Chapter 1: Death, Déjà Vu, and a Duke’s Displeasure

Arc I – The Possession Begins

Chapter 1: Death, Déjà Vu, and a Duke’s Displeasure

The first thing Mira noticed was that she wasn’t dead properly.

There were no pearly gates, no choir of angels, no looping anime opening for her reincarnation—just the faint smell of lavender, an impossibly soft mattress, and the unmistakable weight of a corset that was squeezing the life out of her after she’d already died.

Her eyes snapped open to a canopy of silk and lace.

“Wha—why am I in a Jane Austen fever dream?” she croaked. Her voice came out higher, softer—decidedly not hers.

She sat up too quickly, groaning as the world spun. The reflection in the ornate mirror across the room showed a pale, willowy woman with hair the color of moonlight, eyes like melted sapphire, and skin so flawless it made every K-beauty influencer look like a cautionary tale.

Mira blinked. The woman blinked.

“Oh no. No, no, no. I’ve seen this trope before,” she muttered. “This is body possession. Reincarnation. Transmigration. Whatever you call it when God runs out of original ideas.”

A knock interrupted her existential crisis.

“Milady, the Duke is waiting in the rose salon,” a voice called from behind the door.

“The Duke?” Mira repeated blankly.

“The Duke, your husband,” the maid replied. “Lord Adrian Vale.”

Mira froze.

Then, in perfect deadpan: “Of course he’s a duke.”

She stumbled out of bed, the floor tilting beneath her bare feet. Her body moved with the kind of grace that clearly belonged to someone else.

Her brain, however, was still the same one that used to stay up until 3 a.m. writing fanfics about rival knights secretly in love.

“Oh, this is bad,” she whispered, clutching her temples. “I’m inside some noble lady’s body, I have a husband, and my brain is full of BL scenarios. If this man is remotely handsome, I’m doomed.”

---

The rose salon was, as expected, offensively luxurious. Sunlight spilled through tall windows, glinting off gold-trimmed furniture and porcelain teacups that looked more expensive than her student loans.

Standing beside the fireplace was him.

Tall. Black-haired. Ice-gray eyes that could cut glass.

Lord Adrian Vale.

He turned when she entered, gaze steady and unreadable. His expression wasn’t cruel, exactly—it was just the sort of face that made you want to sit up straighter and question all your life choices.

“Seraphina,” he said, voice deep and controlled. “You fainted at the ball last night. Are you well?”

Mira opened her mouth to respond politely. What came out was:

Oh my god, he looks like the seme from “Duel Hearts”!

Adrian stiffened. His eyes flicked toward her, sharp and bewildered.

“What did you just say?”

Mira’s blood went cold. “I—uh—what?”

He frowned. “That voice.”

Oh no oh no oh no, he can hear me?

“Yes,” he said slowly, stepping closer. “That voice. It’s not… your mouth isn’t moving, but I can hear it.”

Mira’s mind exploded with panic. Abort mission. Pretend to be normal. Pretend you’re not the disembodied spirit of a fangirl possessing his wife.

She forced a laugh, which came out as the most suspicious sound in history. “You must be imagining things, my lord! Ha ha ha!”

Adrian’s frown deepened. “You’ve never called me ‘my lord’ before.”

Oh great, Mira thought, so the real Seraphina was chill enough to skip formalities. Fantastic. I’m going to die again, but this time in lace.

---

Over the next few hours, Mira did what any sensible woman would do after being reincarnated into the body of a noble:

She panicked quietly, ate three pastries to cope, and interrogated her maid under the guise of “refreshing her memory.”

She learned that she (Seraphina) had been married to the Duke for six months. The marriage was arranged by their families, and rumor said the union was “cold but civil.”

Perfect.

Exactly the sort of situation where Mira’s presence could cause catastrophic misunderstandings.

But she had bigger problems.

Adrian could still hear her.

Every time he entered the same room, every stray thought of hers echoed in his mind.

Is it weird that he looks even hotter when he’s annoyed?

He froze. “Excuse me?”

Mira’s soul screamed. Stop hearing me!

“I’m not doing it on purpose!” he snapped aloud.

They both went silent. The servants stared.

And thus began the most awkward breakfast in human history.

---

That night, Mira paced her room, trying to understand the “voice connection.” Maybe it was some kind of curse? Or psychic resonance? Or divine punishment for writing too many fanfics about morally gray men?

She decided to experiment.

She whispered, “Can you hear me now?”

Adrian’s voice came through the wall, low and irritated: “Yes.”

She flinched. “You weren’t supposed to answer!”

“You asked a question.”

“Well—don’t!”

A pause. Then, with terrifying calm: “Seraphina, if this is some new method of driving me insane, it’s working.”

You think I’m enjoying this? she shot back.

“Apparently so, since you’re narrating your every thought in my head.”

I am not!

“You just said that out loud in your mind.”

“STOP READING ME!”

“I don’t have a choice!”

---

They spent the next three days avoiding each other like cats separated by holy water.

But avoiding someone is difficult when you share a mansion.

Every time Mira came within five meters of Adrian, the telepathic chaos resumed. Her mind would slip, and her unfiltered thoughts—especially her accidental compliments—would pour out.

Why is he so broad-shouldered? This is unfair.

“…Pardon?” Adrian muttered from across the hall.

Nothing! I was thinking about… architecture!

“Architecture,” he repeated dryly.

“Yes! The… arches. Strong arches. Good arches.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Seraphina, please stop talking about my arches.”

---

By the end of the week, they’d established an uneasy truce: she would stay out of his radius as much as possible, and he would pretend not to hear her when she slipped.

But fate, as always, had other plans.

During a garden party, Adrian’s friend—Sir Lucien—arrived. Blond, charming, and hopelessly flirtatious.

Mira’s inner fangirl combusted.

Oh my god. He’s beautiful. They’d make the perfect power couple. Dark duke x sunshine knight—yes, yes, YES!

Adrian choked on his wine.

Lucien blinked. “Are you all right, old friend?”

“I’m fine,” Adrian hissed, glaring at no one in particular.

Mira panicked. Don’t tell him you can hear me! He’ll think you’re crazy!

“You’re making me look insane,” Adrian muttered under his breath.

Lucien frowned. “Pardon?”

Mira’s thoughts spiraled faster. Don’t worry, Lucien, I ship you too! No need to be jealous!

Adrian’s jaw twitched. He coughed violently, excused himself, and practically fled the scene.

---

Later that night, Mira collapsed into bed, half laughing, half mortified. “Okay,” she whispered to herself, “I’m a ghost-possessing lady with a hot, angry husband who hears my thoughts and a growing obsession with pairing him with his best friend. What could possibly go wrong?”

The candle flickered once.

Then a voice—not Adrian’s—whispered from the mirror:

“Who are you in my body?”

Mira’s blood ran cold.

The reflection in the mirror smiled—her own face, moving without her.

And the woman inside whispered,

“You don’t belong here, stranger.”

---

End of Chapter 1

Next: “Chapter 2 – The Lady in the Mirror”