Chapter 1

On the day the Prime Minister married his childhood sweetheart, I died quietly in the woodshed.

No one in the entire manor bothered to check if I was still breathing, but they didn't know I was the last living master of Suspended Breath in the martial world.

While the Prime Minister wept with regret at my grave, I had already slipped away to the Southiks, drinking wine on a pleasure boat, listening to music, and pinching the cheek of a handsome young man.

Life should have been carefree and perfect, but then a storm washed out the family cemetery, and the Prime Minister discovered my coffin was stuffed with nothing but rotting straw.

That day, the most powerful man in the empire smashed his cup and swore that even if he had to tear the entire kingdom apart, he would find me.

*****

"She's dead, Mr. Jefferson." The maid's panicked voice echoed through the hall.

I focused on my Suspended Breath technique and felt my pulse slow to nothing. My breathing stopped completely, and my body temperature dropped fast.

"That's impossible!" My husband, Edward Jefferson's, voice cut through the chaos, and I caught something in his tone I'd never heard before. He was panicked. "She was fine this morning!"

I stayed perfectly still on the bed and listened to footsteps rushing into the room.

Cold hands touched my face. I wondered what kind of expression Edward wore right now. His face was always so composed, so distant.

"She's not breathing." His voice dropped low.

I wanted to laugh. Suspended Breath was my master's most guarded secret. Even the doctors wouldn't be able to detect anything wrong.

"Mr. Jefferson," the house doctor stammered, "Mrs. Jefferson has truly passed."

I kept my eyes closed, but I could feel Edward staring at me.

What was going through his head right now? Regret? Relief? Or was he already calculating how to explain to the King that his wife had died so suddenly?

"Everyone out," he ordered.

Footsteps shuffled toward the door, and then it clicked shut. We were alone.

I felt the bed dip as he sat down beside me. His fingers brushed through my hair, so gentle it almost startled me.

In three years of marriage, he'd never touched me like this. Never.

"Evelyn," he whispered my name, and his voice cracked with something that sounded like pain. "How could you just leave me like this?"

He'd never called me by my name before. For three years in the Jefferson Manor, I'd only ever been "my lady" said in that cold, detached tone of his.

"Today's the day I marry Sophia," he said, and his fingers traced along my eyebrow, down my cheek. "You can't even face that?"

I wanted to laugh. Yeah, today was his big day—finally marrying his childhood sweetheart.

Everyone in Captre knew Edward was getting the girl he'd always wanted.

And me? The wife he married for politics? I was supposed to disappear quietly.

"You're always like this," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Never saying anything, always holding everything in. Even your death—you chose today."

I almost opened my eyes right then and there to call him out on his bullshit.

I held everything in? I never said anything? On our wedding night, he told me straight up that this marriage wasn't his choice and I shouldn't expect his feelings. Ever.

For three years, I lived like a ghost in Jefferson Manor while he paraded around Captre with Sophia Wells. Everyone saw me as the clown I was.

And now that I was finally "dead," he wanted to play the grieving husband?

"Mr. Jefferson!" The butler's voice came from outside the door. "It's time, sir. The guests are waiting."

Edward's hand stopped moving. I heard him take a deep breath, and just like that, he shifted back into his controlled Prime Minister persona.

"Prepare the funeral," he ordered. "Spare no expense."

His footsteps faded away. I cracked my eyes open and checked the room carefully before I let myself relax.

My breathing steadied. My heart slowed back to normal.

I sat up in bed and stretched out my stiff muscles.

My plan was working perfectly. Edward believed exactly what I wanted him to—that I couldn't handle the shock of him marrying Sophia, and my weak heart finally gave out.

It was the perfect explanation. Everyone knew I was fragile, and everyone knew my husband didn't love me.

The sound of celebration drifted through the window.

I walked over and looked out at the estate decorated for a wedding. Edward stood in his tailored suit, holding Sophia's hand as they walked toward the main hall together.

I watched it all with cold eyes and felt absolutely nothing.

Once upon a time, I used to dream about Edward holding my hand like that and giving me a proper wedding.

But the reality was that I'd entered Jefferson Manor through the servants' entrance, and I'd slipped my own wedding ring onto my finger because he couldn't be bothered to show up.

"I hope you'll be very happy together," I whispered toward the distant celebration, then turned and started packing.

I'd been planning this death for six months.

I'd been quietly selling off my wedding gifts and used the money to buy a house in Southiks. I'd contacted reliable merchants and arranged my escape route down to the last detail.

I pulled out the bundle I'd hidden under the bed. Inside were banknotes, a few changes of clothes, and everything I needed to change my appearance.

I took one last look at the room where I'd spent three years of my life, then climbed out the back window.

Everyone in the manor had gone to the front courtyard for the wedding feast. The back was completely empty.

I avoided the patrolling guards and made my way to a gap in the west wall—a hole just big enough to crawl through.

The moment I emerged on the other side of Jefferson Manor, I took a deep breath of freedom.

Evelyn was dead. From now on, I was going to live for myself.

Three days later, my body was sent to the Jefferson family tomb. Edward didn't show up for the funeral. He was too busy accompanying his new wife on her first visit back to her family.

A heavy rainstorm tore through the graveyard and washed away the burial mound.

By the time the groundskeeper discovered the coffin was filled with nothing but rotting straw, I was already sitting on a boat heading south, sipping sweet osmanthus wine.

The boatman asked why I was traveling alone. I smiled and said, "I'm going to get married."

"Oh? Your groom's waiting for you in Southiks?"

I took another sip and stared at the horizon. "No. I'm marrying myself."