When the Shut-In Lady’s Façade Is Exposed
“Not eating the cake? You like it.”
I stared at the cake on the table. At first glance it looked like a gesture of reconciliation, but there was no way my anger would melt that easily.
I looked blatantly at the cake, then back at the man. As he spoke, my older brother sitting beside me quickly shot me a look.
‘Just eat it and end this already! Hurry!’
Since we’re twins, I can read his face instantly. But I stubbornly shook my head. I even made sure to let out a proper little “hmph!”
“I don’t feel like it, Young Duke.”
At my answer, the platinum-blond man’s face turned red. Not from anger. He was holding back laughter with all his might. He knew that if he laughed here, he’d really make me furious.
‘So annoying, seriously.’
Between my scowling face and the man suppressing his laughter, the one truly suffering was my brother Shasha, who looked like he desperately wanted to escape this place.
“Young Duke, huh? It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that title.”
His sparkling eyes stared straight at me without wavering. That steady gaze made me uncomfortable, so I turned my head away.
A platinum-blond, refined face. Violet eyes that shimmered strangely, as if studded with amethysts.
His face alone scores a million points. I believe in the existence of bewitching beauty that can melt anger just by looking at it—I’m witnessing it firsthand.
As he said, it had been quite a long time since I’d called him “Young Duke.” Thinking back to those days made me feel strangely nostalgic.
“You’re really strange, my lady.”
Yet he matched my stubbornness. My lady—it had also been a long time since he’d called me that. He must have been thinking the same thing I was.
Oh? So that’s how you want to play? I nodded stubbornly.
“If Lord Armin says so, then it must be true.”
“Ha. First ‘Young Duke,’ now ‘Lord Armin’?”
“Can’t one of you just stop already? It’s exhausting being stuck between you two.”
Unfortunately, Shasha’s muttering didn’t affect either of us.
“Shasha, I’d love to stop too, but Lady Roha is far too stubborn. She’s always different inside the house and outside it—how can I possibly back down?”
His eyes curved into crescents. His gentle-looking face and well-balanced violet eyes were filled with amusement.
“My lady once called it… what was it again?”
Crossing his legs, Armin Gray leaned his upper body toward me. From experience, when he smiles like that, he’s a little dangerous.
I asked back in a slightly trembling voice. No matter how much I tried not to be intimidated, my instincts kicked in whenever he smiled like that.
“W-what… what do you mean?”
“I mean the first day we met.”
“The first day?”
Shasha, who had looked exhausted, suddenly brightened. No matter how many times he’d asked me about that day, I’d always brushed it off. Now Armin Gray was bringing it up himself.
That’s cheating! Cheating! As a dark memory flashed past my mind, I burst out laughing loudly and grabbed a fork.
“Oh my! The Earl Grey cake looks absolutely delicious. It’s my favorite—how did you know to buy this?”
That was a lie. Everyone in this room knows I won’t touch cake unless it’s whipped cream. Heaven knows, earth knows, that man Armin Gray knows, I know, and my brother knows.
And just as surely, everyone here knew I was trying to change the subject.
“Lord Armin, ignore Vivian and continue. Yes, what happened that day?”
“Brother! Try some too! You like Earl Grey, right? Right?!”
Desperately, I shot Armin a pleading look. I was surrendering. It was my fault—so let’s just drop it.
“I think you called yourself something like a ‘room-corner something.’ But that’s not important right now.”
Brushing his platinum hair back, he kindly asked,
“It’s good, right? I got it from a dessert shop that’s trending in the capital these days.”
“Oh my, oh my, of course! It’s so good you wouldn’t even notice if a third person dropped dead while two were eating.”
While he was distracted for a moment, I glared at him—but as soon as he turned back, I quickly went back to flattering him. I’m not that clueless.
My tearful flattery seemed to satisfy Armin. Even when Shasha pressed him, he didn’t spill any more.
If I’m going to tell my story, I should probably start with what happened when I was four years old. No, actually—let’s start with my family.
My family name is Roha. Among the five noble ranks, we’re not as low as barons, but not as grand as counts either.
Moderately well-off. Even my looks are average. In a place full of blondes and silvers, sometimes I wonder if my plain brown hair even looks noble.
