“I’m actually in love with Lydia.”
Eleanor blinked.
For a moment, she couldn’t understand what the man sitting across from her had just said. Her lashes fluttered as she stared blankly at him.
Her fiancé, Edward, wore a resolute expression.
As though he had been waiting a very long time to finally say these words.
As though, now that they had been spoken aloud, he would never take them back.
Looking at Edward’s ordinary brown hair and brown eyes, Eleanor thought:
What kind of nonsense is this man spouting?
“The reason I got engaged to you in the first place was because I thought it would let me become family with Lydia. But I can’t keep doing this anymore. Thinking that my relationship with you stopped me from expressing my feelings to her…”
Edward’s face twisted painfully.
“…it’s been unbearable.”
He looked like the tragic male lead who couldn’t approach the woman he loved because of some wicked villainess.
Watching his sorrowful gaze, Eleanor slowly became dumbfounded.
Did he not realize he was confessing his love for his fiancée’s younger sister?
“Edward. You do understand what you’re saying, don’t you?”
“…Yes. I’m not going to hesitate anymore just because of you.”
Edward spoke with the voice of a man making a solemn vow.
A hollow laugh escaped Eleanor.
Anyone listening would think she had been the one standing between him and Lydia.
She swore she had done no such thing.
Not once.
In the first place, Lydia was surrounded by men far superior to Edward. A man like him would never even catch her eye.
And yet he has the nerve to act like I’m the reason they couldn’t be together?
Eleanor leaned back in her chair, putting some distance between herself and the table. Her gaze swept over Edward from head to toe.
He wasn’t the kind of handsome man everyone praised, but he had the dependable appearance of a diligent young knight.
His build was sturdy, and his viscount family was respectable enough. He was a man Eleanor had deliberately chosen after careful consideration.
A very ordinary man.
Ordinary enough not to attract much attention.
A man who claimed to have lived his whole life with nothing but a sword in his hand had still ended up falling in love with her younger sister.
Eleanor didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that fate.
But one thing was certain:
She had every right to be angry.
With graceful precision, Eleanor picked up her teacup and flung its contents directly into Edward’s face.
“…Eleanor?! What is the meaning of—”
“You confess your love for my sister and expected me to shower you with flower petals?”
At Eleanor’s icy expression and cold voice, Edward—tea dripping down his face—pressed his lower lip tightly between his teeth.
“…I do feel sorry for you. But I truly love Lydia. I mean it.”
He sounded painfully sincere.
During the entire two years of their engagement, he had never once shown Eleanor such passion.
Not once had he told her he loved her.
And yet he spoke those words so easily when it came to her sister.
Still… once upon a time, she had liked him.
Eleanor let out a bitter laugh.
There was no Eleanor reflected in Edward’s eyes.
Only Lydia’s older sister.
Damn this fate.
No matter how hard she tried, she could never escape it.
Gathering her lace parasol, Eleanor rose from her seat. Edward’s eyes followed her upward.
“Consider our engagement broken,” she said calmly. “And let me offer you one piece of advice.”
Her blue eyes looked down at him coldly.
“Lydia will never end up with a pathetic man like you. Men better than you are everywhere around her.”
Edward’s face twisted again.
At the faint jealousy and inferiority flashing across his features, Eleanor smiled with satisfaction.
Did he think she would be the only one left wounded?
Since they would never see each other again, there was no need for a beautiful ending.
“Eleanor, you—”
“Let’s never meet again. You disgust me.”
With that, Eleanor left the coffeehouse without a trace of hesitation.
Opening her parasol, she walked toward her family’s carriage. The waiting maid opened the door for her.
As Eleanor climbed inside, she glanced out the window and saw Edward staring after her.
Foolish man.
Whether he married Eleanor or not, he would never have a chance with Lydia.
Lydia’s existence was far too special. Someone as painfully ordinary as Edward would never even be granted the opportunity.
“Go.”
At her command, the carriage began to move.
Eleanor finally turned her eyes away from the window.
Jung Hye-yoon had become Eleanor Stikov eleven years ago.
One day, the world of an ordinary twenty-year-old college student—with office worker parents and an older brother struggling to find employment—had changed completely.
She went to sleep.
And woke up as ten-year-old Eleanor Stikov.
Confused and frightened in an unfamiliar world, Hye-yoon soon met Lydia Stikov.
Eleanor’s one and only beloved younger sister—
and the heroine of the novel My Beloved Lady.
Soft pink hair like flower petals and delicate green eyes like newly sprouted leaves announced Lydia’s existence to the world.
Every inch of her seemed to proclaim that she was the only heroine destined to be loved in this world.
In complete contrast, Eleanor looked utterly plain.
She was merely the heroine’s extra older sister.
A character so insignificant that nobody even remembered her name. Readers only referred to her as “the heroine’s sister.” Even Jung Hye-yoon herself hadn’t realized who Eleanor was until she saw Lydia.
“You are Eleanor. Eleanor Stikov. Lydia’s older sister.”
For a long time, she wandered in confusion after realizing she had become a character inside a novel.
Seeing her struggle as though she couldn’t even remember her own name, Count and Countess Stikov had gently held onto her and explained.
You are Eleanor Stikov, the heroine’s extra older sister.
And from that moment onward, she lived as Lydia’s sister.
She had to.
This world existed for Lydia.
Naturally, the person loved by the world—the axis around which everything revolved—was not Eleanor Stikov, but Lydia Stikov.
