Leaving the two workers to continue their window cleaning, Mary Jane walked softly through hallways, her shoes tapping faintly on polished marble floors veined with amber and gray. Because of those two, she felt a little more confident in exploring the home she was currently trapped in. The ceilings above arched high like cathedral vaults and the chandeliers that hung above gave the place such an expensive look. She stared around and admired the colorful tapestries as well as the opulent décor.
She smiled faintly, still thinking of the people she just met. At least those two talked to me.
But still, the others were the same. Servants passed by in twos and threes, some carrying linens, others polishing silver trays or dusting portraits of grim-faced ancestors with powdered wigs. A few glanced at her—some with wide eyes, others with barely concealed contempt—but none dared speak. None approached.
However, unlike this morning, Mary Jane no longer shrank from their stares.
They didn't speak. They didn't curse at her. But no one tried to hurt her.
That in itself felt like a win.
With the people staying away from her, this world felt a little less scary. Maybe, she thought, once they see that I'm harmless, they would be nicer to me. Then maybe they could help me find answers. And I can start figuring this place out. Piece by piece.
She wandered carefully into a long corridor lined with portraits and dark wooden paneling, her fingers grazing the delicate edges of embroidered drapes. Each room she passed looked like something out of a period drama—drawing rooms with high-backed chairs, studies with rolled-up maps, and halls lined with porcelain vases and mini statues she wouldn't dare breathe with them nearby.
Her eyes landed on a carved door handle that beckoned with the promise of secrets.
Maybe she could find something again, like the envelope with the magic circle. Something that would be helpful to her again.
But before she could reach for it, the sound of small, hurried footsteps echoed behind her.
"Mother!"
Mary Jane turned, startled.
The little boy she met this morning stood at the end of the corridor, hair tousled from running, cheeks pink, clutching something behind his back. He looked nervous—but smiling.
She blinked. "J-Jason?" That was his name, right?
The boy approached shyly, then revealed a small bouquet of fresh garden blooms—marigolds, a sprig of lavender, and one slightly crumpled rose in the middle.
"I picked these," he said, thrusting them forward. "They were your favorite before."
Mary Jane's heart fluttered. He still thinks I'm the same person…
"I… I thought you might want them. You used to put them in your hair."
Mary Jane accepted the flowers slowly, her eyes softening. "Thank you, Jason. They're beautiful."
He grinned, pleased. "The rose was hard to reach. The gardener almost saw me."
That tugged a laugh from her. "A little mischief makes it all the more precious."
Jason rocked on his heels, glancing up at her. "Do you… want to come see the fish pond? It's not far from here. The koi are awake now—they were hiding last time."
She hesitated. "I'd like that."
But before either could move, a firm voice called down the hall like a whip.
"Master Jason."
Both turned.
The boy's nanny stood there in her prim dark gown; lips drawn into a thin line. She had iron-gray eyes and an apron crisply folded, like she took no nonsense from anyone—least of all the woman she now glared at with open suspicion.
Jason's smile vanished. He looked between them.
"Nanny…"
"You promised your father you would not go near her," the nanny said, walking briskly forward and placing a protective hand on the boy's shoulder. She didn't lower her voice, and she didn't hide the steel beneath it. She didn't even offer a greeting nor a curtsy to the countess. "We mustn't forget what happened last time, must we?"
Jason's face twisted into confusion and embarrassment. "But—"
The nanny shook her head, exhibiting gentle behavior with the boy while her eyes, which remained fixed on Mary Jane, were shooting daggers at her.
"My lady," she said stiffly, as if the title tasted sour on her tongue, "you'll understand that we must take every care with Master Jason's health. You know why."
Mary Jane flinched inwardly. No, I don't. But she didn't argue. What could she say? She could see the nanny's distrust like a huge wall between them.
Jason tugged at the nanny's hand. "She liked the flowers…"
"That's enough," the nanny said, not unkindly, but with finality. She nodded once at Mary Jane—neither a bow nor a courtesy, simply an obligation. "The next tutor is waiting, Master Jason."
Mary Jane watched silently as Jason was led away, glancing back at her over his shoulder with wide, uncertain eyes.
She held the bouquet tighter, the rose petals brushing her fingertips.
At least, even if the whole house believes I am a danger to him, she thought bitterly, he doesn't.
It was a small light.
But in a place as cold as this one, even the smallest light was worth protecting.
*****Let past and present interlace*****
She followed the retreating backs of the boy and his nanny just with her eyes until they turned a corner and vanished from her view. With a sigh, she turned back to the door she was trying to open up earlier.
