I Became the Heroine’s Stand-in

“My daughter, please prove that my choice was right.”

It was an abrupt statement, yet Diana could infer the meaning behind the unspoken words that preceded it.

The weight pressing down on her shoulders felt unbearably heavy. The grip on her arms was so harsh it seemed as if it might pierce through her delicate skin.

“Yes, Father. I will keep that in mind.”

But pain was of no consequence. Diana did not flinch. Instead, she met his words with a bright and composed smile.

“Never forget that I raised you for this very day.”

“I have always kept that in my heart.”

“Fulfill your father’s wish.”

“I swear it.”

The father, widely known as a doting parent, spoke in a tone that was rigid—almost crude. His expression and voice were markedly different from usual when addressing her.

It was a demeanor that might confuse others, but to Diana, it was all too familiar. The Count always altered his mannerisms in private when dealing with her.

It was a cruel fact that left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Daughter, say your name.”

It was a question he always asked at the end of their conversations. A ritual of sorts. And, as always, Diana was expected to repeat the same answer.

But today was different. Her lips refused to part.

“I told you before—you must not hesitate, daughter.”

His solemn voice soon urged her to respond.

If she delayed any longer, his patience would wear thin.

Her amethyst eyes, which had been trembling beneath her long lashes, gradually steadied. Clenching her fist, she finally spoke.

“Lillian Mernard. The only daughter of our family and the future mistress of the House of Valencia.”

“My beloved daughter…”

His voice wrapped around her, imbued with the great, profound emotion of love. It rippled through the air like gentle waves.

Beyond his gaze, a warmth flickered—a warmth she did not need much time to recognize.

“Yes, my benevolent father.”

Her tongue felt dry. A lingering bitterness coated her mouth.

Before she could dwell on its cause, she found herself pulled into his embrace.

“I love you.”

“…….”

“I truly love you.”

The hand resting on her back trembled slightly—not out of anger, but out of a deep, untainted affection.

Diana marveled at how someone so cold could be this vulnerable.

“…I love you too. I love you very much, Father.”

If he could be this gentle, then why had he never shown that kindness to her before?

Why had there never been a single shred of affection reserved for Diana?

“My lady, it is time to depart!”

A booming voice, accompanied by the sound of bells, shattered her thoughts.

“Farewell, my daughter.”

With that, the Count pushed her away—not gently, but not cruelly either. Perhaps, for once, he was acknowledging her as Diana rather than Lillian.

Diana turned without another word. She doubted she could continue playing the role of a stand-in in front of her father any longer.

“You look absolutely beautiful today, my lady!”

“Thank you for saying so, Phil.”

Still, to everyone else, she remained Lillian.

Diana accepted the coachman’s hand and stepped into the carriage.

Before long, the bells tolled once more, marking the departure. Outside the window, the scenery gradually shifted.

The first thing that came into view was the Lily Garden, created especially for Lillian. It was said that she adored lilies, as they shared her name.

Diana, on the other hand, always suffered severe headaches from the strong scent of lilies. Yet, simply because Lillian loved them, she had no choice but to endure their presence.

Next came an intricately carved statue—a birthday gift for Lillian’s sixteenth year, sculpted in her likeness.

“Ugh…”

Staring blankly out the window, Diana suddenly felt nauseous. She quickly lowered her head, suppressing the rising urge to vomit.

Even this—her body’s rejection—was yet another remnant of Lillian.

Lillian, who was physically frail, often traveled by carriage. Unlike her, Diana had no such luxury of choice.

After repeatedly pressing against her chest, the nausea finally subsided.

Diana leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the carriage window, trying to steady herself. Her gaze soon landed on something familiar.

“MERNARD”

The sign, with its uneven lettering, was once an innocent gift from young Lillian to their parents.

Everywhere within the estate bore traces of Lillian—a testament to how deeply she had been loved.

‘She was different from me.’

To Diana, Lillian Mernard was both an unreachable figure and an unattainable ideal.

She had spent countless moments yearning for Lillian, envying her, even resenting her.

But above all, she had wondered—what kind of person was Lillian, to have been so cherished?

