I heard the iris blooming

Everyone in Ashford said I’d taken the marriage contract my sister Joyce had cast aside.

After all, Stephen was the moon in the sky, and I was the dust beneath his feet. His light was meant for my sister, whose own brilliance rivaled the sun. I wasn’t even worthy of its glow.

For eleven years, I loved Stephen.

From that breathless glimpse in our youth to later becoming his fiancée in name only, I was like the most devout believer chasing after a god. But my god’s heart belonged to another.

Only when Joyce was left in a coma after a car accident did the Grant family—to fulfill the engagement—let this dubious honor fall to me: Nova, the unremarkable adopted daughter.

I thought this was the culmination of eleven years of foolish devotion.

Little did I know, it was only the beginning of my descent into hell.

---

The night before the wedding, I delivered Stephen’s freshly pressed suit to his villa myself.

He sat beside my sister Joyce’s hospital bed, his usually cold and reserved face softened by a tenderness I’d never seen. Holding her pale hand, his voice was low, intimate. “Joyce, if you don’t wake up soon, I’ll have to marry that girl you hate—Nova.”

An invisible fist seized my heart, stealing my breath.

“You know I’m doing this for you. The Grant family fortune, your father’s company… Only by becoming head of the Grants can I get it all back for you. Once I have control, I’ll divorce her. Then all of Ashford will know that only you, Joyce, are worthy to be my wife.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her hand. The obsession in his eyes plunged me into an icy abyss.

So this marriage was a carefully orchestrated scheme from the start.

I was just a tool to protect his sister and seize power—a stepping stone to be used and discarded.

Eleven years of love, in his eyes, was nothing but a convenient joke.

Stumbling back, I knocked over a vase by the door.

“Who’s there?”

Stephen whirled around. The tenderness in his eyes vanished, replaced by icy contempt.

“What are you doing here? Eavesdropping? Is this how your family raised you?”

I looked at him, tears falling freely. “Stephen… why are you doing this to me?”

He laughed coldly, rising to close the distance between us. His tall frame seemed to fill the room, radiating overwhelming pressure.

“Doing this *to you*? Nova, know your place. If Joyce weren’t lying here, do you think you’d ever be allowed past the Grant family gates? You were her shadow then, and now you’re just her stand-in.”

“A stand-in…” I whispered, my heart shattering.

“Wipe that pathetic look off your face. Tomorrow, you’ll play your part as the obedient bride. Remember—play your role well, and don’t cause me trouble. Otherwise, I won’t hesitate to make you and your sickly mother disappear from Ashford together.”

His words were poisoned daggers, each one striking deep.

I don’t know how I left that villa.

Outside, rain fell in sheets.

The eleven-year dream was finally over.

When I woke, all that remained was wreckage.

---

Back home, my father, Kenneth, paced anxiously in the hall.

Seeing me broken and rain-soaked, he launched into a tirade. “Where have you been?! Don’t you know tomorrow is your wedding to Stephen? If anything goes wrong, our family can’t bear the consequences!”

My mother came from the kitchen carrying a bowl of hot soup. She hurried over, her face etched with worry. “Nova, what happened? Go change before you catch cold.”

“Stop crying! Marrying Stephen is the chance of a lifetime!” my father snapped.

I looked at this man who was my father in name only, feeling nothing but despair.

In this house, only Joyce was his treasured pearl. My mother and I were just vines clinging to him—ready to be cut away at any moment.

Just then, the butler hurried in, his expression grave. “Sir, someone from the Vance family is here.”

“The Vance family?” My father faltered, paling. “Which Vance family?”

“The Vance family of Ashford.”

My father’s face went deathly white.

Everyone in Ashford knew the Vances were an even more formidable presence than the Grants.

And the head of the family, Lucian Vance, was a ruthless, unpredictable demon—the devil himself.

Four years ago, after being ambushed and left crippled, he’d grown even more vicious.

Why would such a man visit our home so late at night?

A middle-aged man in a black suit entered, followed by two bodyguards. His presence commanded the room.

“Good evening, Mr. Nova. I am Andrew, butler of the Vance family. I come on behalf of my master to propose a marriage alliance.”

“P-propose?” my father stammered.

Andrew offered a faint smile, his gaze settling on me. “My master wishes to marry your second daughter, Nova.”

The living room fell into tomb-like silence.

My mother was the first to react, stepping protectively in front of me. “No! Absolutely not! Our Nova is already engaged!”

My father, though visibly terrified, gathered his courage. “Mr. Andrew, there must be some misunderstanding. My daughter Nova marries Stephen Grant tomorrow.”

Andrew’s smile didn’t waver. “There is no misunderstanding. My master has said that if Miss Nova agrees to marry him, this will be the betrothal gift.”

He opened an exquisite sandalwood box. A cool, medicinal fragrance filled the air.

Inside lay a plant of purest white, as if carved from ice crystals. It had nine leaves, each emitting a faint, ethereal glow.

“The Frostheart!” my mother gasped.

My heart jolted.

Legend called the Frostheart a Vance family heirloom, capable of miracles—restoring life to the dying, flesh to bone. It was said to work wonders in repairing nerve damage, even for coma patients.

After Joyce’s accident, my father had exhausted every means to obtain it, even kneeling outside the Vance gates for three days and nights. All for nothing.

And now, here it was, laid before me so easily.

The price? Marrying the man rumored to be cruel and merciless—the cripple, Lucian Vance.

“Mr. Nova, Miss Nova, my master is sincere,” Andrew said, slowly closing the box. “As for the Grant family… if Miss Nova agrees, the Vance family will handle everything.”

Struggle and greed flickered across my father’s face.

On one side: Stephen Grant, a man with a limitless future.

On the other: a divine medicine that could save Joyce.

Looking at him, the absurdity of it all hit me like a blow.

“I’ll marry him.”

Under my mother’s shocked gaze, I spoke those words calmly.

Didn’t Stephen want me as a stand-in? Didn’t he want to use me?

Then I’d make sure he never got the chance.

I wasn’t doing this to save Joyce—the sister who’d bullied me and taken everything since childhood.

I just wanted to settle my debt to this family. From now on, I would owe the Novas nothing.

And more than that—to sever, completely, my ridiculous eleven-year obsession with Stephen Grant.

Better to leap into a hell of my own choosing than to suffer endless humiliation beside a man who would never love me.