The ornate double doors creaked as Mary Jane pushed them open, her fingers brushing against the carved handles shaped like vines curling into roses. The scent of aged paper, beeswax polish, and something faintly floral greeted her as the heavy doors parted.
She took a step inside.
The air felt cooler here, as though time itself had paused to linger between the rows of knowledge. A breathtaking sight stretched before her: a grand, two-floor library, bathed in soft shafts of golden light that filtered through high-arched windows. Wooden shelves soared toward the ceiling, lined with books bound in every shade of leather and velvet. Spiral staircases twisted like vines toward the upper gallery, and reading alcoves nestled in corners invited discovery.
Mary Jane paused at the threshold, her heart a blend of awe and disbelief. It was the most beautiful room she had seen since waking in this strange new world.
She stepped in quietly—then froze.
A figure moved near one of the shelves, slipping something beneath her apron. A small, mousy maid with red hair and a downturned face straightened quickly when she noticed Mary Jane's presence.
"Ah… M-my lady," the maid stammered, eyes widening, clearly flustered.
It was Jane, the red-haired maid who helped her bathe this morning.
Mary Jane blinked. "Oh. Jane. I didn't expect anyone else to be here."
"I was just… dusting," Jane replied hastily, then coughed into her sleeve.
Mary Jane didn't catch the odd movement beneath the apron—she did not notice it since her mind was still on the bouquet of flowers that Jason had given her earlier. She deeply inhaled the calming scent of the gifted flowers before looking back at Jane.
"Would you mind taking these back to my room?" Mary Jane asked gently. "Please put them in a vase and fill it with water. I hope they could bloom a little longer."
Jane looked surprised. "O-of course, my lady…"
"Thank you, Jane," Mary Jane added sincerely. "Really."
The maid hesitated, something flickering in her expression—uncertainty… maybe even guilt? But she nodded and turned to leave, casting one last glance over her shoulder before disappearing through the door, a little straighter than before.
Alone once more, Mary Jane wandered deeper into the library. Ah, a house with its own library. How rich is Bettina and her husband?
Her fingertips trailed the spines of books carefully arranged in shelves until one caught her eye—a thick, worn tome titled "The Boleus Imperial Codex: Chronicles of Conquests and Legacy". She carefully pulled it from the shelf and carried it to a nearby reading table, the leather binding cool beneath her fingers.
She opened it slowly.
As she flipped through the pages, she noticed the handwriting—elegant and slightly smudged, as if it had been written with a quill. No printing press? All of this was handwritten? That had to be expensive. And time-consuming.
The pages were filled with faded ink and elegant sketches. There were maps of territories once divided, now bearing the same imperial crest. Tales of battles fought, alliances brokered, and blood spilled in the name of unity.
A picture of a castle, surrounded by a city of buildings and houses, enclosed by tall brick fence with a scenic backdrop of a brilliant river and the mountains beyond were captioned "The Boleus Imperial Capital". The one who painted the picture on this book was aptly chosen for his or her detailed artistry.
Next, it showed a picture of the emperor, Emmanuel Mortix de Boleus III, his wife, Empress Elizabeth Anne de Boleus, and their two unmarried children – Crown Prince Alaric Benicio de Boleus, 22 years old, and Princess Amarie Isabela de Boleus, 17 years old – who were both unmarried.
She flipped forward, curious, until a full-page sketch made her breath catch.
It was him.
The Earl of Whitman.
Rendered in fine ink and charcoal, the man in the portrait looked every inch the noble warrior—his hair darker and longer than she'd seen in their fleeting encounter, and his eyes intense even in stillness. His facial features reminded her a little bit of Jacob Elordi. Beneath his handsome image, a short inscription read:
"The Right Honorable Earl Anthony James Whitman – Architect of Victory in the Eastern Highlands. Loyal to the Crown. Instrumental in the final campaigns that led to the unification of the continent under the command of Emperor Emmanuel Mortix de Boleus III. Awarded the Silver Flame for valor and strategy."
Mary Jane's fingers brushed over the ink. He was a war hero…?
A brave and valiant military general, he led the troops to finish the vestiges of war and defeated the final three kingdoms which resulted in unifying the entire continent to what we now know call: The Boleus Empire. With great military intelligence and tactics, as well as peaceful negotiation skills, he was able to conquer the Arbitro Kingdom, the Sandtric Plains, and the Valmor Kingdom, among others, with the least number of casualties and death toll that the world has ever seen. Prior to his early retirement, he was even able to secure friendly relations with the neighboring kingdoms. As a retired military general, his advice and counsel are still of prime importance to Emperor Emmanuel Mortix de Boleus III who regularly requests for his evaluation on the performance standards of the Boleus military troops.
