I Became the Heroine’s Stand-in - Chapter 51

Diana had never been this nervous before.

Not on her first day as Lillian Mernard.

Not when she stepped into high society for the first time.

Yet now, she trembled.

The delicate hem of her thin negligee was clutched tightly in her fist, the fabric curling inward as she wrung it unconsciously.

Her bare thigh peeked out from beneath the folds, smooth and pale in the dim light.

Even though she moved as slowly as possible, she arrived at her destination far too quickly.

Damn it.

The crude habit, long buried since her days in the slums, slipped out again.

Standing before the ornately decorated door, Diana hesitated.

Her hand hovered over the polished brass handle, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull it.

She could feel the weight of countless gazes on her back.

Several maids stood behind her, watching in silence.

There was no avoiding it.

If she had to face this fate regardless, it was better to confront it quickly.

Swallowing dryly, she set her jaw and gripped the handle firmly.

One… Two… Three.

On the third count, she squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the door open.

The first thing she saw was an empty room.

The walls, adorned in deep crimson, exuded a sensual atmosphere, as if designed for this purpose alone.

He’ll be here soon…

It was customary for the bride to wait for the groom.

Diana hesitated before perching lightly on the edge of the bed.

Only her own uneven breathing filled the silence.

Her senses, instead of dulling, became sharpened—every little sound heightened her anticipation.

And then—

From a distance, footsteps.

Slow, measured, perfectly even in rhythm—Ersivan Valencia’s steps.

Each footfall grew closer.

Her heartbeat pounded so loudly that she could no longer tell whether she was hearing his footsteps or her own pulse.

From just outside the door, his calm voice dismissed the waiting attendants.

Several pairs of retreating footsteps echoed down the corridor, fading away.

The silence deepened.

The click of the door handle turning sent a shudder down her spine.

Diana shut her eyes again, unwilling to see him enter the room.

The door swung open.

A faint gust of air brushed past her bare toes, carrying with it a chill from the outside.

Her instincts were rarely so precise, yet she knew without question—

Ersivan was standing before her.

A pause.

Then, his footsteps shifted, moving closer.

A subtle scent of fragrant candles drifted toward her.

She could pinpoint his position just from that alone.

A soft rustling.

The sound of fabric being discarded.

Diana’s mind raced—until realization struck.

He was removing his coat.

Her lungs felt tight, as if she had forgotten how to breathe.

Her jaw trembled.

She clenched her front teeth into the soft flesh of her lower lip, desperate to keep them from chattering.

And then—

A weight settled over her hands.

Her fingers twitched at the unexpected warmth.

A large palm covered hers, tracing from her fingertips to her wrist.

The heat seared into her skin, too intense—as if she had been burned.

Her fingers curled instinctively, recoiling.

But as if their hands had been molded together, his hand curled inward as well, mirroring hers.

The back of his hand pressed against her palm.

And before she could withdraw, he shifted his grip, intertwining their fingers.

The heat between them intensified.

It was overwhelming, like a spark igniting a fire.

Diana’s eyes flew open in shock.

Had their gazes not met, she might have shut them again, pretending not to see.

But Ersivan was already watching her.

There was no escaping now.

Diana’s breathing halted as she took him in.

His white linen shirt, slightly sheer, clung to his sculpted frame, revealing glimpses of pale skin beneath.

She had never seen him like this before.

Not once.

Even his posture was strange.

Kneeling before her, hands clasping hers—whether intentional or not, the image was deeply intimate.

And then…

He smiled.

A slow, deliberate smile.

Diana’s entire body tensed.

The grip on her hands tightened—firm, unwavering.

She nearly flinched.

This was her chance.

Now.

It had to be now.

But as always—

Ersivan was one step ahead.

Before she could speak, he stole the moment from her.

“I never thought this day would come,” he murmured.

“…Evan.”

She had to stop him.

His name slipped from her lips, soft yet urgent.

“You have no idea,” he continued, “just how much I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

“Ersivan.”

“If you did,” he said smoothly, “you would have asked me long ago.”

“Ersivan Ruané Valencia!”

But he refused to listen.

Diana firmly called his full name, voice laced with authority.

Yet Ersivan simply pressed his face against the hem of her gown, the silk brushing against his skin as he breathed it in.

He lifted his head slightly, meeting her gaze as he mused,

“Why do you call me so sweetly?”

“…”

“Are you finally planning to use that wish of yours?”

The pointed question left her tongue numb.

Even if she tried not to react, her body betrayed her—a subtle shift in posture, the way her shoulders tensed involuntarily.

“I told you,” he continued, his tone light but unyielding, “you don’t have to use it. Save it for later.”

“You should at least hear me out first—”

“I’d rather not.”

She had to make him listen.

Not for his sake, but for hers.

Diana felt like she was suffocating.

In the Empire, particularly among the nobility, the purity of both partners was a matter of great importance in marriage.

Regardless of gender or status, the expectation was clear:

If one remained untouched, so must the other.

If one was not, then neither should be.

The books she had read had never gone into great detail, but one thing had been made abundantly clear—

Ersivan was Lillian’s first.

Which meant, logically, that tonight should pass without incident.

“But…”

Diana cut herself off—not by choice, but because of him.

Ersivan suddenly rose to his feet, casting a tall shadow over her.

A heartbeat later, she saw it.

A bowl, resting on the table at the center of the room.

Without a word, he took it in his hands.

Inside, holy water rippled, its surface scattered with rose petals.

It was a ritual—

A sacred practice, symbolizing the cleansing of the body and soul before consummation.

Kneeling once more, Ersivan submerged his fingers, crushing a rose petal between them.

The delicate pink petal crumbled, staining his fingertips a faint red.

Then, dipping his hand into the water, he slowly poured it over her feet.

The cold liquid trickled down her ankles, trailing along the curve of her bare skin, before dripping onto the carpet below.

It was the final step of the ritual.

The moment his fingers left the bowl, his hand shifted—

Moving from her hand to her shoulder.

His broad frame lowered.

With his face now hovering near the crook of her neck, he whispered,

“Now, speak.”

Diana held her breath.

Speak?

About the wish?

But hadn’t he just refused to hear it?

His voice dropped even lower, his words rich and velvety, yet merciless in meaning.

“Tell me… your real name.”

A whisper, yet it struck like a blade.

A name was nothing more than a word, yet the way he framed it left no room for misinterpretation.

“My real name?”

Her body stiffened.

She jerked her head back instinctively, her violet eyes wide with alarm.

Ersivan’s red irises narrowed slightly, his expression unreadable.

No jest, no amusement.

He was serious.

Her silence did not satisfy him.

With ease, he pressed slight pressure against her shoulders—

And Diana found herself sprawled against the plush sheets.

Two strong arms framed her on either side, caging her beneath him.

His face loomed above hers, close enough that she could see every detail—the sharp curve of his jaw, the slight part of his lips, the faint breath ghosting over her skin.

Her violet eyes trembled.

On any other occasion, she would have forced herself to act.

To conceal her emotions behind a carefully crafted mask.

But now—

She did not even try.

His certainty was absolute.

He had already decided—

That she wasn’t Lillian Mernard.

A soft chuckle escaped him.

“See?”

“I told you… you didn’t need to use your wish.”

Ersivan swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue.

Taunting her now would only cause that delicate expression to crumble—

Which, in all fairness, would be a sight worth seeing.

A silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Only one of them was enjoying it.

And it wasn’t her.

Finally, he relented.

“At the very least,” he murmured.

“…”

“I should know the name…”

His lips brushed just beside her ear, his voice dipping lower— “…of the woman I’m about to take as my own.”

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