“This is Miss Lydia Stikov. She is the loveliest and brightest child I’ve ever taught. Ah, and Miss Eleanor here is Lydia’s older sister.”
The tutor who taught both sisters introduced them that way to others, as though Eleanor were merely an attachment that came with Lydia.
“My precious jewel, Lydia. Daddy’s home. Did you have a good day? Ah, Eleanor, you’re here too.”
Whenever Count Stikov returned home from work, he looked for Lydia first.
Eleanor would watch silently as the count spun Lydia around in his arms like a decorative backdrop before finally noticing Eleanor afterward and greeting her belatedly.
“Ah… good afternoon, Lady Stikov. My apologies. I asked for your younger sister, but the servant must have confused you since you’re both Miss Stikov. Would you mind calling her for me?”
Once, at a party, a young nobleman summoned her.
When Eleanor arrived, he awkwardly scratched the back of his head and asked for Lydia instead.
Normally, the eldest child represented the family.
But whenever people referred to “Miss Stikov,” they meant Lydia, not Eleanor.
“Lady Eleanor, you’re Miss Lydia’s older sister, aren’t you? An older sister should naturally cherish and love her younger sibling.”
Those words, once spoken by her nanny, had made Eleanor realize the truth.
Ah. I’m just the heroine’s extra older sister.
Not the protagonist of this world.
Just an unfortunate soul with terrible luck who had possessed a minor extra character.
In a novel centered around Lydia, Eleanor’s role was thoroughly limited to being the heroine’s older sister.
“Lydia is so lovely. Her family is respectable, and she’s beautiful too. I’m jealous.”
“Just speaking with her makes my soul feel purified. There’s a reason everyone loves her.”
“I want to become close to Lydia too. It would be wonderful if we could be friends.”
Like moths drawn to light, people flocked to Lydia.
They praised everything about her—her face, personality, abilities, even the atmosphere around her.
Everyone loved and cherished Lydia.
Eleanor did too.
Loving Lydia was her destiny.
Eleanor Stikov herself was a disposable character whose only purpose was to adore the heroine.
And Jung Hye-yoon, who had become Eleanor Stikov, was bound by that same role.
“I can do anything for Lydia. I’m her older sister.”
The lines written in the novel shackled her.
She had to yield everything connected to Lydia.
There was nothing Eleanor herself was allowed to possess.
Because in this world, Eleanor existed only as the heroine’s older sister.
From the untouchable position of protagonist, Lydia shone brilliantly.
Even Eleanor couldn’t bear to look directly at her.
She was so lovely it made one want to cry.
So lovely that Eleanor understood why the entire world revolved around her.
But moths that fly toward the light are destined to burn.
“Eleanor, think about Lydia. You’re her older sister.”
“Lady Eleanor must adore Lady Lydia too, of course. Ah, forgive me for stating the obvious—you are her sister, after all.”
“You seem close with Miss Stikov. As expected of such a loving older sister.”
“I knew it. Eleanor isn’t the kind of ugly sister who gets jealous of her younger sibling!”
People forced every word, every action, every aspect of Eleanor into the mold of Lydia’s older sister.
And whenever she tried to step outside that role, they instantly branded Eleanor Stikov a villainess and turned their backs on her.
“Eleanor, I never thought you were that kind of person… So you’re just another one of those people jealous of Lydia.”
“I feel sorry for Miss Lydia. To have such a cruel woman as her sister.”
“Eleanor, why would you do that to Lydia? You’re her sister!”
“Who invited that Miss Stikov? I don’t even want to speak to someone so gloomy and frightening.”
In a strange world where she had nowhere to belong, being abandoned by people was terrifying.
So Eleanor tried desperately to fulfill her role as Lydia’s sister, to avoid falling out of favor with the world itself.
At every moment, in every situation, she reminded herself that she was the heroine’s older sister and acted accordingly.
But a life lived solely for Lydia quickly became exhausting.
She found no meaning in people who only used Eleanor as a bridge to reach Lydia.
How long am I supposed to live like this?
Eleanor wanted to escape the position of the heroine’s older sister.
Standing beside Lydia’s brilliance inevitably cast a shadow.
It was such a cold and lonely place.
The heroine was the heroine.
Her younger sister was her younger sister.
And Eleanor—the extra, the older sister—was a separate person entirely.
So she believed she didn’t have to live forever as merely the heroine’s extra sister.
Eleanor tried.
She tried to claim only the things Lydia did not need.
Everything in the world existed for Lydia, yes—but Lydia did not need everything.
Sometimes, the unnecessary and unwanted scraps left behind by the world’s most precious existence were permitted even to an extra like Eleanor.
She searched for tiny cracks in fate.
But a world that loved only Lydia was not so merciful.
Eleanor’s first fiancé fell in love with Lydia.
Her second fiancé did too.
And now even Edward, her third fiancé, had confessed that he loved Lydia.
Everything Eleanor possessed eventually flowed toward Lydia and revolved around her instead.
All Eleanor could do was watch helplessly as everything slipped through her fingers.
There was nothing she could do.
Because Eleanor was not the protagonist of this world.
Still—
I’m getting tired of this.
After enduring three broken engagements—something devastating to a noblewoman’s reputation—even Eleanor had reached her limit.
I want to stop living as the heroine’s extra older sister.
In a world where everyone was destined to love Lydia, Eleanor was utterly alone.