She leaned back in the chair, the weight of this revelation sinking into her chest. The Right Honorable Earl—her supposed husband—was not merely a cold, brooding man haunting the halls of his estate. He had once stood at the heart of a nation's rise, a man praised in ink and glory, a legend in his own right.
It made everything more complicated.
And yet, somehow, the hardness and perfunctory manner that he displayed toward her made more sense now given his strict military background.
She closed the book slowly, her thoughts spinning.
The quiet of the library wrapped around her like a cocoon, offering space to breathe, to think, and perhaps—for the first time—to begin understanding the story she'd been dropped into.
And in another corner of the manor, a maid named Jane placed a bouquet of flowers into cool water, the corners of her lips tilting up just slightly.
*****Let fate restore her rightful place*****
Not noticing the passage of time, Mary Jane flipped through the pages of the thick tome, until her fingers paused on a sepia-toned illustration of a graceful woman with soft brown hair.
"The Former Right Honorable Countess Marguerite Whitman," the caption read.
So, this was the Earl's first wife. The book noted that she died giving birth to their first and only son, Lord Jason Anthony Whitman.
"Oh," Mary Jane murmured under her breath. "So, she's the little boy's real mother…"
She turned the page—and nearly dropped the book.
There she was.
Or rather, the woman whose body she now inhabited.
The Right Honorable Countess Bettina Anne Whitman.
Wow. That was a long-assed name made even longer with her title. It must have been hard when she was very young and trying to learn how to write her name. but she was indeed beautiful. Her portrait was hauntingly lovely, a vision in silken whites and powdered blues. According to the text, she was once hailed as the most beautiful woman in the empire.
"A diamond of the first water," it said.
Mary Jane blinked.
"Well damn," she muttered to herself, leaning in. She didn't know what that meant but it sounded like a compliment.
She could not deny the description, since even without modern makeup, Bettina had the kind of features that social media influencers would kill for—smooth, fair skin, a perfect button nose, lips soft and naturally pink like rose petals, and those large, delicate eyes framed by thick, curling lashes which were almost light brown in color.
No wonder people expected her to act like a spoiled royalty. She looked like it.
Reading further, Mary Jane pieced together the full picture. Countess Bettina had become the Earl's second wife after the death of his first. That made Jason her stepson.
Interestingly, Bettina hadn't been born into nobility. She had gained her title through marriage. Her parents were listed next: Mr. and Mrs. Everton and Wilhelmina Sutherland—and both were commoners.
The Sutherlands were described as the owners of the largest merchant company in the empire, the Sutherland Trading Company. They controlled a massive swath of industries: farming, lumber, furniture, mining, even fabrics and accessories. Their trade routes stretched across the continent, importing and exporting everything from grains to precious minerals.
So, Bettina wasn't just a pretty face. She came with serious business clout.
No wonder the Earl married her despite being a commoner. Upon the death of Bettina's parents, full ownership and managing rights of the Sutherland Trading Company were all handed over to her husband, the Earl of Whitman. And the Whitman earldom became one of the wealthiest noble families in the empire…
Mary Jane leaned back, absorbing everything.
The book itself was part imperial history, part geography text, and part nobleman's chronicle—a treasure trove of background on key figures who helped build and unify the Boleus Empire. But nestled between tales of conquest and empire-building were these fascinating little details.
Clues. Threads. Connections.
But she didn't know how to piece it all together. She stared at the countess's picture again.
Just who were you really, Bettina? What made my soul possess your body?
She was reading the book so intently that she didn't even notice the room getting dim, nor the small lamps on the tables and walls flickering on by itself. The room was too quiet and conducive to reading that she got startled when she heard Sarah speak up.
"I do beg my lady's pardon," Sarah drawled, her voice devoid of any real apology. "But unless you intend to dine on parchment and ink, supper awaits."
"Oh," she looked out the window and saw that, indeed, it was already nighttime. "Is it dinner, already?"
Sarah folded her arms and shrugged. "The dinner bell was rung, my lady. Perhaps my lady was too engrossed in her reading to notice."
The maid turned around and left the library before her, leaving behind the other girl named Jane who gave her a quick curtsy and politely motioned for her to precede before following behind her. It seemed that Jane, the second attendant, was thawing a bit more towards her.
It made Sarah's insolence, as well as the other staff's attitude to her, even more unmistakable. As if they were all daring her to raise her voice and punish them. Except the other two whom she talked to by the windows. That singular conversation gave her a little bit of confidence.
