgrace! Does he take the LeonCraft Duchy for a joke?”

A man in his early forties, draped in an expensive tailored coat, slammed his fist onto the mahogany desk. He loomed over the room, trembling with rage. “He took ten days just to reply to a simple summons for his own wedding! And now? He sends a measly 2000 Shella for the marriage arrangements?!”

He turned his fury toward the girl standing before him. She looked around eighteen, with the same shimmering silver hair as his own, but her posture was different. She leaned heavily on a polished cane, supporting a leg that refused to obey her. A bored, practiced smile was plastered across her face.

“What did you do to make that brat so insolent?!” he bellowed.

How should I know? I’ve never even met the man in this life. We exchanged exactly one letter, She thought, her fake smile never wavering. Besides, isn't this predictable? You’re demanding exclusive rights to the gems in his territory while asking him to pay for a wedding he clearly can't afford.

“Listen to me, Francesca,” the Duke said, pointing a trembling finger at her. “The fact that you are a cripple is damaging enough to our name. Holding a wedding with such a pathetic sum will be a disaster for our reputation. Send him a letter at once. Tell him we are to postpon—”

“What if we held the ceremony at the Temple, Father?” Francesca interrupted, her grip tightening on the head of her cane.

She couldn't let him finish. In her previous life, a postponement led to a late wedding, which led to her being more abused at the mansion. This marriage is my only escape from this tomb of a house. I won’t let it slip away.

“The Church is currently hosting the Early Harvest Festival,” she continued, her voice calm and melodic. “If we use one of the smaller chapels as the stage, the festival’s existing decorations will double as our wedding floral arrangements. We can hold a dignified ceremony using only the funds the Count sent. It saves the family’s dignity and your purse, Father.”

The Duke paused, the anger slowly draining from his face as he calculated the savings. He finally offered a cold, sharp smile. “This might be the first useful thing you’ve ever said. Fine. I will have the marriage officiated immediately. I cannot waste another moment on this useless matter.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, he sent his daughter away.

Francesca turned, the rhythmic thump-tap of her cane supporting her echoing against the marble floors as she navigated the hallway. Once inside her bedchamber, she locked the door and collapsed onto the silk sheets, letting the fake smile mask fall. She reached into her bodice and pulled out a necklace, a fractured, glowing gem.

It’s name engraved on it, ‘The Azure Tear’

“The Fairytale of Gorgeria’s Revival,” she whispered, resting the gem on her bedside table. In the story, a mermaid’s tear allowed the fairy queen to return to the moment she first touched her most precious treasure. “So It wasn't a myth. Once I died as Hanna, this thing dragged me back to the day I first found it in mother's jewelry box.”

She reached for a quill and a scrap of parchment, writing down her observations with clinical precision.

It has been only a few days since my memories have returned. In my first life, I had died as Francesca LeonCraft, the neglected disabled daughter. My soul had been reborn in modern South Korea as Kim Hanna, where I lived for a while, dying peacefully in my late twenties due to an incurable illness. When I died as Hanna, this necklace, a keepsake from my late mother, had pulled my soul back across time and space to this exact moment a few days ago.

She paused organizing her thoughts and continued writing three points.

• Point 1: My leg is useless in both lives. Hence It must not be a physical condition; some sort of constant.

• Point 2: I remember both lives with terrifying clarity. Every single moment in insane detail from both the modern world and past life is something I am able to recall at a moment's notice.

• Point 3: I need to do things differently this time to actually live and be happy.

In the past, in my first life as Francesca, I had refused to leave the capital even after my wedding. I had stayed behind to chase the favored image of a capital noble lady, viewing the Viscount’s mountain territory as a death sentence for a disabled woman. That path had led me to my execution alongside the whole Family of the Duke’s.

“I won't repeat that mistake,” she muttered to the empty room. “I'm leaving this house, and I'm leaving the capital.”

She thought of the man she was to marry: Viscount Miller Ironwood. In her previous life, they had rarely met once or twice a year, but he had been a decent, bubbly man, a far cry from the brothers and father who treated her like a political hostage or a broken toy.

“Even if the Viscounty is poor and the mountain land is cold... a simple room there is a palace compared to this mansion.” Francesca finally let her eyes close, drifting into a sleep fueled by a new kind of determination.

Next Day at one of the smaller chapels in LeonCraft Estate, LeonCraft Duchy, Inidal Empire

“We are gathered here today for the union between Viscount Miller Ironwood and Lady Francesca LeonCraft.”

The priest stood before the towering marble statue of the Goddess, his voice echoing in the small, drafty chapel. The attendance was sparse, mostly distant relatives and gossiping minor nobles but their whispers were loud enough to pierce through the soft organ music.

Francesca moved down the aisle, her father’s arm on one side and her cane on the other.

“A commoner posing as a noble and a cripple... they really are a perfect match, aren’t they?” “The rhythmic thump-tap of that cane... it quite ruins the music, doesn't it?” “If she were a horse, they would have put her out of her misery years ago.”

The familiar stings of the capital’s venom were hard to swallow, even with the memories of a different life shielding her. She kept her gaze fixed forward, her practiced smile firmly in place, until they reached the altar where the Priest and the Viscount waited.

As she came to a halt, the noise of the hall and even the priest's droning voice began to fade. Francesca found herself staring, her thoughts drifting involuntarily.

I... I forgot he looked like this. His eyes were a deep, burning red, the kind of color that made her feel as though she were standing at the edge of a raging lava lake. His hair, a vibrant, sunny crimson, seemed to catch every stray beam of light reflecting off the chapel’s stained glass. She found it impossible to look away.

“Please, hold hands and repeat your vows.”

The priest cleared his throat loudly, the sound snapping Francesca out of her daze. She reached out, her hand disappearing into his. His hands are so large... Ah I remember the lean muscular body beneath that formal coat—

“Lady Francesca LeonCraft, in the name of the Goddess, do you take this man as your husband? Do you pledge to cherish him for the rest of your life?” The priest’s question flooded her mind, cutting off her wandering thoughts again.

“I do,” she replied instantly, her voice clearer than she expected.

“Viscount Miller Ironwood, in the name of the Goddess, do you take this woman to be your wife? Do you pledge to cherish her for the rest of your life?” The priest turned the question to Miller. The Viscount looked down at Francesca, a genuine, warm smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I do,” he answered firmly.

I know this is only a marriage of convenience, she thought, her heart giving a strange, unfamiliar flutter. But reuniting with him gives me a strange warm feeling in my heart… This time I will have a loving family and a peaceful life!

As the bells began to chime, signaling the conclusion of the ceremony, a weight seemed to lift from her shoulders. She was no longer Francesca LeonCraft. She was Francesca Ironwood, finally leaving behind the name she hated with a passion.