We Will Get Divorced: The Perfect Divorce Plan of the Sacrificial Daughter and the Cold-Blooded Soldier - Chapter 0

“I did it… finally.”

Alone in the carriage traveling down the main street, I, Sierra Eirondale, was savoring my joy.

The new business I had been nurturing for so long had finally reached the point of starting.

It had been a long road. Though born as the eldest daughter of the prestigious Eirondale dukedom that everyone admired, these past few years had been a continuous struggle.

Days spent running around in place of my father, who neglected his official duties. Chased by endless chores and frequent problems, I devoted myself tirelessly, sacrificing sleep to realize my business plan.

“Even though she’s a woman,” “Playing at work like a little lady”—the men’s deliberately audible whispers were a daily occurrence.

“How pitiful,” “That’s why she can’t get married”—the women’s scornful gazes were also a daily occurrence.

Still, I gritted my teeth, revised my plans over and over, expanded my network, saved funds, and finally managed to reach the starting line.

Now I could restore the Eirondale family’s finances. Ironically, today was my nineteenth birthday.

“Thank you, Mother.”

Overlaying the image of my late mother onto the townscape of the Eirondale territory visible through the carriage window, I wiped away my tears with overwhelming emotion.

Right after that.

“—Oh?”

An inappropriately foolish sound escaped my lips, unbefitting the moment.

A wagon had appeared from the opposite direction on the main street.

Moving, perhaps? The large wagon, its cargo bed filled to the brim, seemed to be leaving the town based on its direction. It wasn’t a particularly unusual sight, yet I couldn’t look away because I spotted a wardrobe from the long-established furniture store, Shorter, on the cargo bed.

“Someone with quite old-fashioned taste, I see.”

Shorter’s furniture was of high quality, masterpieces that could last for generations, but they were certainly not in contemporary fashion. To think there was another Shorter enthusiast besides me.

How lovely. Gazing at the passing wardrobe with the feeling of seeing off an old friend,

“…Wow.”

Another small sound escaped me.

Because on the cargo bed of the following wagon, a Weatherington tea table was swaying.

“Nice! Wonderful taste.”

Weatherington was another long-established store on par with Shorter, a furniture shop known for its charming, rustic finish that highlighted the natural beauty of the materials. I, too, still cherished and used a tea table of the same model passed down to me by my late mother.

To think someone with such similar taste lived in the same town. I wish I could have met them before they moved. A thread of loneliness mixed into my swelling chest of joy, but by this point, my interest was drawn to the next wagon that would likely follow.

Surely a Cuelle sofa wouldn’t be carried out next? Or perhaps a Malmush dumbwaiter? If it were a Danfries cabinet, I might just leap out of the carriage. I absolutely must get to know them. What to do? I can’t contain my excitement.

“…Huh?”

The excitement that wasn’t supposed to stop had, in the next moment, already ceased.

Because wagons carrying all three pieces of furniture I had imagined—Cuelle, Malmush, and Danfries—appeared one after another.

No matter how you looked at it, could such a perfect match in furniture collection really happen?

“This can’t be…”

The carriage turned the corner. The Eirondale ducal mansion, which I was returning to after a month away, had a fifth wagon parked at its entrance. Loaded on its cargo bed was a Shorter bed. Its color, shape, finish, even the position of the scratches—identical to my personal belongings.

No wonder our tastes seemed similar.

The furniture I so adored was, in fact, being carried out from none other than my own bedroom.