Anyway, I was born that way—Alexandro, usually called Shasha, is the heir. I’m his twin younger sister.
Why am I talking about my own story like it’s someone else’s? Because of what happened when I was four.
When I was four, I once crossed the River Styx—only to make a U-turn and come back. While playing on the second floor with my brother, I slipped through the railing and fell.
Because of that near-death accident, my brother was scolded by Father nearly to death for the first time in his life, and I reportedly lost consciousness for several days.
Thankfully, I didn’t land headfirst, so the external injuries weren’t severe. Once I regained consciousness, I returned to normal life quickly.
But from that day on, I gained a secret I couldn’t tell anyone.
Even now, I sometimes wonder if the afterlife is round like Earth—perhaps this world’s River Styx is connected to Korea’s Samdocheon.
What’s my secret?
After waking up, I remembered my previous life.
At first, I was bewildered. I’d spent 100, 200 won at a time reading romance fantasy novels—never imagining those tropes would apply to me. As an atheist, I never believed in reincarnation clichés.
But I still had the memories of four-year-old Vivian Roha. Denying reality wasn’t easy.
Before the fall, I was a quiet, shy child. Reserved and soft-spoken. That’s probably how people still see me.
“Vivian, please don’t behave like that in front of others!”
Thanks to my parents’ desperate pleas, I perfected my acting.
As a result, the Roha twins are fairly well-known around here. Vivian Roha—the feminine, elegant lady… ugh. And Shasha Roha—the capable heir predicted to surpass our father.
But inside the house, it’s a different story.
I’m what you’d call a “room-corner tyrant.”
“Vivi, you took the next volume again—… When did you steal my clothes this time?”
About a month ago, Shasha barged into my room without knocking and frowned, shaking his head. It was an ordinary day.
After my accident, my parents became overprotective. As a result, they completely failed at raising at least one of their children properly. Graceful? What’s that? Something you wrap in lettuce?
They indulged me in everything. In the Roha viscount household, I was king—no, queen—and absolute ruler.
That day too, I was wearing Shasha’s oversized pants I’d secretly stolen as pajamas. Nightgowns? Please. Nothing beats comfy baggy pants.
Used to it by now, Shasha didn’t even try to take them back. He just sighed.
“Vivi, please. Leave my clothes alone.”
“They’re comfortable.”
“Sigh.”
I could already guess what he was going to say next—I’d heard it countless times.
So I mimicked him in a teasing tone.
“Yes, and how exactly are you planning to get married like this?”
He flushed red. Having been tormented by me since childhood, his illusions about women had long been shattered.
“If you know, then stop already. You’re over twenty now.”
“Twenty-one, actually. The next volume’s on the desk. Help yourself.”
I rolled around on my bed, stuffing a cookie into my mouth. Shasha picked up the book.
It was one of his secret hobbies—he’s a romance novel fanatic. If the ladies who adored him knew, they’d be devastated.
Everyone in this world wears a little mask.
Call it pretense and it sounds shallow—but call it survival, and it makes sense. I’m just on the extreme end of it.
Shasha dragged a chair over and sat down. Uh-oh. Long lecture day.
“Vivi, I’m serious. What are you going to do?”
“I’m fine outside, aren’t I?”
“That’s the problem. At gatherings, they say you’re like an angel descended from heaven.”
“Oh really? Who said that? What a perceptive person!”
I giggled and rolled over. Shasha pressed a hand to his forehead.
“Does that look like an angel?”
I instantly switched to my public-version eyes—gentle, moist, pitiful.
Completely defenseless against his sister’s act, Shasha stumbled back.
“That’s why I’m saying—I won’t get married.”
“You think that makes sense? You’re of age. Father and Mother will start looking for a match.”
I sat up properly—though crumbs around my mouth ruined the elegance.
“If I get married, that would be the real disgrace. And what about the poor man? That would be fraud.”
“So what’s your plan? Live off our parents forever?”
I had no answer. Sooner or later, I’d have to become independent.
The problem? In this world, women having careers is unthinkable. Their greatest achievement is marrying well.
And no man would understand the gap between my public and private selves.