‘She was different from me…’

But in the end, it was all meaningless.

There was no love left for Diana. No matter how much she struggled, her fate could never be rewritten.

‘Can I really pretend to be her?’

Diana could never fully grasp Lillian’s life. She had never lived as her, and thus, pretending to be her felt overwhelming.

At the Mernard estate, she had already faced several close calls, moments where her true identity was nearly exposed.

But the servants had loved Lillian so much that they never even considered doubting her.

However, things would be different at the Duke’s manor.

There Is No Mercy in a Contractual Relationship

Even the slightest mistake would sow seeds of doubt.

“I can do this.”

But she had no choice.

“I can deceive them.”

Diana had to do it—for her own sake.

“Just until the heroine returns. I only need to hold on until then.”

There was one truth that even Count Mernard, who knew everything about her, was unaware of.

Diana was trapped inside the very novel she had read in her previous life. Because of that, she knew the full story of this world and what lay ahead.

According to the novel, Diana was the twin sister of Lillian Mernard, the heroine, and her stand-in.

She was also the tragic figure doomed to perish the moment Lillian—presumed dead—returned.

“…I don’t want to die.”

It was her predestined fate—one she desperately wished to change.

She Had No Memories of Her Childhood

The first thing she remembered was waking up alone in a shabby room.

Her mind was blank, wiped clean like an empty slate. Yet, there were no clues to explain her situation.

The only things she knew were her name—Diana—and her age. She was six years old.

Of all things, why had she been abandoned in the slums?

At first, she resisted her cruel fate. But like a stray animal, she eventually learned to adapt.

Then, one day—when she was seventeen—a man dressed far too finely for the slums appeared at her doorstep.

“Come with me, my daughter.”

“Who… are you?”

“I am the father you lost.”

It was the first time a ray of hope had shone into her life.

The thing she had always envied—something as distant as the stars—was now within reach.

A family.

Surely, this was the answer to all the prayers she had whispered to the night sky.

With no reason to hesitate, Diana immediately accepted his hand and left the squalor of the slums behind.

“My Lost Daughter Has Returned. Lillian Has Come Back!”

When she was introduced as Lillian Mernard, she had simply thought,
So I had another name all along.

“She suffered a head injury. Unfortunately, she has lost all her memories.”

It was true that she had no memories—but only from before she was six.

And yet, this man—her supposed father—spoke as if she had forgotten everything about her life. As if the years she had lived in the slums had never existed.

“There is much to teach her again. Time is short, so I ask that everyone in the estate help our Lillian adjust as soon as possible.”

He spoke as if she had always lived here.

Diana’s small hands stiffened as an unfamiliar pressure gripped them. A moment later, she felt his piercing gaze.

It was an unspoken order.

Stay silent.

Terrified, she obeyed.

When all the servants had left and only the two of them remained, she finally spoke.

“Who is Lillian?”

“My daughter.”

“Then… am I not your daughter?”

“…You are also my precious daughter.”

There was only the briefest hesitation in his response.

But it was enough.

In that moment, Diana realized the truth.

He hadn’t brought her back because he wanted to see her.

Along with that realization, the fragile hope she had clung to shattered into pieces.

A dull pain spread through her chest. Her skin felt rigid, her throat tightened, and an ache with no name settled within her.

Heat stung her eyes. But for the sake of the tiny shred of pride she had left, she refused to let the tears fall.

“Then… what do you want from me?”

Her voice, thick with suppressed sobs, wavered as she spoke.

She was afraid that her weakness would show.

And yet, somewhere deep inside, she hoped he would notice.

Because wasn’t she still his daughter, too?

A silent plea echoed within her. Even if it’s just a sliver of pity… please, at least give me that.

“Please, act as my daughter.”

But reality was always cruel.

This selfish man was too consumed by his own emotions to care about hers.

“…Alright.”

Diana hated the way he shed crocodile tears.

And yet… the warmth of his hand, tightly wrapped around hers, felt unbearably comforting.

She was the one who wanted to cry.

But the tragic truth was—he would never know that.