Chapter 1
The day the imperial decree made me his consort, all of Antarorand awaited the spectacle.
Everyone knew that the new Emperor was a cold-blooded tyrant. After five years on the throne, his harem was empty because he could never forget the childhood sweetheart who had betrayed him.
It was said that the woman had turned her back on him for wealth and luxury, and when the Emperor fell from grace, she turned to his greatest enemy. In the end, she died under mysterious circumstances.
And me? I was just a humble, lowborn girl, only resembling that "vain" woman.
My father wept bitterly, while my mother worked through the night, stitching my burial clothes.
That night, as I entered the palace, he drew his sword and pointed it at my throat, eyes full of disgust. "With this face, how dare you still be alive?"
I met the sharp edge of the blade with a smile, but the tears I couldn't control fell.
He would never know that the "vain" woman, all those years ago, had climbed into his enemy's bed only to save him with the antidote, and in the end, she had to fake her death to protect his honor.
*****
It had been ages, my silly prince.
The day the imperial decree made me a consort, all of Antarorand was waiting for a good laugh at my expense.
After all, everyone knew Emperor Sheldon Turner was a cold-blooded demon who never blinked an eye at killing.
He'd been on the throne for five years, and his harem was still empty, all because his heart was haunted by a lost love, a woman who died and whom he could never let go of.
She was his childhood sweetheart, the one who ditched him for fame and fortune when he was just a down-and-out prince.
Rumor had it, her end was nothing short of tragic.
I was Samara Ferguson, an illegitimate daughter whose only value was that my face looked eerily similar to hers.
My father, Reese Ferguson, the minister, was trembling so badly that when he got the decree, he bawled like a kid.
My stepmother, who usually couldn't wait for me to drop dead, had the servants working through the night to sew my funeral shroud. She didn't want me to die without proper style, after all.
Everyone was convinced I wouldn't make it past my wedding night.
Honestly, I felt the same way.
The bright red wedding sedan carried me straight into this golden prison.
With no fancy ceremonies and no guests to wish me well, I was ushered straight into his private chambers, the Hall of Regalia.
The palace was freezing like a tomb, totally clashing with the blazing wedding dress on me.
I was left all alone in that vast, empty palace, waiting from sunrise to sunset.
My stomach kept rumbling, but nobody bothered to bring me even a scrap of food.
It wasn't until the dead of night that someone kicked the doors open with a bang.
Sheldon Turner barged in, wearing a pitch-black imperial robe, his whole body radiating booze and icy hostility.
He was still as ridiculously handsome as he was five years ago, so good-looking that I couldn't help but stare.
But those eyes that once reserved all their warmth for me. Now they were nothing but icy cold and pure, overwhelming hatred.
"Raise your head," he commanded.
His voice sounded like it came from the depths of hell.
I obediently raised my head and looked him right in the eye.
This face, which I once cherished deeply, had now become the curse that hastens my demise.
He walked toward me, each step weighed heavy on my heart.
"Uncanny. Truly uncanny," Sheldon muttered.
He seized my chin, his grip so tight that it felt like he might shatter it.
"Nothing but a cheap imitation. It makes me sick just looking at you," he sneered.
Pain made my eyes sting, but I wouldn't let the tears fall.
I must not cry.
I was no longer the girl who used to whine and shed tears for him five years ago.
Now, I was just a substitute, just here to take all his hate.
"What? Not convinced?" Sheldon sneered.
He saw the tears shimmering in my eyes and his smile turned even crueler.
"You think just because you have that face, you can climb your way to the top? Reese really thinks he's clever, huh?" Sheldon sneered. "Did he send you here just to rub it in? To remind me how that woman stabbed me in the back?"
I opened my mouth, but my throat was so dry I couldn't get a word out.
It was not like that. My father didn't even know.
Nobody really knew, not even Sheldon.
He didn't have a clue.
The next second, with a chilling metallic ring, a cold blade was suddenly at my throat.
I knew that pattern on the blade.
It was his eighteenth birthday gift. I sought out the finest craftsman, sketched the design myself, and gifted him the Shadowfang sword.
He swore he'd use it to cut down anything that stood in my way, to protect me, always.
Now, that very sword was held to my throat.
"You think you deserve to live with that face?" Sheldon sneered.
His eyes burned with undiluted murderous intent.
I knew if he pressed just a bit harder, I'd be off to meet the Reaper.
That was fine.
At least then, I'd finally be free.
Five years of just scraping by, five years of torment day in, day out. I was just so done.