She smiled to herself, straightening up. Yes. It would take more than insolent words and disdainful looks to actually hurt her. They haven't met her stepfather – the one who taught her that words alone cannot break her bones – sticks and stones, including fists and other things, were the ones that could literally break her bones.
As she stepped into the dining hall, Mary Jane expected to find the Earl and his son already seated in their usual stiff, silent positions. But to her surprise, the Earl's chair was empty. Only the little boy sat at his usual place at the long table, legs swinging slightly, trying to cut his steak with the seriousness of a grown man attending a royal banquet.
He looked up and beamed at her.
"Good evening, Mother."
Her heart did a little flip. It always felt nice to be called thus sweetly by the boy.
"Good evening, Jason," she replied.
His smile widened—clearly pleased.
She was heading toward her usual spot at the far end of the table when Jason piped up eagerly, "Mother, since Father's not joining us tonight, can you sit beside me instead?"
"Master Jason," came a clipped voice behind him.
Mary Jane turned to see the elderly woman in her stern black dress with a high collar and a disapproving expression that could probably stop a charging horse. It was the boy's nanny. Watching over them like a hawk, as ordered by the Earl no doubt.
Jason, unbothered, looked up at her with hopeful eyes.
"Is it really okay if I sit next to you?" she asked, playing along.
The nanny tried again, firmer this time, "Young mas—"
"Yes please!" Jason interrupted with the unfiltered enthusiasm only an eight-year-old could get away with.
Tentatively, she made her way to the Earl's seat. When no servant tried to block her path or gasp in scandal, she slid in beside Jason, sitting in the earl's seat like it was the most natural thing in the world. The staff, now frozen in silent disbelief, began to serve her dinner without a word.
So, this must be the power of the lady of the house, she thought, suppressing a grin.
As Jason focused on his steak again, Mary Jane couldn't help but smile. He reminded her so much of her little brother Ethan—almost the same age, same intense expression of concentration as he attacked a plate like it was a dragon to be slain.
Her smile faded slightly when she caught the nanny glaring at her like she'd personally offended the gods. She quickly turned her attention to the cutlery, pretending not to notice.
"Mother, that's the wrong fork," Jason whispered helpfully, pointing to another.
"Oh," she said, switching forks like she totally knew that. With dramatic flair, she stabbed a huge piece of steak and stuffed it in her mouth. "Fank you!"
Jason giggled, then cut a chunk twice the size and shoved it in his mouth. "You're velcome!"
That set the tone for the rest of dinner.
It turned into a ridiculous little game of "who can eat the most disastrously and still be polite." They tried talking with their mouths full (disgusting and hilarious), making exaggerated chewing noises (the nanny looked like she was going to faint), and experimenting with how much mashed potato one could fit on a spoon.
The servants were horrified. Jason was delighted. Mary Jane? Thriving.
For once, she wasn't walking on eggshells or worrying if she'd be yelled at or struck. No one stopped her—not even the Nanny Supreme. And that tiny bit of control? It felt good.
But when she tried not to laugh at Jason's latest impression of a chipmunk chewing toast, orange juice shot out of her nose.
Jason burst into laughter so hard he clutched his stomach, nearly falling off his chair.
She joined him, laughing through her tears as she dabbed at her face and blouse with a napkin. "That burns!" she wheezed.
When their laughter finally died down, Jason turned to her, his voice soft and genuine.
"I'm glad to see you're doing better, Mother."
Something inside her melted. "Thank you, Jason. And I'm glad to be sharing this dinner with you."
His eyes sparkled as he looked up at her. There was something of the Earl in him—yes—but softened, innocent. Like a baby Jacob Elordi dressed in little lord clothes.
Without thinking, she reached out, beckoning for him to lean closer to her, and gently wiped a bit of sauce off his chin with her napkin. The gesture came so naturally, like how she used to clean up Ethan after meals.
The spell broke when the nanny cleared her throat.
"Young master, it's time to prepare for bed."
"Oh but—" Jason began.
"Please remember your promise, Lord Jason," the nanny said with the kind of tone that didn't allow for discussion.
Jason stood reluctantly. Then, he surprised her again.
"Goodnight, Mother," he stood up, walked over to her—and leaned forward to plant a shy kiss on her cheek.
Mary Jane blinked, stunned.
Trying not to get emotional, she wrapped her arms gently around him and whispered, "Goodnight, Jason."
Only once she was back in her room, door closed and silence all around, did she finally let herself cry.
She missed her stepbrother so much.
But tonight, in that little dining room rebellion with a cheeky little lord by her side…
She didn't feel so alone anymore.
That night, she went to bed with a little smile on her face.